Bane of My Existence

One of my favorite quotes: 'Elizabeth is really good at sports.' - Said by no one. Ever.

As a licensed psychologist (wait? my Bachelors in psychology doesn't qualify me for anything?), I've been taking the time to delve into some repressed memories.  After analyzing a dream I had about destroying Voldemort in a karaoke contest, I realized that I have some deeply rooted issues with sports.

It all stems from elementary school. I really liked gym from kindergarten through second grade. We honed our athletic abilities through valuable activities such as the long distance spitttage of watermelon seeds and Dead Bug (a game like tag, where when you got caught, you had to sit on your back with all four limbs up. Four kids would then grab each limb and carry you to the safe zone where you were instantly revived.)

Dead Bug. My kind of sport.

Then it became time to teach us how to be real people and learn The Soccer. Oh boy. I quickly learned that this was not my cup of Latter-day Saint-sanctioned-tea. I've always been smaller than the rest (the roommates kindly refrain from placing the glasses on the top shelf) of the gang and when you come charging at me, I don't see you as you really are. In fact, you look more like this:

So of course I'm going to scream, 'Fine! Take the ball! Just take it!' and I'm going to get the h-e-double-hockey sticks out of there. The other kids got the point and never picked me at recess. I was okay with that - I got to play house and direct any lovesick boys to do my bidding. It rocked.

I was pretty content with my stunted athleticism, but always harbored a lot of self-doubt about it which has started to bother me. It's pathetic to not be able to throw and catch a ball! A guy once me I was really bad at playing a game. My goodness that hurt my feelings, even though it was true! (Dude! Just be cool! I'm trying to date you brother and con him into thinking I'm a cool sporty girl!) I think it was the fear of being ridiculed that kept me from trying all this time. But this past college year, I expressed my fears to a few men and remarkably, they didn't make fun! In fact, they were the eager to be my Remedial Sports coaches. Believe it or not, I now like sports* to the extent that I would ask them to bring over football so we could play (no joke.)

With a new spark lit, I asked for instruction in basketball. I was surprised at how much I liked it. I came home and bought sporting equipment. Mom thought I had lost my marbles.

Since I suck and am scared of kids' ridicule, I practice at my neighbor's house. I'm not good enough to go to the park yet (I get 72 Points of Pathetic for that one.) I practice at least one hour, six days a week. I'm committed to getting this thing down. I even WATCH basketball clips to see how it should be done (Elizabeth voluntarily watched a sport? The world just stopped turning.) After doing it a little on my own, I actually value athletics more - there's a lot of talent out there!

I'm not particularly gifted at it, but it's coming along! After some deep soul searching, I'm okay with not ever being lauded as a cool, sporty girl (I look up BBC documentaries of the rainforest on YouTube because 1. I love science 2. I love British accents. Definitely not sporty OR cool. If you're not cool either, check out this video about the cordyceps fungus. The craziest fungus ever that takes over insects' BRAINS and EXPLODES out of their heads! Baaaaah. That video will change your life.)

 Back to the point - I would love to hear, 'Elizabeth is really good at putting effort into sports. She also knows about rainforest fungus.' 

Aim high. 

Guess what. I know that this is Michael Jordan.  BAM. Sports guru here. And he played for the Bulls (okay. I didn't know that. I just read it. And the Bulls are from..... Dallas? Spain? WAIT! CHICAGO!!! The Chicago Bulls. That's a team. (I don't care enough to Google it to see if that is right.))

* My idea of sports is very different from the norm. Sports is defined as having the opponent a safe distance away, preferably 3 meters. Charging at E with the force of a raging in-heat bull is not welcome. We NEVER tackle E (this happened once and I was not thrilled. It might have been a 9-year-old who inflicted the pain. I kept raising my babysitting rates so his parents would stop asking me to supervise their sadistic monster). Tickling however is permissible, but that is not a sport. That is deemed flirting and is ALWAYS appreciated. Sports is rife with laughter and smiles; hateful competitive angst is not appreciated. Basically, I play 7-year-old sports. Deal with it. 

That one time I survived the Titanic - TWICE

I don't like cruises.

Some friends invite me on a cruise and I reply, 'Awesome! Let's burn each other with matches while we're at it! Jump out of a plane without a parachute! That's fun too!' Let me explain.

Last summer, my mom and I were organizing the family photos. I came upon one photo (which I would upload if I knew how to use the scanner. I'm 23. Getting too old for this, people.) which had a very silly story behind it.

It's a picture of me on our Alaska cruise (zzzzzz) when I was 8. That would put us at 1997, the year Titanic came out. Although I didn't see the movie, I was plenty aware of the icy clutches of death that awaited the passengers.

So, on this cruise everyone is on the deck admiring the pretty H2O(s) doing this:

I see this and my sage eight-year-old imagination begins thinking of this:

I've always been an independent thinker. I raise my eyebrow and exclaim, 'Nuh uh. We're not doing this.' 

None of the adults are taking this business seriously. I must take control. I take one last look at my mommy, 'Nice knowin' ya. I'll carry on the family name' and hie it to the life boats. 

That's the photo of me. My back turned to the camera, my little legs carrying me to be the first in line to get off this death trap. Mommy has no idea what I am up to. I'm feeling pretty smug in my line. Let the fools take their pictures; I'm going to live. 

Turns out, we didn't hit an iceberg and we survived to see ominous glaciers (you'd think at some point a huge chunk would crash into the water and make it more interesting!). So you might imagine I would learn to trust the people in charge, right?

Wrong.

Fast forward a several years to my senior high school trip to Europe with a cruise in the Mediterranean. There will be Greek food, Greek dancing, and some Greek sinking. You heard me. 

Here I am, enjoying the gorgeous surroundings, about to get on the boat.

Wipe those smiles of your faces girls, 'cause someone has been sampling a little too much ouzo and is going to run the boat right into a reef. In fact, it might even make it to the news: http://voices.yahoo.com/cruise-ship-sinks-aegean-sea-288573.html

Well, that's not exactly what happened. It didn't sink during my trip. But the exact same boat sank 6 months after I was on it - which is pretty much the same thing in my book.

It'll take a lot of bribing, tricking, and false imprisonment to get me on a cruise again (the Caribbean cruise turned out alright, but that might have been a fluke). I've escaped Davy Jones' locker twice now and I'm not pushing my luck any more. 

You have to respect the sea.