I went hiking again this Sunday, dragging myself up a boulder field because I was SO CLOSE to the top that I hated to turn back and give up. I am paying for it today, hobbling around like I’m three times my age and with aches in muscles that I was not previously aware existed.
This hiking problem of mine is really getting out of hand.
Remember just a few weeks ago when I said there was no way I would ever manage to earn a 50-floor badge with my FitBit unless I climbed a mountain or something? Two weeks later, I climbed a mountain or something. According to my altimeter, Zoe and I climbed the equivalent of 81 flights of stairs, which does not possibly seem right until I remember how my legs felt after shuffling up snow-covered trails in shoes that were really not intended for walking on snow and ice.
Dogs and hiking go together really well.
I won’t rule it out entirely
I guess I could, especially if I climbed a mountain. Or the Corning Tower. Or something else equally tall.
Daria’s approach to volleyball differs from mine in that she did not actively run away from the ball.
I am an un-athletic person. I wasn’t the person picked last in gym: I was the person who team captains would have shipped off to another school, if they could, rather than select me for their teams. There’s no physical or mental reason why I’m bad at sports, other than just being bad at sports. I’ve always just been a little uncoordinated and slow.
I ran around and rode bikes growing up, as children do. I took swimming lessons and played a few seasons of pee-wee soccer, and took dance lessons for years. I was pretty terrible at all of it, but nobody really cares when you’re six. It barely mattered that the teams I was on for all three summers of soccer never won any games. I got a cool t-shirt and got to sit in a field and pick flowers while everyone else was off somewhere else chasing the ball.
Playing sports for fun just wasn’t part of my life. Are parents supposed to teach you how to catch and throw a ball? I don’t remember mine doing that. Walking in the woods? Sure! Snowshoeing? Fun! Cross-country skiing? I had my own pair when I was five! In high school, we actually did have a cross-country skiing unit in gym class. I thought it would be my time to shine, or at least to finally not be terrible at something. Ten years of practice made me only slightly less terrible at it than classmates just trying it for the first time. Figures. Read More →
New at The Consumerist