it keeps me humble

My history with sporting gear is storied. In reality, there's only one story: I touch a ball, it hurts me.

I solved this personal in adequacy in high school by participating in one sport: track. I ran the two mile race and avoided relays (batons required). I succumbed to peer pressure on occasion in college participating in intramural softball and kickball. I wizened up after a few rounds of "No seriously, someone is going to get hurt" "It can't be that bad..." (collision) "...okay, I see what you mean."

At one point in my post-collegiate life, I played ultimate frisbee on a weekly basis. And, lo, I wasn't that bad. I could run around the field for hours (distance running pays off occasionally) and make people THINK I could catch the frisbee without ever really having to touch or catch it.

Even my youth know of the perils of asking me to play tether ball. After caving to the begging faces, forewarning them of the impending doom, I cowered away from the tether pole with my thumb in a bag of ice.

Most recently, I lost a fight with a stationary bike. It bruised me in about six places without ever getting up off the ground. I'm still trying to figure that one out.

And so I will never earn an olympic medal, an intramural t-shirt, or a pat on the back for my catching skills. But dagnabbit if I'm not going to get a laugh out of my ineptitude. A girl has to get something out of this sham.