Along with rejoining the gym near our house—yes, yes, I said ‘re’joining. It’s true, I’ve been down this road before!— anyways, I have been on a quest to keep active in other areas. I was never a real sporty kind of gal growing up, although I did participate in high jump during middle school (Grade 7 & 8)—that was pretty well shelved when I entered the distracting world of high school. So, in the last couple of years, I have been looking around at various outdoor ‘sports’ to see which would work the best for me at this stage of my life.
I pulled my bicycle out of the garage, pumped air in the tires, donned my newly purchased bike helmet, and we were off! I recall the wind whistling past my ears, the sun warm on my face, just as a thought tumbled by stating: Hey, I remember how to do this! No problem! This is perfect for me!
Yep, I was pumped! I took the first corner at a fast clip—in hindsight far too fast—and ran smack into a gathering of rather large construction cones. I flew up into the air as graceful as a sack of potatoes, right over the handlebars I sailed, and down onto the sidewalk. And trust me when I say it wasn’t just my pride that was hurt that day—ouch, ouch, triple ouch!
Back into the garage went the bike.
Project # 2:
Ice-skating—may as well work with the seasons. I used to love skating! (The operative words being ‘used to.’)
Back to the store I went, and home quickly with brand new skates. Off to the arena I hurried happy as a…well, a skater. I was doing okay until they switched direction. You remember the fancy footwork manoeuvre?…you know, the cross one foot over the other, as you round a corner?…apparently, I’m good in one direction, not so much in the other.
When I fell, my butt hit the ice first, then back onto my elbows, and finally smack went my head (no helmet this time…tsk, tsk!) on to the ice. I lay there for a minute, giving myself time to do a mini body scan (always alert for any new injuries), before making my shaky way back up onto my feet.
Two rink guards, who were shorter than me, younger than me, and most definitely much better skaters, worried around me like clucking hens until I finally agreed to sit the next song out.
Into the garage went the skates.
Basically I’m a klutz. I trip going up the stairs, I fall going down. I bump into doorways, I fumble and drop plates, glasses…stuff!
Just the other week I was encouraged to sign up for a baseball game put together by my work. I’m told it is important to participate in such events, important to be a team player. In addition, it’s an opportunity to have fun, to meet people…yada, yada, yada. I’m new at my recent place of employment, and surely, my reputation of uncoordinated behaviour has not proceeded me, so I thought, why not?
It was a perfect after work kind of day. Blue, blue sky, not too warm, not too cool. It was the top of the second inning. I’m up to bat. I hit the ball…oh yea!!….first base here I come! Come on feet do your stuff!
In the middle of my sprint, I realize I’m in trouble. Picture it with me if you will—the feet are a blur of activity, but the body, well the body is leaning too far, way too far forward. Internal alarm bells start to go off! I attempt a correction, but the body is now at a very dangerous tilt. My brain makes the call: You’re goin’ down!
And, oh yes, I went down. I went down hard!
It’s true, as Newton proclaimed, a body in motion tends to stay in motion.
As I slid, bounced, and tumbled my way through and over the gravel—oh, and lovely gravel it was—I stretched my right arm out and slammed my hand onto the bag at first base.
When the cloud of dust settled, I looked up into the face of the young man assigned to first. Eyes wide he stepped back awkwardly, the ball already settled loosely in his glove “You okay?” he asked looking down at me. He knew, and I knew, that what he really wanted to say was, “what the hell just happened?”
As I picked dirt out of both hands, and mopped the blood up from my elbow with my shirt, my hubby arrived to watch my game. When he asked how the game was going, I held up my bloodied hands, and pointed to my injured elbow. His head dropped…chin to chest…“No, no,” he muttered shaking his head. Obviously, he was shaken by my near death experience.
As he strolled back to his motor bike to retrieve some antiseptic wipes (how handy is that? He comes to my game with a First Aid kit…go figure!), I caught a look of relief as it slipped across his face. Was he perchance thankful that he was not present, sitting up there in the stands, when my ‘big fall’ took place? I looked closer, careful not to lean too far forward. No, I was mistaken. It must have been a shadow, a play of evening light crossing his face. That’s all it was. Right?
So hubby and I have decided, together, as a team, that perhaps it is safer to stick to what I know, what I enjoy—reading and writing it is! Yahoo!!
Oh, and I was safe at first. At least that’s what they told me, and I’m going to go with that.