By JC LaVerde
Body types and archetypes shape how we perceive ourselves—often in ways that exist only in our own minds unless others affirm them.
From early on, we are bombarded with images of what it means to be “fit” or “athletic,” often defined by muscular builds, lean physiques, or an ability to perform extraordinary feats of strength or endurance.
But here’s the truth: the love in your heart, your passion, is what defines you as an athlete. It’s not the look; it’s the drive.
If that passion isn’t expressed outwardly—through physical action, participation, or dedication—you might never call yourself an athlete. But does that mean you aren’t one?
Perhaps it’s time to redefine what makes someone an athlete, starting with the simple notion that athleticism is as much about mindset as it is about muscle.
Fitness and athleticism are often mistaken as the same thing but occupy two very different worlds. While people in both categories might look similar, they are driven by different motivations.
Picture one person with a beer belly and a tattoo above their boots. Maybe they spend their days hauling heavy equipment on a job site. Then picture another: a broad-chested powerhouse who inhales protein for a living, always prepping for the next big lift or race. On the surface, these two individuals seem worlds apart, but technically, both could be considered “fit.”
The difference, however, lies in their purpose. One might be able to jump for a minute, the other for an hour. But what does that ability mean without a deeper intention behind it?
Athleticism is not just about physical prowess or hours spent in the gym. It’s about resilience, perseverance, and the willingness to push yourself—not just to get stronger or faster, but to grow as a person.
If a person approaches life with a softness of heart, remains humble in their strength, and finds joy in helping others with hard tasks, then you’ve got an athlete. It’s not about their time on the track or their numbers in the gym but how they use their strength to serve, uplift, and challenge themselves and others. An athlete isn’t defined by peak performance alone but by the consistency and heart they bring to their efforts, even when no one is watching.
On the other hand, if someone lifts heavy things only when asked or jogs merely to escape their problems, whatever and whenever those may be, what you’ve got is a “fitness” person—someone who trains for themselves and their immediate needs, rather than for a higher purpose. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this approach, but it lacks the depth of what true athleticism embodies: a growth mindset, service, and humility.
And to those athletes in their off-season, or perhaps in a season of recovery, remember, you’re still an athlete, even if you’re not at peak physical condition right now.
Athleticism is not something that comes and goes based on your current fitness level. It’s an identity. Veterans, first responders, and fathers especially understand this. Life changes, priorities shift, and physical conditions may fluctuate, but the heart of an athlete persists.
Whether you’re running a marathon, carrying your child on your shoulders, or enduring a long day of service, the athlete within you thrives. Athleticism, at its core, is about enduring with purpose and passion.
So, the next time you doubt your status as an athlete, remember that your heart, your discipline, and your willingness to serve are what truly define you.
Athleticism in Everyday Life
The athlete isn’t confined to the field, the gym, or the racetrack. Athletes exist in every corner of life.
Fathers who wake up early to get their kids ready for school while still maintaining their responsibilities at work are athletes. Veterans transitioning from military life to civilian roles while carrying the weight of their service are athletes. First responders who put their lives on the line, not for glory but for the safety of others, are athletes.
Being an athlete is about showing up every day, even when it’s hard, even when the world feels heavy on your shoulders. It’s about the discipline to push through, whether it’s a grueling workout, a demanding work shift, or the everyday challenges of fatherhood. It’s about resilience, about standing up after you’ve been knocked down—again and again.
This kind of athleticism often goes unseen. It doesn’t win medals or get broadcasted on sports channels. But it’s there in every small act of perseverance, in every moment of quiet strength. It’s the athlete who stays up late comforting a crying baby or the one who holds it together when life seems to be falling apart.