On being Sporty.

There are people in this world like my boyfriend who watch and play every sport ever created. Then, there are people like me who balance out the universe by having nothing to do with sports. Once in a while though our worlds collide when I decide to join him on the couch and follow his lead in cheering or cursing at whoever is playing on TV. I’ve found the process a lot of fun, especially when in a public place with a cold glass of beer and hundreds of crazy fans all yelling in unison at the TV screens.

This summer, I’ve taken the next step from viewing to actually participating. I’m part of a local kickball league that meets once a week during the summer time. I am not particularly good at kickball. In fact this is the first time I’ve played it; no joke. And I bet you, I was the only one on that team who was nervous to the point of throwing up during the first game because I was so afraid of…sucking at kicking apparently!

My fear was more about being part of a team rather than the sport itself. The reason I like running is because I do it alone most of the time and it’s just me and the road. I am new to this collective feeling of pride, loss, happiness, excitement, and encouragement.

I still have to make it to first base, and I need to stop running away from the ball when I’m fielding, ( I run with my arms in the air and then when the ball is almost in my arms, I scream and run away). But they still gave me a team shirt that has # 1. I think the number was a coincidence, but I sure do walk around like I mean it! I’m having so much fun.

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