My favorite subject probably was math. I love math. Figures just
My favorite subject probably was math. I love math. Figures just intrigue me. I was really good at math. English probably was my worst subject. But I used to write a lot of poetry. I used to write poetry all the time.
"My favorite subject probably was math. I love math. Figures just intrigue me. I was really good at math. English probably was my worst subject. But I used to write a lot of poetry. I used to write poetry all the time." — so confessed Herschel Walker, the athlete of legendary strength, when reflecting upon his youth. These words strike us with surprise, for from the lips of a man known for speed, endurance, and the clash of bodies on the field, we hear instead of numbers and poetry. In this confession lies a profound truth: that the human spirit is never one-sided, that strength and sensitivity, reason and imagination, can dwell together in the same soul.
When Walker speaks of his love for math, we hear the voice of order, of precision, of the mind drawn to clarity and structure. Mathematics, the eternal language of the cosmos, reveals to those who study it a beauty as exact as it is unshakable. In figures and equations, Walker found intrigue, a realm where truth stands firm, where the answer is certain, and the path to it requires discipline. Math is the poetry of certainty, a song sung in symbols, a window into the harmony of creation.
Yet even as he loved numbers, Walker turned also to poetry, though he claims English was his weakest subject. Here is the paradox, and here is the wisdom: though the rules of grammar and essays frustrated him, his heart still reached for rhythm, for image, for song. He wrote poems “all the time,” because poetry does not require mastery of formal English, but only the courage to express what dwells within the soul. Poetry, unlike mathematics, does not demand certainty; it invites vulnerability. It is the realm where emotion is transfigured into words, and truth is felt rather than solved.
This duality — math and poetry — is not a contradiction but a reflection of the wholeness of the human spirit. History gives us examples of men and women who embodied both. Consider Omar Khayyam, the Persian mathematician who mastered algebra and astronomy, yet also penned verses that sang of love, mortality, and the fleeting beauty of life. In him, as in Walker, the logical and the lyrical were united. For the soul is vast; it does not confine itself to one mode of truth. The mind seeks patterns in numbers, and the heart seeks meaning in words — both are necessary, both are beautiful.
What Walker reveals to us, perhaps without intending, is that we must not imprison ourselves in narrow definitions of identity. The athlete can be a poet, the mathematician can be a dreamer, the warrior can be tender. Society too often teaches us to choose: to be strong but not soft, logical but not emotional, disciplined but not creative. But true greatness comes from embracing all dimensions of the self. To write poetry while excelling at sport is not weakness, but strength of another kind. It shows that the human spirit is infinite, not confined to one arena.
The lesson, O seeker, is clear: do not deny any part of your gift. If you love numbers, pursue them. If you love words, write them. If you are strong in body, do not neglect the soul; if you are rich in intellect, do not ignore the heart. Let yourself be whole, for wholeness is the true mark of wisdom. Herschel Walker’s memory of mathematics and poetry is not simply nostalgia; it is testimony that the greatest lives are those lived in fullness, without fear of contradiction.
Practical action lies before us: nurture both the logical and the creative within yourself. Read books of science and of song. Write verses even if your grammar falters. Work with numbers even if equations feel foreign. Encourage children not to choose between strength and sensitivity, but to hold both. For in the balance of opposites lies true power. In the embrace of math and poetry, body and soul, strength and vulnerability, we discover the vastness of what it means to be human.
Thus, let Walker’s words be remembered not only as the recollection of an athlete, but as a teaching for all: figures may intrigue you, poems may flow from you, and in both lies truth. Do not choose one path alone. Embrace the wholeness of your being, and you will live not as a fragment, but as a symphony.
CNCuc Nguyen
It’s interesting that Herschel Walker considered English his worst subject yet loved writing poetry. Maybe his connection to poetry was more personal and expressive, while his challenges with English might have been related to the technical aspects of the language. Could the act of writing poetry have been an emotional outlet for him, rather than a structured academic task? It’s a reminder that love for a subject isn’t always about academic performance.
VACao Van Anh
Herschel Walker’s reflection on his love for math and poetry made me think about how different types of intelligence and creativity show up in unexpected places. It seems like he was able to blend both the analytical and the artistic sides of his mind. I wonder how much this balance helped him in his career as an athlete. Could his love for poetry and math have contributed to his mental toughness or focus on the field?
S0Hoc sinh 01
I find it fascinating that Herschel Walker considered math his favorite subject, especially since many athletes are stereotyped as being less interested in academics. It makes me curious about the role of creativity in his life. How could someone who thrives in math, which is all about patterns and logic, also find joy in the free-flowing art of poetry? This contrast highlights the complexity of individuals, showing that people can have multifaceted interests.
KTTran thi kim Thoa
It’s interesting to hear that Herschel Walker, known for his athletic prowess, also has a strong connection with math and poetry. It makes me wonder how he found the balance between such logical, structured subjects like math and the creative, emotional expression of poetry. What does it say about people who excel in seemingly opposite areas? Is there a deeper connection between math and poetry than we might think, like the rhythm and structure of both?