**4.1. Heather**

I would need to lose weight. I was put on a diet and specific workout regimen; I stuck to it because I wanted to play. After about 4 months of unhealthy eating patterns (skipping meals, drinking only weight loss shakes) combined with working out 3–4 times a day, I reached my goal. I was praised for all the hard work I had done and told how good I looked by my coaches, teammates, and even family. I associated the weight loss with beauty and success because that is the feedback I received from those around me. I also received more attention from men because of my new form and I thought this was the only way that I was going to receive this attention again. Unfortunately, my "hard work" did not translate into playing time. The criticism I received for being "overweight", however, has stuck with me. I now only associate beauty with being fit and "in shape"- the supposed ideal I acquired during my sophomore year of college. My coaches instilled that in me because they were the ones to

I have worked hard since those 2 years to change my perception of beauty and to see that starving myself and pushing my body past those limits, is not true beauty. However, it has been a long process and I still find myself comparing my current self to the way I was then.

The second athlete is credentialed as a high school principal and participated in athletics during the 1980s. Her sport was both gymnastics and track and field. These two sports are at polar ends of the aesthetic perception of competition. Gymnastics, like ice skating, is a sport highly affected by the perceived beauty of the athlete and the aesthetic experience. The track, however, is based in being fleet of foot. Less weight is important because it is assumed one will run faster, but an athlete is not subjectively measured in track and field for beauty, but she is in gymnastics. In this case, Lisa is a petite women and a very beautiful woman as measured by general beauty standards. However, apparently, she too suffered from the struggles

As a young girl, growing up and having an athletic build was a blessing and a challenge. I began taking gymnastics lessons at the age of 8 years old. I ran into trouble in high school when it became painfully clear that my appearance was very different than the majority of my female classmates. I had strong, muscular legs which, to my peers, appeared not to be feminine. I remember going clothes shopping as a freshman in high school and finding it difficult to find jeans that fit my small 5′ 2″ athletic frame- small waist and muscular thighs and strong powerful bottom. This trouble of finding flattering clothes was only one of several social snags

The other girls in high school gave me grief for not looking feminine. When I wore a dress my muscular calves stuck out below the hem and the calves, to them, were reminiscent of an adolescent boy. I overheard girls whispering in class about how big my thighs were and how "gross" they were to look at. Being in high school in the 80′s did not lend itself to embracing

point out to me, the only way to be successful was to lose weight.

**3. Athlete of three decades ago**

with the perception of beauty.

**3.1. Lisa**

162 Perception of Beauty

as a female athlete.

"Nice legs," the point guard said as I waited for him to check the ball. "Excuse me?" I replied. I stood up out of my defensive stance and looked at him with a puzzled look on my face. I glanced at my bruised thighs and shins, discolored by diving on the floor after loose balls, running into the knees of opponents when fighting through screens, or bumping into free weights while negotiating a crowded weight room. I was dumbfounded by his comment. My legs were not "nice looking" legs. They were certainly colorful, sweaty, and muscular, but not "nice looking". "Who is this idiot?" was all I could think. I thought we were here to play basketball, not pick up a date.

"Are you going to play ball, or not?" I spat out.

"I'll make you a deal," he replied. With a stupid grin on his face, he continued, "I'll check the ball if you'll go out with me." I could hear the guys behind me snickering, waiting for me to say or do something.

Completely embarrassed by this awkward conversation and just wanting it to end, I let out a sigh, shrugged my shoulders, and said, "Fine … now check the damn ball."

Being the object of someone's gaze, whether a man's or a woman's, was a part of my experience as a competitive athlete. The competitive athlete relies on her body to excel, much like a construction worker relies on his/her tools to build quality materials. For me, as a basketball player, I needed to be strong, lean, and quick. In order to perform, I needed the right combination of tools at the right time. This required careful attention to nutrition and physical fitness. Hours lifting in the weight room, seemingly endless sprints on the track, bounding up flights and flights of stairs, engaging in dribbling drills repetitively until my fingers ached, and putting up hundreds of shots a day were essential to being well prepared for successful competition. This devotion to effective preparation resulted in me being connected with my body—with how it moved, how it felt, and knowing what it was capable of. I was proud of the effort and the result.

Though I viewed my body as an instrument capable of hitting jump shots, breaking a press, and pulling down rebounds, there were others who viewed it much differently. Some men seemingly felt free to comment on the curve of my ass or my muscular calf muscles while I struggled to squat, clean, and snatch weights next to them on the platform. I was wearing baggy shorts just like the guy next to me, but I was too busy trying to push the weight and too focused on completing a successful lift to notice his "form." My motivation was stronger muscles, but his catcalls revealed his motivation was sex.

The gaze of others wasn't limited to men. My female coaches and teammates referred to me jokingly as "Butch." I had short hair, wore sweats daily, and spent more time with a basketball than I did with male companions. These choices were purposeful. Short hair was easier to take care of. Sweats were more comfortable and easy to take on and off in preparation for practice. As a college athlete, my motivation was to excel on the court and in the classroom. I wasn't there to land a mate. I was there to become a better shooting guard and to prepare for successful entry into graduate school. Not everyone shared my vision.

Name calling ("butch" or "dyke") was common and served a purpose. It reinforced traditional ideologies about how women should look and act. Women were expected to appear feminine. Long hair, painted nails, makeup, and dressing in feminine clothing reinforced traditional gender norms. Such behavior was expected and reinforced. When women didn't fit this heterosexual norm, their behavior and sexuality were called into question. Name calling served to remind us all of what was expected and acceptable. Those names carried meaning and fear of backlash because they challenged traditional gender ideology and the accepted heterosexual norm. As a result, my teammates and I, whether gay or straight, felt pressure to fit into these norms. Hair length is an important marker. It was often a joke that female athletes must have a "ponytail gene" because ponytails are so prevalent in women's athletics. It was also a common occurrence for my teammates and me to discuss dating men and wanting children, whether they were actually dating men or had any interest in having kids.

An example of how these expectations can impact experience occurred during one-holiday break. All students who resided in the dorms had to move out while the campus was closed for the holiday break. I was displaced from the dorms with no place to stay but had to remain on campus for practice and games. One teammate invited me to stay at her apartment since her roommate was headed home for the break. Thankful for the offer, I took her up on the opportunity. Not until I arrived did I learn that she was gay and had invited her girlfriend to stay as well. One night, after they both had too much alcohol to drink, they applied considerable pressure on me to join them sexually. After I turned them down, my teammate's girlfriend said, "But I thought you said she was butch."

The next day at practice I shared with a male assistant coach that I thought I might need to find a new place to stay. He responded with surprise and questioned how I didn't know my teammate was gay. He then with consternation asked why I hadn't taken greater care and made a stronger effort to make it clear that although I looked "butch," I was heterosexual.

The pressure to navigate these challenges was significant and ever-present. A competitive athlete will do just about anything to be involved in her sport. We are trained not to question, but to do as we're expected and as we're told. To challenge this expected norm would mean to threaten our opportunity to play. The play is key and an athlete's most valuable commodity. Athletes' bodies are powerful, yet we don't have power. To participate we are required to concede our power to those who coach and administrate us. If we are blessed to play for people who create a safe and positive participatory environment, this concession can be empowering. However, if we play for people who abuse their power and choose actions based on immoral motivations, the results can be scarring.

An athlete wants to please. If she pleases those who evaluate, she earns the opportunity to play. She can please by working harder, pushing herself to the point of physical exhaustion. She can please by working longer hours, opening the gym in the morning and turning the lights off at night. She can please by tapping into the unknown source of physical, psychological, and emotional reserves only the subjective can explain. An athlete begins to accept these sacrifices as the norm. Soon they are not sacrifices, just another day in the pursuit of excellence. The bar continues to move and always in the direction navigated by those in power.

Powerful bodies command a presence. Powerful bodies take up space. What happens when the power inherent in an athlete's body, one finely tuned through hours of physical exertion, is diminished by the person in power who chooses to take away such space?

How I saw and experienced my body was different than how others did. I, the athlete, viewed my body as a tool for physical proficiency. While it could be manipulated through drills and physical activity, others viewed it as an object for their gaze, and as something that could be manipulated for their pleasure.
