Sports + Me = Bad Idea

    Wouldn’t it just have been special to be one of those remarkable tomboys who excelled in sports, always was picked first for teams, and played hard and well at everything she did?  I think so too.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t me.  I was the shortest kid in the class who was the last one picked for games.  I was the one the whole team would audibly groan if they got stuck with me.  I was never very athletic.  I had no coordination and always sucked at every sport I tried.  Some kids like me are just not meant to rule the athletic fields.

     When I was little, a bunch of kids would get up a game of soccer at recess.  For some reason that seems completely beyond me at this point, I usually joined into this mad a$$ chase after the soccer ball.  I may have gotten the opportunity to kick the stupid ball once or twice in the whole time I made an effort to look like I was playing but I never did anything remarkable like score a goal.  If I would have, my classmates would surely have died from the shock.  I was always placed as far outfield as I could get without leaving the schoolyard when playing kickball or softball.  I would stand out there and pray the ball would not come my way so I wouldn’t have the opportunity to make a complete fool of myself.  Ahh, those were the days.

      All things athletic escaped me and didn’t really improve as I grew older.  The powers that be forced all students to participate in gym class through the 10th grade.  I used to despise the obstacle courses that my gym teachers would set up to torture me in front of my peers.  In junior high I made it to my last event before I puked my guts.  My gym teacher had the balls to saunter up and ask me if I intended on completing the event. Was he kidding?  Hell no!!  I just tossed my lunch on the gym floor.  I am done.  Be happy I made it to the last event! 

       In tenth grade an elephant vault was included in the course.  Basically you had to run up, jump on a springboard, which would effectively catapult you up to the top of the parallel bars which had gym mats laid across it, and then you were supposed to jump to the ground and haul a$$ through the rest of the obstacles to the finish line at record speed.  It was a lovely thought in theory, but the gym teachers hadn’t counted on someone as hopeless as me coming along.  In front of my whole class, I ran up at top speed, hit the springboard, and smashed right into the mat.  SPLAT!!!  I fell backwards on my a$$ with the whole gymnasium exploding in laughter.  It was one of the most mortifying experiences of my life.  Like a Charlie Brown cartoon you could literally see the “HA HA HA HA’s!!” in the air.

     It shouldn’t have come as any surprise when I got the brain fart to run with the girl’s cross country team in senior year that those witnessing the debacle of me arriving after running 4 ½ miles were in complete shock.  I remember bending over gasping for breath while sweat literally poured off of me when the senior quarterback of the football team sauntered up and congratulated me on my achievement.  Unfortunately I was to busy dying at that precise moment to come up with anything cool to say so I puked on his high priced tennis shoes instead.  

       I was completely shocked and thrilled when I was awarded a lettermen’s jacket at the conclusion of the season.  I certainly couldn’t have received it because I had won every race or because I had been an asset to the team.  Maybe they were so amazed that I actually survived the season and lived to tell the tale they figured I deserved a token of their esteem.  Whatever the case,  I flaunted that letterman’s jacket like I was top athlete on campus until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Sweet Serenity Alongside the Road

     When I was a senior in high school I got this screw ball notion that I had to have a letters man jacket.   Never having been the athletic type,  that left me in a real dilemma since only athletes ever acquired this coveted item.  Since I was about the farthest thing from the athletic type as you could get, there really weren’t to many sports that I could even attempt without making a complete a$$ of myself.  Some how I managed to keep up with the girls cross country team and earned a jacket that still hangs in my closet to this day.  Even though I came in last place in every race, I was proud that I finished.
 
      Every day the team was required to run 6-8 miles for practice.  I often found myself left behind by the pack.  One other girl was in the same boat as I was, and we struggled along together.  Along  quiet winding roads we raced with the air peppered only with the sounds of our feet pounding the pavement and our labored breathing breaking up the serenity of the landscape.  

      One time while running we came across a group of cyclists racing along the same road.  They were outfitted in professional gear and quickly sped past us as we made our way back to the school.  I remember wishing I was on one of the fast moving bicycles with the air blowing in my face  instead of running along on my own power sweating like a stuck pig.   I also remember jumping off the road into the ditch, so sure I was that they would hit me as they passed.  I discovered in those moments how truly fast I could run and how drenched a person could become from traffic splashing mud on you as they sped past.  

          Still even the best memories were soon ruined with the reality of the situation.  On one such occasion, I arrived back at the school resembling a drowned rat with mud splashed high up on my legs.  The over exertion must have affected my brain, because instead of stopping in the locker room to dry off and clean up like a normal person, I burst into the gym looking like I was from outer space to the amusement of the volleyball team who barely looked like they ever broke a sweat or had a hair out of place.  Needless to say, I beat a hasty retreat to the locker room to the sound of laughter and the irritating snickers of everyone in the gym. 

        Instead of reveling in my attempts at fitness, I often found myself wondering about the possibility that I would die along side the very road I was running on in a big sweaty heap.  I had learned my lesson well, and the moment of insanity for glory  passed as soon as I had my letter men jacket in my hot little hands.  Looking back on the whole thing now, I wonder why I thought a letters man jacket was so important.  In hindsight, if I would have continued to run,  the middle aged spread might not have taken it’s toil quite so viciously.  Until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
     

Picture Perfect: There They Go!