Just Do It Already

As anyone who knows me will tell you, I’m not an athletic person.  I mean, I quite liked ballet.  And, when I was very young, my family called me The Fish, but playing “Beauty Salon” in the pool doesn’t really count as being athletic.  I do go running now and again, but only when I’m feeling it.  And whenever we played kickball or Red Rover at recess, it was on like Donkey Kong. Beyond that,..  Not so much.

I am familiar with all the sports, but only because I’ve dated guys who did one or all of them.  And, while I’m the only one of my sister’s who wasn’t actually a cheerleader, I must have paid attention, because I make a great one.

“Oh, look at my man spike that ball.”

“Did you see him steal second?”

“You should have seen his face after he scored his 1000th point.”

I learned about soccer at age 14.  His name was Scott.  There I was in the stadium for football at age 15.  Go Cowboys! My golf clap was perfected at the tender age of 16.  Mike was the Captain of the team and so cute in his button-down Polo, khakis, and Bass Weejuns.  In Chem class, I studied up on the history of Wimbledon for the next Scott.  The basketball star was my freshman year at college, and I do still love to watch college ball.  Softball, volleyball, basketball and surfing all at the age of 19.  I spent countless hours at the beach that year, but, to be fair, I almost married him.  So, yeah, I’ve dated all the sports – even rugby and crew.  But, really, I could take or leave any of them.

I’m not team oriented, unless the team we’re talking about is my family.  I don’t get competitive with other people.  It’s not that I’m afraid I won’t be any good.  It’s that I just don’t care.  And I don’t think that makes me a bad person.

There’s something about this horse-thing, though, that just has me wanting to be good, and I’m not. My heels won’t stay down.  (That’s all that ballet.  Thanks, Madame Sidorov.)  My left knee won’t stay bent.  I don’t keep my knees tight enough or far enough in from of the girth.  Kahlua won’t keep up our trot without me flicking her, which I really hate.  I can never walk.  I’ve lost all feeling in my hoohah.  But, dammit, I’m going to jump this horse, if it kills me.

And it’s going to be great.

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