Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Painful childhood memory(s)explain current behavior.....
This morning I had one of Oprah's "light bulb" moments. I was nursing a cup of coffee and reading the Parade insert from last Sunday's paper.
Conquer Old Fitness Hang-Ups the article title read.
Do you cringe at memories of being the last kid picked for a team in gym class or being teased for having two left feet? The first line asked.
That really grabbed my attention....
Oh yes, I cringed and I still cringe.
I remember it like it was yesterday. Tales of a fifth grade girly girl.
We were in gym class and were being taught a new game. The game involved a small group running up and down the length of the gym, while bouncing a ball and trying to get it into a basket high off the ground. One team would try to score and the other would try to prevent them from doing so.
My first introduction to basketball. A team sport.
I liked the look of this game. It was better than baseball or kickball where the focus was on one kid.
A big time microscopic (feeling) focus on a "You can't really do much of anything athletic can you?" kid like me.
The teacher asked us to get into groups of five. Everyone looked around and picked a couple of friends.
I had lots of friends and figured it would be easy to gather a group.
No such luck, you see..... I had a reputation.
The girl most likely to.... fall, trip, choke, lose..... fail at any and all athletic endeavors.
It wasn't so much that I was the last kid picked that hurt...it was that the kid picked right before me had a broken leg.
How do you play basketball with a broken leg?
Better than me....that's how.
Then there was the memory of the time I decided to become a Black Belt (never mind that there were 500 levels before becoming a Black Belt).
There was a dojo (school) in our neighborhood that taught a style of judo.
With a hope of conquering something, anything resembling a smidgen of athleticism I signed up.
I had no idea what to expect when I went for my first lesson.
After struggling through the first five minutes of warm up I knew I was totally outta place.
Tales of a teenage girly girl.
The dojo was filled with girls (I'm pretty sure they were girls) wondering (aloud) why anyone would come to learn martial arts with a face full of makeup and curled hair.
After ten minutes of that brutal first lesson a strange fluid began to leak from my forehead and trickle down my face. On its way it gathered some mascara which dripped into my eyes and caused me to do that goofy opened mouth one eyed look...resulting in what could best be described as a wink.
The bull -dykes thought that was hilarious.
And maybe even a come-on.
I didn't go back to find out.
(Disclaimer.....Just so you know....I don't think that all girls that do karate or martial arts are bull-dykes or butch...I'm just sayin. And in case anyone reading this may have been in that class or remembers this event, my number is unlisted and I've changed my appearance so don't even bother trying to find me.)
Being pathetically un-athletic and The Person Most Likely Not To Ever Break A Sweat is a hang up I still carry to this very day....a few of my closest friends are gifted athletes and I've just recently learned that even my sister, who runs like a bow-legged penguin (it's a family thing) is a natural at throwing a little ball.
I'm told she's showing some promise as a decent Beer Pong player.
I do sometimes feel less than….
The author goes on to explain that because of these tramatic childhood events we don't want a repeat and tend to shy away from these kinds of things.
Reading that article helped me to realize that painful memories from my youth most certainly formed the person I am today.
One who shuns exercise and refuses to ever compete physically.
And God forbid, I ever do anything that makes me sweat....
The memory of that freakin burning mascara in my eye is still wayyyyy too fresh.
Some bloggers write "gimme me some love".... as far as I'm concerned, I'd love some love, but I'd even take some hate, some expressions of your disgust, your outrage, mild irritation, sheer joy...whatever, I can take it, honestly I can. Just please (please) leave a comment or two and let me know what you think. Merci.
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Fascinating theory. I, too, was wounded and scarred at the hands of gym glass. And now, I don't run, exercise or even dance. I never sweat and I am totally anti-sport.ReplyDelete
A true soul sista.... :-)ReplyDelete