I am not athletic. I repeat. I am not athletic.
Growing up I was never the athletic type. Sure I tossed around a football with my dad, occasionally played catch, and I would often dribble a ball down the street but that is where any resemblance of being athletic stopped.
Somewhere around the fifth grade though I decided it would be a brilliant idea to sign up for basketball. My friend’s dad was the coach and it seemed like it could potentially be fun. The actual rules to the game were completely foreign to me though. I remember going to late night practices and learning all the terms for different plays and where to stand and what each position was called. Come game day however, everything I learned the week before immediately escaped me and all I could do was run in what was hopefully the right direction. In case it wasn’t clear yet, basketball was not my sport.
I repeat. I am not athletic.
I will never forget that one game when I actually scored a basket. Completely on accident of course. You are giving me way too much credit if you actually think I made a basket due to skill. This was all due to some rare, never going to happen again, miracle. I can still hear the sound of the ball as it cleared the net. Everyone in the crowd stood and started cheering. Most out of surprise that I actually scored a basket.
What did I do? I stood there. Now let me be clear. I didn’t stand and stare at the basket for a couple minutes just to bask in my achievement. Nope. I stared at the basket with my jaw on the ground, unsure of what just happened. I continued to stand in that exact same spot despite the fact that everyone else had carried on with the game. The audience quickly went from cheering me on to historically laughing at the look of disbelief on my face.
Fast forward to high school and by this time I had learned my lesson. I was not athletic. Play sports for fun but never again sign up on a team. Despite my best efforts to avoid playing sports on a team, gym was a required credit. My gym experience summed up involved being chosen last, running up and down a court while never being thrown the ball, and generally looking confused as to what was going on. I remember asking my gym teacher what the point of me participating was since we both knew I would never get passed the ball. I was told to just look like I was doing something. Apparently even my gym teacher knew there was no hope for me in the athletics department.
That’s not to say I was bad at all sports. I was actually quite good at volleyball and archery. I could shoot a bow and arrow like there was no tomorrow. In fact I was able to use the compound bow, which was more complicated and difficult to pull, pretty easily. I remember some of the stronger boys in our class were incapable of doing this and I felt a sense of pride every time I did and my arrow hit the bulls eye. Despite only being 70 some pounds I could hold my own when it came to archery.
Volleyball had my heart though. It was the one sport that I often got chosen for first and others wanted me to be on their team. Although I wasn’t great at hitting the ball back and forth, I had a mean serve that kicked butt!
Since gym was a required credit I had no choice but to indulge in some type of athletic activity. I used to hate gym class. I always dreaded finding out what sport we had to play next. That is until Colby showed up. I will never forget the day when he ended up in my class. While everyone else groaned as I stepped up to plate, ready to hit the ball, Colby would chant my name and yell words of encouragement. There were times when he did this AND he was on the other team! There I was at home plate about to swing my bat and Colby would be in the outfield yelling that I could do it and to hit a home run. In tennis, we would pair up and even though he was better than me he would constantly encourage me and was 100% supportive.
That is the thing about my Colby (my husband). Even before we were together he always had my back. He was always there encouraging me, telling me to never give up, and would always lend a hand and help in whatever way he could. He taught me to not worry about anyone else and to just have fun with it. Once I learned to relax, I didn’t hate it anymore and we spent the whole class laughing as we hit the tennis ball back and forth.
Fast forward 10+ years and Colby is still at it with the encouragement. When I told him I wanted to start a new blog he was nothing but supportive. He wanted to know what it was going to be called, what I was going to write about, and when I was going to start.
So here it is folks. A new start to a new beginning. My home away from home. My small corner on the internet that I can call my own. The ramblings of my life.
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