"Athletically Challenged" Defined

I'm not joking when I say I'm athletically challenged. I have a long and brutal history of failed attempts at any type of sport. I also despise cardiovascular activity. The only way I find it bearable is if I'm playing some type of game where I'm not solely focused on my labored breath. Unfortunately for me, every single one of my forays into the world of sports has resulted in either injury or unmitigated humiliation.



I'm sure that at some point in time, I have broken my nose. I honestly can't remember the number of volleyballs & tetherballs (and one time even a basketball) I have taken to the face. I tried roller/ice skating. After bruising my tailbone three times, I decided my skills must lie elsewhere. Alas, I am still searching for my hidden skills at, well, something. I failed swim classes as a child. I didn't learn how to ride a bike until I was in 3rd grade (not for lack of trying!), and I puked after my first one-mile-run in kindergarten.

However, my most embarrassing failure by far was when I decided to join a recreational softball team. By the time I entered high school, I had come to terms with the fact that I just was not good at anything that required quick reflexes. I succussfully avoided these types of activities until my senior year of college, when the memories of my prior failures had begun to wane. A friend of mine was on the team and said they needed another girl, so I agreed to join.

Our team was not good. In fact, we were horrible. It was all in good fun, though, until our final play-off game. I usually was in the outfield (which I loved because my importance to the game was minimal), but in that particular game I was asked to play catcher. I was extremely nervous about this, and as a result my entire game suffered. Let's ignore for a moment the fact that I couldn't catch the ball as well as the fact that I had no idea which base to throw to if there was more than one person running. The worst part of this story occured while I was at bat.

First of all, I'd like to note that I have no problem actually hitting the ball. It's AFTER I've hit the ball that things go wrong. As soon as I've made my hit, my mind is screaming "RUN! RUN!" I do not calmly put the bat down behind the plate before I start running. No, I hurl it behind me as I take off, more often than not hitting the umpire. After doing this a couple of times at that particular game, the umpire was incredibly pissed at me (not that I blamed him). My third time at bat, he even gave me a warning about not throwing the bat behind me.

I take my position, swing, and strike. I try again. HIT! GO! GO! GO! I take off running and out of the corner of my eye I see that they've got the ball and it will be at first base in no time. In my mind I'm screaming FASTER! FASTER! My upper body leans forward in an attempt to pick up speed. Unfortunately, my legs can't keep up, and I trip. I trip and I SLIDE. I slide and I slide and I finally stop....a foot away from first base. The field is dead silent until someone runs up and says "Oh my God, are you okay?"

I rolled over in the dirt and just started laughing because it's the only thing I could think to do. Somebody helped me up and I limped over to our team's bench. The umpire was glaring at me because, yet again, I had hit him with the bat. My teammates were obviously trying to contain their laughter as one of them said "Great, uh, dedication, Steph....You do know you're not allowed to slide into first, right?" I sheepishly smiled and said "I didn't know that. Good thing I tripped, then." It was only as I sat on the bench that I fully took stock of my condition. My knees were bleeding and my pants were torn. I was still trying to wipe the dirt from my face. The worst part, though, was that I was ALMOST covered head to toe in that orange dirt. I say ALMOST because my chest was solid orange, while the stomach of my t-shirt was pristinely white. From that moment on I was known to my teammates as "Dirt Boobs".

The game ended soon after that (thank goodness) and afterwards I went to the field house to return my glove. I asked the guy working there if they had any bandaids since my knees were still bleeding. He handed me one. "Um, could I have, like, three more?" I asked. He gave me a puzzled look, started to hand over the bandaids, then froze as he said "Were you that chick who tried to slide into first?!?" I ripped the bandaids out of his hand as I screamed back "I TRIPPED!" then stormed out, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.



Because of my history it was with great trepidation that I signed up for this triathlon. I'm hoping that the supportive atmosphere of the team and the fact that it's for a fantastic cause will help minimize the effects of any embarrassment I may bring upon myself. My non-athlete motto: Try, try, try again.