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For a full decade Michael Koenen performed at the pinnacle of his profession, a punter in the National Football League. When his NFL career ended, it wasn’t the end of sports. With five children, Koenen is often seen on sidelines, along with his wife Devin, in their Washington state hometown, coaching or simply supporting their kids through football, soccer and basketball. It’s all brought a fresh perspective.
“Sports provide a great atmosphere to build relationships, work toward your goals and get through adversity together,” Koenen tells InHabit about the values he’s learned and hopes his children are now gleaning, too. “You learn to work hard, push through and deal with situations that are challenging and tough and push you to be a better person and athlete.”
That perspective may be for athletes, but pieces hold true for spectators as well. Sports the world over have become a key gathering ground, whether for young players learning life lessons through play, parents gathering on sidelines to cheer them on, or the millions of fans who watch and support through in-stadium experiences or simply follow on television.
Sports draw people together.
Looking for community
“I think human beings are always eager to form community and not just communities of people we personally know, but ones we imagine we are part of, a larger community we don’t know,” Noah Cohan, assistant director of American Culture Studies at Washington University in St. Louis, tells InHabit. “Being a fan is often about a common affiliation with loved ones, close friends, neighbors or the millions of others out there that share this affinity. Sharing that group identity is really important to people.”
“Other social group bonds have weakened over American life the last couple of decades, but sports have strengthened, especially spectator sports,” Cohan says.
As research shows, North Americans are becoming increasingly disconnected from community in the form of religious or community organizations. But sports represent an outlier. “Other social group bonds have weakened over American life the last couple of decades, but sports have strengthened, especially spectator sports,” Cohan says. You can thank—or blame—electronic media for that. “I think the buy-in is much less,” he says. “All you have to do is turn on your TV and pick a team.” Picking a team isn’t always associated with place any longer, either. Media allows fans to virtually gather to support a team they once watched in person, helping them “maintain a piece of an identity from childhood or maintain contact to an alma mater, even when across the country,” Cohan says. “There’s no need to disconnect and reconnect.”
A common purpose
According to Terry Shoemaker, director of Sports at Arizona State University’s Humanities Institute, there’s a notion of shared energy when humans gather for a common purpose. And today’s gatherings around sports often take on a kind of religious experience. “The shared energy and commitments to a team and hopeful outcome join people together intensely,” he says.
It isn’t always just because of the game on the field. Angie Harwood, a former educator, mom of athletes, current high school coach and a lifetime sport participant, tells InHabit that team sports naturally facilitate gatherings, with set start times, locations and shared interests. Add in a common goal and it helps to create connection through experience. She notes that additional groups often form around teams, including marching bands (and their parents), cheerleaders and more.
“But while we have no control over time itself, we do have a choice in how we orient to it, how we inhabit the moment, how we own the past and open to the future - a choice that shapes our entire experience of life, that ossuary of time. And just as it bears remembering that there are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives, it bears remembering that there are infinitely many ways of being in time.” - Maria Popova, The Marginalian
Change of environment
I put on my ski gear, and pull my boot bag up on my back. Covered head to toe, I step outside. My skis are perched on my left shoulder, and my poles are in my right hand. I walk carefully down the snowy path and up through the village to the lift. It’s a sacred ten minutes of meditative rhythmic walking to warm me up for the day ahead.
New snow has fallen – about twenty centimetres. The snow cats have groomed the mountain during the night. It’s early and I'll be on the first lift up to the slopes.
This is the change of environment I crave the most at this time in my life. The movement from posed stability to energetic vulnerability, from the familiar to the serendipitous unknown, from the routine to the spontaneous. Here on the mountain I feel like I live life to its fullest. I feel more alive here than anywhere else. Curiosity is my catalyst — I could rest today, I could contemplate other days gone by, but I'm curious: What will the snow be like? What will my balance and form be like? What shapes of clouds will appear? What breeze will freeze my nose? Where will the trail take me? It is ski season; adventurous, mysterious and invigorating. It provides another form of lifestyle filled with the sort of vulnerability I love.
Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain.
This magic mountain that I've skied for years and years changes all the time. It's ironic really, as it is made of stone and rock, ice and dirt - elements so strong and stable, so unmoving and unbudgeable, so unforgiving and invincible, yet it is forever changing. Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain. Such a curious phenomenon — this alpine environment that moves and changes constantly, just like me. The weather forecast looks good today, colder than yesterday, but mostly sunny in the morning with the wind rising in the afternoon. Of course, this could change too.
Letting change flow
Arriving at the base of the mountain, I put on my ski boots, tuck my shoes away for the day, and once again perch my skis on my shoulder. I use my poles to help me navigate the steps up to the gates; it’s the beginning of the season and this morning routine of getting to the lifts still has me feeling a bit winded as I get used to the altitude. My friend is waiting for me. She and I smile brightly at each other and, seconds later, the buzzer goes off and the gates are activated. We are the first ones through, proud of ourselves for our early rising and excited to experience the thrill of another ski day together. We banter about the beautiful day ahead, our slight aches and pains and need for some stretching.
My friend is confident and bold — an expert skier. Me, I am not as confident and I am no expert. But I am bold, and she inspires me. Most of all, I am grateful for the change of scenery, communing with nature and the joy of being together again on the mountain.
Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.
As we descend each run at our own pace, our skis pushing us beyond our unique comfort zones, we each experience individualized moments in the quiet rhythm of skiing. Every day on the slope is different, every turn of every carve into the snow is different, at times smooth and other times choppy. At all times, our minds must stay connected to our bodies. It is invigorating and mystifying, as we must disconnect from all worries and all other actions and stay absolutely present. Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.
After a few hours of skiing our favourite trails, I tell my friend I want to stop at a lookout spot, not because I’m tired but because I want to breathe in my surroundings. She says she’ll let me have a bit of alone time and we decide she’ll do another run and meet me back here. The sky is vast and filled with a multitude of blue hues, the clouds are fantastical and bright white. The fresh cold air is thinner up here; it smells minty as it passes through my nostrils and it tastes minerally as it drips down my throat. The steam rises from my scarf as I breathe in and out, feeling the warmth of my body. This change of environment is essential to my well-being. It’s not just any change of environment though.
Chrono-diversity
It’s being up at altitude that thrills me most. The physicist Carlo Rovelli in his book “The Order of Time” captures the essence of my pause at the lookout spot. He writes,
“I stop and do nothing. Nothing happens. I am thinking about nothing. I listen to the passing of time. This is time, familiar and intimate. We are taken by it…. Our being is being in time.”
I lived and worked in this village just below the slopes for ten years, all through my thirties, and now that I am retired, I return here as much as possible. Initially when I moved away, down to sea level and no longer at altitude, it took me a long time to adjust and to adapt to being in a different time zone, but not just a different chronometric time zone, but a different “chrono-atmospheric” time zone.
I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level…
I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level… This slowing down can be detected between levels just a few centimetres apart: a clock placed on the floor runs a little more slowly than one on a table. It is not just the clocks that slow down: lower down, all processes are slower.”
When I read this, I started to understand and accept why I had found it so challenging to transition from life up on the mountain to life in the valley. All of my processes had to become slower; my mental and physical, even spiritual relationships towards time had to change in order for me to adapt and to adjust to my new surroundings. It was a very unnerving time at first, and I found myself longing to return to the mountains. Despite the fact that I enjoyed my new job, raising my children and making new friends in a different culture, my personal processes, like my coping mechanisms, had slowed down and I needed to give myself time to accept the newness of this “chrono-diversity” at sea level.
Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months.
During those years, my friend stayed in the mountains; she never returned to life in the valley. And I believe this makes us different in the way we now measure time. Maybe her time does actually pass more quickly than mine? She is a speed queen and can get a million things done in one day. She thinks faster than I think, and certainly skis faster than I ski.
Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months. It’s the rigour and rhythm of mountain time. Rovelli writes,
“Two friends separate, with one of them living in the plains and the other going to live in the mountains. They meet up again years later: the one who has stayed down has lived less, aged less, the mechanism of his cuckoo clock has oscillated fewer times. He has had less time to do things, his plants have grown less, his thoughts have had less time to unfold ... Lower down, there is simply less time than at altitude.”
I guess the proof is “in the physics.” As I’ve learned, it is the changeability of time in the mountains that keeps me skiing through life. Even if it seems a bit ironic and mysterious to me, I imagine I will always feel this type of change to be constant in my life. Though I suppose, that could change too.
The gathering can be over an NFL game watched on a TV in a family home, in a 70,000-seat stadium or even on the sideline of a youth soccer game with just a handful of spectators. Cohan says that youth sports may still have a level of community tied into the event, although the rise of travel teams and the youth sports industry is chipping away at that. Even with the proliferation of regional teams, bonds remain about a common interest on the part of the kids.
It’s not just pickleball
With the meteoric rise of sports like pickleball, it’s clear adults are also eager to get in the game. Cohan notes that the proliferation of everything from cart-driving golfers to beer league softball, from adult kickball leagues to yes, pickleball, is often more about community gathering than the competitive nature of the sport. Harwood, who has played in recreational volleyball leagues or USTA-sanctioned tennis events as an adult, says sports provide a fantastic way to get connected to other adults, which can be challenging for some. “I’ve made many dear friends over the years from my participation in athletics,” she says. “As a coach and team captain of adult leagues, I love being a part of building a positive social culture. Sports offer so many life lessons, who could resist?”
“Sports build upon an essential part of the human experience,” he says. “In an interconnected global society, sport supplies a temporary form of play, where an outcome will be governed by agreed-upon rules. When there’s so much weight to our politics, economics, etc., sports also offer a type of escape from the heavier aspects of life.”
Shoemaker says the rules-based nature of sports creates a set of parameters to build around — parameters that don’t change much from childhood all the way to adulthood. “Sports build upon an essential part of the human experience,” he says. “In an interconnected global society, sport supplies a temporary form of play, where an outcome will be governed by agreed-upon rules. When there’s so much weight to our politics, economics, etc., sports also offer a type of escape from the heavier aspects of life.”
“Sports tap into our innate desire to achieve, and to see others rise to the occasion,” Harwood says. We get stories of underdogs, or the opportunity to marvel over terrific talents. Being there while it all happens helps build connection. “You feel a sense of belonging in the arena, or at a tailgate party,” she says. “Humans like to be connected to something bigger than ourselves, and sports provide that opportunity.”
With such varied ways to gather around sports—from fandom to participation to connection—driving the popularity of sport around the globe, Shoemaker says there’s one more added layer: “In the quest for a domain of life with an undetermined outcome,” he says, “sport also provides us a place to experience mystery, a type of enchantment in a disenchanted world.”
Spanning every age — and level
The fact that people’s view of sports can change so dramatically over time can also help them assimilate into differing gathering spaces, as their life situation changes or evolves. Harwood says sports serves as a constant thread through her life, from participating in park-based softball leagues as a youth to parenting a collegiate golfer and another child who became a professional ballet dancer to stepping into coaching tennis at her local high school that allowed her to “refire, rather than retire.”
You can’t always control the outcome, but you can control your work rate, your mental focus and your ability to improve in all aspects of your game. It’s about learning to love to compete and separating who you are from what you do.”
For Koenen, a world-class athlete, he says that when he was young, life revolved around winning. “As I grew older, I realized the importance of controlling what I can control,” he says. “I learned to set goals and strive for those goals, no matter what was in my way or what was being said about me, both positively and negatively. You can’t always control the outcome, but you can control your work rate, your mental focus and your ability to improve in all aspects of your game. It’s about learning to love to compete and separating who you are from what you do.”
Koenen now brings his experience and perspective to the youth sports he coaches and the parents he chats with on the sidelines, exemplifying how sports, at every level, can help us develop life skills and lasting connections that transcend the game.
