One fleeting moment

I was NOT an athletic child. I always preferred to be reading a book. I read just about everything Laura Ingalls wrote. We didn't get too many magazines, but we did always get the Reader's Digest. We also had plenty of the hardcover Reader's Digest hardcover editions (the ones that would condense four current books); I think those came from my grandmother. I read, I read and read and read. All of the long summer days that I spent alone, without having any other kids my age in my neighborhood, I read. Silence was pretty important in my house, since my father worked the midnight shift. Jumping about and shouting was not encouraged, in my house OR in the backyard while he was asleep. Most days he'd go to bed between two and three PM, and after I'd gone to bed, he'd get up for work. So I read.

At any rate, I never really found "my" sport. I did join the track team once in high school, to try to break away from being the uber-nerd that I was. The coach was merciful. I certainly wasn't a breakout star. She figured out that she could put me in with the racewalkers, and I actually came in second or third in a couple of races. I eked out enough points in her system that I earned a school letter.

There were bad moments, of course. The day that I raced against a girl that was so far superior to me, she actually lapped me during the race, right before she finished. The moment wouldn't have been complete without two of her friends, standing alongside that turn, saying to each other, "Look, look." Of course I noticed them laughing at me.

There was also one moment from another race that I can still recall, when I somehow found a surge of energy on the last turn to fight off another girl, who was trying to move past me. I actually called up that moment, when I was trying to deliver my daughter. Three hours of pushing was getting nowhere, and I really wanted to just quit and go home because who needs to have a baby anyway? Not me. Somehow I pulled up that reserve using that fragment of memory out of my past and finished the job, with the help of a REALLY effing scary looking pair of forceps. Holy crap. That's a story for another day.

Considering the fact that I overheard my parents making a bet as to whether or not I'd even finish out the track season, I was secretly fiercely proud of that letter. Even though I didn't get to the awards ceremony, I made sure I got the actual letter, and I still have it. I don't think they meant to be cruel. They just saw how out of character "track" was for me, and didn't know what to do with it. Some people like things to be familiar and stay the same and can't handle the idea of something changing. I was not an athlete, and me trying on sneakers was (to them) something like the Pope walking into McDonalds for a cheeseburger.

In my adult life I have not incorporated exercise successfully, since I pretty much have no sports skills. I can't play tennis, ski, or golf or bowl (in my mind, bowling is NOT a sport, since you can drink the entire time, but whatever). I have been trying to effect some small change in the last month or so. I started walking while I was out of work after my surgery, because I wanted to get some energy back and enjoy the Indian summer that we were having.

I walked on my neighbor's treadmill yesterday. (Actually, I managed to get there four times in the past week.) I secretly enjoy being alone in the garage; how strange is that? I guess part of the attraction is being uninterrupted in my thoughts, but another part is that no one's looking at me, thinking "she's clumsy" "she's not walking very fast" etc.

I had my daughter's iPod, and midway through my intervals workout, something happened. One tiny molecule of endorphins formed somewhere in my body. In the slower intervals of the program, I was dancing a cha-cha to Michael Buble' on the treadmill, walking sideways to Kelly Clarkson, and for a moment I actually HAD FUN. Doing something athletic. Me. When I realized, I looked around just a little bit, to make sure no one was watching, and "ohmygod" flashed through my mind. I was working out AND enjoying it.

I've gotta get my own iPod though. I mean, really - Michael Buble' ??