On being not awesome

During my entire childhood and youth, I never willingly entered a sporting event.
When forced to compete, I came last in every race.
I missed every basket in basketball.
I failed to serve the ball over the net in volleyball.
I landed in the middle of the vaulting horse in gymnastics and could not do a backwards roll to save my life.
I don't even want to describe how bad I was at baseball.
Even my best friends would only choose me for their team if they had no other choice.
The only sports I found to be mildly attractive were cricket and hockey.
But I was no good at those either.
Nobody ever said, Wow, cool, Susan's on our team!


Nowadays, my friend Janet in England goes out on a Saturday and does a hundred-mile bike ride just for fun.
My friend Brenda just ran a marathon.
I have friends who climb mountains and do triathlons and bike 200 miles in a day.
It makes a girl feel insufficient, really it does!

Wednesday night will often find me out on a beautiful 16-mile bike ride in the country with friends.

Tonight was no exception.

On the way home, against the wind all the way, I was bemoaning my slowness. To accentuate my feebleness, consider this. My best friend, Barb, had come on her first ride on a borrowed bike. She was afraid that she would lag behind, but, to no one's surprise, she was faster than me. She pedaled up the big hill with ease, hardly changing gears. 

I was discouraged, even though I rocked the downhill on the way home!

Barb is a natural athlete. 

I am not. Everything I do in the way of physical activity is hard for me. I don't think it's my weight, because I was very slim until about ten years ago and even then it was always hard. Maybe I don't have enough motivation, or maybe I'm not built for it. 

Whatever the reason, it frustrates me.

Barb and I have exercised together for over 20 years and she has always been able to out-walk, out-run, out-everything me.

To Barb's credit, she is a very kind person and always pretends that she doesn't mind walking instead of running, or running slower than she needs, or, like tonight, hanging out in the back of the pack with me.
I couldn't ask for a better exercise-friend.

On the home stretch, after I indulged in my aforementioned moan, Kristi asked me what I liked to do as a child.

Wasn't that nice of her to ask? She has a gift of being interested in what you have to say.

It was an easy question. I loved to read and play the piano and listen to music and sketch and cook and sew. Sedentary occupations. I walked and rode my bike, but only as a means of getting somewhere, not for (perish the thought) exercise. 

So, even though I am not an awesome athlete, I am grateful for friends who encourage me and are patient when they have to wait for me to catch up.

Like Ellen, who picks me up and hauls my bike on the back of her van and never complains when I am too tired and weak to lift my bike onto the rack.

And Brenda, who encourages me to run and tells me she doesn't mind riding slowly so that I can keep up.

Because of them, I will continue to fight the good fight, even when it hurts.

That's Barb in front next to me.
She looks like she hardly broke a sweat.

When I got home, Jeff told me my face looks skinnier.
Which, no way it's true!
But Thanks dear, your face looks skinnier too!
Only his really does.