#20 Athletics as a life practice
A theory for what it means to live like an athlete outside the economy of performance, and as a mode of inhabiting time, space, and self.
Hi, everyone.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how athleticism doesn’t have to be a career to shape the structure, style, and meaning of your life. There’s in fact a special kind of beauty in centering your life around a sport you don’t get paid to play. It’s about treating athleticism as a way of life, a way of being—a life practice.
I’m calling it a “life practice” because it speaks to how you approach—or practice—your own life, beyond the professionalism, titles, and the economy of performance. It’s about how a sport can guide and inform your choices in all kinds of arenas—from style to sleep.
As a volleyball player in London’s Division 1 league, I’ve built much of my routine around this sport—training, practice, even my social life. I love the sport and the community, and I’m incredibly committed to every aspect of it. But I’m not a professional athlete and don’t get paid for doing any of this.
What I’ve come to realize—and theorize—is that athletics can be a broader lifestyle practice: not a means to an end, but a way of being. You can live by the choices and ethos of an athlete, without ever needing the qualifications or accolades of a professional one.
Athletics, as I see it, offers a model for and a mode of life. It’s about identity, style, rigor, and belonging.
I’m interested in—and advocating for—thinking of sports, whether recreational or competitive, not just as hobbies but as a way of inhabiting time, space, and self. Here, I want to break down what it means to live in this space of in between: not casual, not elite, but fully committed, fully embraced.
Body as archive
I’d argue that the greatest gift of a life centered around sports is the relationship you build with your body. It is a relationship of attention, attunement, and awareness. Your body becomes an archive: a tool, a record, a site of discipline—and equally, a site of recovery, soreness, strength, energy, and resilience. You learn to care for your body not in a detached way, but because your ability to move, train, and play depends on it.
So, whether you like it or not, sustaining your athletic life demands a certain kind of structure, discipline, and rhythm you need to introduce to your daily, weekly, or longer-term plans and habits. You have to stagger days at the gym and days on court; you need to allocate days for rest, and pay attention to your nutrition, sleep, hydration, and even mindfulness practices. Because there is a whole system of “healthy habits” that maintain this life and are meant to accommodate or support you on court.
And what separates an “amateur” athlete from a professional one is that in the case of the latter, your nutrition or training program is part of your “job.” There are people who track it for you and an obligation you have as an athlete to your professional career. But as someone who is doing it leisurely or non-professionally, you hold your own accountability and dedication to such habits that support your body.
The aesthetic of athleticism
The aesthetic of athleticism, especially as a personal style in fashion, is something I’m really drawn to. With my friend
, we often joke about “volley-core,” a style that I was meant to initiate that introduces volleyball attire into daily life. This joke refers, of course, to latest contemporary trends like “blokecore,” or most popularly “athleisure”—which is the mainstream term for bringing sports into everyday fashion.A brief history of athleisure traces its roots back to the 1930s, when the American sportswear brand Champion produced hoodies for working-class laborers braving freezing temperatures. Adidas later introduced “sport-to-street” tracksuits in the 1960s, which still remains today as an iconic crossover moment for athletic fashion. Then, in the 2010s, women’s rising preference for practical, transitional clothing—yoga pants for errands, gym leggings for brunch—catapulted athleisure into mainstream fashion. Collaborations between luxury brands and sportswear labels, along with athlete-driven cultural influence (like Naomi Osaka’s), expanded the aesthetic into a global phenomenon.
Though I appreciate this history, the life practice I’m talking about feels a little different—more grounded, less trend-driven. Athleisure has become a style that is almost too clean, sterile, meant to look athletic. But if you live in sportswear out of necessity, the relationship is much deeper and more organic.
The athletic fashion that I’m interested in here is one that is an extension of that athletic life—seeping into your everyday life not as a “look,” but as a part of your daily athletic practice. I’m talking about stepping out to grab a coffee before hitting the gym in your Adidas slides and white socks because it’s hot outside and you don’t want to change shoes. Or wearing your pair of Oakley glasses because you bought them for beach volleyball and the polarization brings you a certain comfort and visibility braving the London sun or staring at your computer screen in the garden.
But sports, in my opinion, is certainly the richest area for fashion to drawn inspiration from. Beyond the aspect of comfort, sportswear includes a range of fabrics, colors, and detail that are vibrant, bold, and carefully put together. Think of the sports jerseys aisle at a thrift/vintage clothing store: they’re always the most exciting with incredible designs. And jerseys, in particular, are of course designed to stand out on court/field, to have a presence that conveys comfort and confidence.
Embracing the in-between, or Sports Casual
As the style of bringing sports into everyday fashion is about contrast and juxtaposition, so is the commitment to something that doesn’t count professionally. It begins with navigating people’s confusion when they hear about the games and training but also realize you don’t get paid and it’s “just for fun.” It’s hard to explain the particular kind of seriousness that is also leisurely.
Competition still carries adrenaline and meaning, even when the scoreboard doesn’t determine your salary. And you remind yourself, and everyone else you speak with, that commitment isn’t reserved for professionals. It’s a choice. And it’s one worth making—whether it’s a team sport and club you play for or a marathon you’re getting to run or a new sport that you are picking up in your twenties or thirties.
Community and belonging
Finally, there’s a social world that opens up when you treat athletics as a life practice. Through volleyball, and joining a club, I ‘ve found community: spending time with teammates off the court, grabbing a pint and feeling shared emotions after a loss, win, or practice, attending or even traveling for tournaments together.
By being in a club or a team, you are naturally introduced to a group and become a part of one. The hassle of bringing a group of friends together—finding the right date or time—doesn’t really exist because everyone’s already there because of their individual commitment to the sport. The community is also not transactional. It isn’t built on networking or professional gain. It’s built on shared effort, trust, and a mutual love for the game.
In a world that increasingly values efficiency and visible productivity, there’s something quietly radical about carving out time for joy, rigor, and collective belonging—without needing it to "lead somewhere." The reward is already here.
The culture of athletics as life practice
Ultimately, there’s a whole culture around choosing to live like an athlete without the structures of professionalism. It’s about finding meaning, discipline, and joy in practices that aren’t externally validated or motivated.
It’s showing up at the gym for an early morning workout that no one asked you to, or the language of a sport that you share when chatting with your friends or teammates while engaging in a post-game review and evaluation.
It also honors the body not as an object of performance, but as a living archive of commitment and care. It reshapes ideas of competition, seriousness, and success: where winning might not mean beating others, but deepening your own relationship to the craft.
Most importantly, it’s of your own creation or curation—mixing work, play, rest, ritual, without clear borders. Packing a protein bar next to a novel in your bag. Wearing the Japanese football jersey you thrifted to practice. A culture that begins with the physical activities and extends to the social and stylistic curation of your life.
Have a lovely Sunday,
Melis