I'm not working out tonight, as I will spend the evening pretending to be my daughter and walking the halls of her new Middle School during her Open House. We walked her classes on Welcome day, and my own Middle School experience haunted me. I hope I have equipped her with more confidence than I had. I hope I have equipped her with more of an ability to forgive herself and accept mistakes. Middle School was when I decided that I was not an athlete. I wish I could have decided something different.
I decided to go out for track when I was in seventh grade. I thought it would be good to learn a sport as I had no specific sport skill at this point. Track would surely help me find my calling. Since I had no running desire or ability, which should have stopped me there, the track coaches decided to try me out on various side events- the long jump, the high jump, and shot put.
The long jump was an uneventful bust. I just could not jump. The shot put had some promise, but the ultimate story goes to the high jump. My school had just bought a fancy new high jump bar... blue plexiglass type number... very proud of it. They put the high jump bar on the lowest level and showed me how to jump, and of course, I completely blew the whole jump. I landed on my back half way on the landing pad and half way on the grass, and the brand new high jump bar dropped on the grass with me landing on it.
Imagine my horror when the boys picked it up and said, "It's cracked, coach." I cracked the high jump bar! The coach was incredibly angry. In retrospect, I should have been angry that they didn't allow me any practice runs, or even had me skip having a bar in place until they knew I could clear it. And even though I was a normal sized gal, the implication became that I cracked it due to my fat ass, not the way it landed or some other defect in the bar. You know, truth be told, it might have already been cracked, but sadly nobody thinks of these things.
After a day or two, the external mortification subsided in track. People stopped talking about it, accepted that the bar was cracked and moved on. I, however, could not move on. I never tried high jump again. We can be more horrible to ourselves than any other bully, and I did just that. I kept reminding poor little self what a klutzy lazy non-athlete I was until I completely believed my own rhetoric. I replayed the horror of the cracked bar anytime I tried something new. Man, I was so mean to me. I really should kick my own ass.
Off to open house I go. I can't wait until I hear about PE! I'll ask if they will do high jump. I'll ask if they allow the jumpers to jump without bars until they clear the bar area. They will think I'm nuts. Tomorrow, they will tell my daughter. She will put her head in her hands and say "My mom has issues with the high jump." Just kidding. I wouldn't embarrass her like that.... not intentionally at least.
Tomorrow I have the day off, and I am attempting two classes in ONE DAY. WHAT? You heard me. Two classes. They both seem super fun and none of them involve a high jump bar, so I can't lose!
PS: Sleep was great last night. I'm doing the Yin Yoga again- 100% yes.
I decided to go out for track when I was in seventh grade. I thought it would be good to learn a sport as I had no specific sport skill at this point. Track would surely help me find my calling. Since I had no running desire or ability, which should have stopped me there, the track coaches decided to try me out on various side events- the long jump, the high jump, and shot put.
The long jump was an uneventful bust. I just could not jump. The shot put had some promise, but the ultimate story goes to the high jump. My school had just bought a fancy new high jump bar... blue plexiglass type number... very proud of it. They put the high jump bar on the lowest level and showed me how to jump, and of course, I completely blew the whole jump. I landed on my back half way on the landing pad and half way on the grass, and the brand new high jump bar dropped on the grass with me landing on it.
Imagine my horror when the boys picked it up and said, "It's cracked, coach." I cracked the high jump bar! The coach was incredibly angry. In retrospect, I should have been angry that they didn't allow me any practice runs, or even had me skip having a bar in place until they knew I could clear it. And even though I was a normal sized gal, the implication became that I cracked it due to my fat ass, not the way it landed or some other defect in the bar. You know, truth be told, it might have already been cracked, but sadly nobody thinks of these things.
After a day or two, the external mortification subsided in track. People stopped talking about it, accepted that the bar was cracked and moved on. I, however, could not move on. I never tried high jump again. We can be more horrible to ourselves than any other bully, and I did just that. I kept reminding poor little self what a klutzy lazy non-athlete I was until I completely believed my own rhetoric. I replayed the horror of the cracked bar anytime I tried something new. Man, I was so mean to me. I really should kick my own ass.
Off to open house I go. I can't wait until I hear about PE! I'll ask if they will do high jump. I'll ask if they allow the jumpers to jump without bars until they clear the bar area. They will think I'm nuts. Tomorrow, they will tell my daughter. She will put her head in her hands and say "My mom has issues with the high jump." Just kidding. I wouldn't embarrass her like that.... not intentionally at least.
Tomorrow I have the day off, and I am attempting two classes in ONE DAY. WHAT? You heard me. Two classes. They both seem super fun and none of them involve a high jump bar, so I can't lose!
PS: Sleep was great last night. I'm doing the Yin Yoga again- 100% yes.
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