ADHD and Exercise

Growing up, I detested gym class. There really isn’t a stronger word for it.

I forgot my gym clothes every single gym period. I don’t think I brought a change of clothes once in all of middle school—maybe one time, but I can’t be sure. That alone could explain some of my hatred, but it went deeper than that. I was physically weak. Sit-ups felt impossible. Running hurt my legs and left me winded almost immediately. Anything involving a team was a disaster—not only because I was a severe introvert, but because I wasn’t athletic, and no one was excited to have me on their team.

I couldn’t run. I couldn’t jump. I tired quickly. I was thin, probably anemic. I wore glasses, which somehow felt like yet another obstacle. I hated everything about gym. I envied the kids who got sick or injured because they got to sit out or go to the nurse. Eventually, I started getting “sick” during gym period too.

Outside of school, I played zero sports. I didn’t swim at the beach. I didn’t play little league or take dance classes. I barely played outside. I wasn’t an outdoor person at all. Sledding? No. The one time I went sledding with friends in middle school, I peed in my snowsuit—and yes, I was old enough to know better. It didn’t even occur to me that people might notice. No one said anything.

I wasn’t coordinated. I had poor muscle tone, little core strength, and bad balance. You get the picture.

Trying

In high school, somehow, I was convinced to join both the softball and basketball teams. I’m still not entirely sure why I agreed, except that one of my few strengths—despite my many weaknesses—is a willingness to try new things in the hope that maybe I’ll like them.

I was terrible at both.

I went to a small private high school, and our basketball “court” was a carpeted Catholic gym. I couldn’t catch. I couldn’t throw. I couldn’t make a basket. I couldn’t see well. I didn’t understand the rules. I never knew which direction I was supposed to be running, so I just followed the group.

Softball wasn’t much better. I think I hit the ball twice in my entire softball career. I was always placed in center outfield—the least likely position to see any action. It was boring. They were desperate. Once I got my license, I quit and got a job.

The only thing I liked about sports was the routine and the sense of being part of something. Everything else? I hated.

Adulthood and the Idea of Fitness

I tried going to the gym in college, but I was completely clueless. When my husband and I started dating, I tried again and quickly lost interest. I liked the idea of fitness. I just found it boring. I wasn’t athletic, and I assumed exercise simply wasn’t for people like me. I wasn’t exactly a “boy mom” chasing kids around fields. My husband took the kids snowboarding while I stayed in the hotel and wrote in my journal. 

So it came as a genuine shock—a huge one—when a friend convinced me to try working out with a private trainer in a small group. To my surprise, I liked it. Not loved it, but liked it.

Then I had a miscarriage. I stopped going for a long time.

In my thirties, as I started gaining weight, I tried spinning. And to my surprise again, I really liked it. I went regularly. I loved the routine. The music. The predictability. The familiarity of the room, the bike, the instructor’s language. I didn’t have to balance. I didn’t need hand–eye coordination. I didn’t have to move around too much or perform for anyone. I felt focused. Confident. Grounded.

Then COVID hit.

I gained about forty pounds and became deeply depressed. I canceled our YMCA membership and eventually joined a health club. I had never really learned how to swim, but I could keep myself afloat, so I started with aquatics classes. The classes were full of older women, and again—to my surprise—I loved it. 

Once more, it was the same themes: routine, familiarity, steady movement. I was challenging my body without performing. I wasn’t responsible for a team. I wasn’t letting anyone down. I wasn’t scoring points. I could move at my own pace. Over time, I added spinning back in. Then barre. Pilates. Strength training. TRX.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something shocking:

I loved working out.

The stronger I got and the more physical fit the more I found I liked physical activity like hiking , swimming and biking and adventures that usually scared me when I was younger. 

The ADHD Connection

This realization floored me because my entire life I believed I “wasn’t athletic.” I wasn’t good at sports. I had low muscle tone. Exercise felt like failure and humiliation.

But this—this—worked.

What charmed me were the same things every time: structure, routine, a clear beginning and end, instructors keeping me on task, measurable progress, personal goals. I could work side by side with others without competing. I was challenging my body, succeeding, and building confidence.

And something else happened.

When I worked out, I felt focused. My mind quieted. It was the same feeling I get when I paint. When my body was busy, my mind settled. When I’m sitting still—writing, thinking—my brain feels like a runaway engine. Movement changed that. 

That’s when I began to connect exercise and ADHD. Now I regularly say I don’t exercise for my body, I excerisze for my brain its not something I want to do its something I HAVE to do. When I don’t I get depressed and uncontrollably anxious , impulsive and inattentive. Its like the gravity machine in the space movies the orbit that spins out of control. 

Something I had avoided and resented most of my life was actually something I needed. I felt better when I was active. I was building muscle, which made daily life easier. I’m still not a team player. I don’t like huddles or group performance. I’m a solitary athlete. But once I had the freedom to choose what worked for me, I thrived. Not only did I find during workouts my brain quieted but I found I was more on task for hours afterward, like I felt smarter. My memory worked. I am more on task. Rather than going to the market and standing there for 20 seconds before remembering what I came in to get, or coming into get two things and ending up with a cart full of groceries and candles and a plant for my living room that I liked. 

Now I work out three to five days a week, and when the weather is nice, I walk in between. My brain needs this. I’m not sure if it’s the routine, the predictability, the familiarity, or the brain chemicals—dopamine, endorphins, serotonin—but it works.

The Science

Only later did I learn that research supports what I was experiencing.

Exercise reduces ADHD symptoms. It increases dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin—chemicals ADHD brains tend to be low in. Regular activity improves focus, executive function, and impulse control. 

Recent research also shows why movement helps so much: stress balls, walking, and “brain breaks” help people with ADHD focus. Teachers use music and movement to help neurodivergent children regulate during group time. 

As one CHADD article explains, the ADHD brain thrives on structure, novelty, skill-building, and measurable outcomes—exactly what strength training and consistent exercise routines provide.
(Source: CHADD, Exercise and ADHD)