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. Playing “Beauty Salon” in the pool doesn’t really count as being athletic, though. Whenever we played kickball or Red Rover at recess, it was on like Donkey Kong. I do go running and to the gym now and again, but only when I'm feeling it. 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 sisters 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 basket.”

I learned about soccer at age 14. His name was Scott. There I was in the stadium to cheer on Jeff at every football game the year I turned 15. Go Cowboys! My golf clap was perfected at the tender age of 16. John was the captain of the golf team, and when we went out on dates, I thought he looked really cute in his button-down Polo, khakis, and Bass Weejuns. Instead of paying attention in Chemistry class, I spent all my time studying up on the history of Wimbledon for Scott #2.

Then there was my alternative year, when I ran around with a bunch of skateboarders. Ty landed a ollie before any of his buddies could. The basketball star was my freshman year at college, and I do still love to watch college ball. Softball, volleyball, and surfing all at the age of 19. I spent countless hours either in the stands or at the beach that year, but, to be fair, I almost married him. So, yeah, I’ve dated all the sports - even had flings with skiing, snowboarding, rugby, and crew.

I'll still sit and watch sports, if the person I'm with is into it. Heck, I'll even bring some dip, wear the shirt, and root for their team. Happy to do it. But, really, I could take it or leave it.

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 at sports. It’s that I just don’t care. And I don’t think that makes me a bad person, or even an uninteresting one.

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.) My left leg won’t stay bent. I don’t keep my knees in tight enough or far enough in front 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.