CONFESSION: I set out with a purpose; to share the things in life that move me, and make me move.
...and in doing so...will have a three-page text document written, when it's all said and done. At least.
I don't want to overwhelm you, friends and readers, so I'll just go ahead and break those three pages up into seperate blogs, and post those little chunks individually. Apparently, once I get going, I won't shut up.
I think I like this little series! I would like to do an entry about things I don't do/eat anymore...and of course, the sugar addiction subject. Maybe one about things I'd like to do? Hmm...
Let's counteract the food entries with an activity about poetry in motion...my favorite ways to move.
When I was in 7th grade, I wanted to get into basketball. I won't lie – I was heavily influence by Lola Bunny of Space Jam (SPACE JAM – NOT The Looney Tunes Show of today! YUCK.), and how cool-headed, fluid, and just plain awesome she was.
That, and even at that age, I felt that I needed to do something good for myself. The year before, the uncle that I was closest to had passed away...he suffered a cardiac arrest because a blood clot traveled from his leg to his heart. He was only in his mid-thirties. To this day, I miss him terribly.
So, basketball it was...although we had the required physical education class, I was still kind of a sedentary kid. At that age, the sense of imagination for hours of endless outside play had pretty much vanished, and I spent hours upon hours drawing, reading, watching TV...sitting.
It was hard, especially with my asthma. At one point, we had to run 10 minutes straight around the gym. My lungs couldn't handle it, and I stopped running, my throat feeling tight and my breath feeling labored and wheezy. My coach told me I needed to calm down and get back out there, but I couldn't until I had used my inhaler. At the end of the season, she told me that I needed to get into shape, and I of course took offense.
Basketball was a thing for me through 10th grade. I had a hard time with some of the mechanics/drills, my mind wouldn't always grasp the concept and I'd flub...but I was always the first one down the court on defense (usually post), and I was awesome at shooting. I had the best 3-point shot percentage of anyone during practice. I was denied my one chance to show off that particular skill at one game (and when I got home, I threw my dad's swivel-rocker across the living room).
I wasn't the best, by a long shot, but I loved it. I can't even explain why. I did my best, even if my internal thought wires were crossed...and I'll never, ever forget the shot I made...my one, in-game shot...a perfect two-pointer...and the crowd cheered for me. Holy h*ll. We lost the game that night, but that was such an awesome feeling.
And that other time where I got in and FOUGHT for the ball. Apparently, that was a very proud moment for my parents.
I didn't play during my Junior year (couldn't stand the coach), or my Senior year...I regret missing that last year. Although my “skills” DO come out and play with my work kiddos – I like to think that they're surprised to know that this old lady can move! ;-)