Showing posts with label Sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sports. Show all posts

Thursday, 20 November 2014

Picked Last

I was not an athletic child.  There is a picture of me at age 10, standing at the start of a church picnic race.  I was wearing a red and white plaid shirt, red velour shorts pulled up nearly to my armpits, and flip flops.  But it was my posture – my totally nonathletic stance – that made me laugh.  And cringe.  And it became clear why I was often picked last in PE.

It took awhile for my muscles to catch up with my height, but by high school I wasn’t totally hopeless.  I was a mean shot in basketball and very good at table-tennis, though the memories of being picked last still remain.

Imagine my heartache when my daughter told me recently that she was picked last for a team.  It didn’t seem to bother her as it bothered me, but it made me wonder, again, why adults do this to kids.  It’s not like there’s only one way to balance teams.

I’m guessing most PE teachers or coaches were athletic as children and, as a result, were popular – thus never experiencing the agony of standing there, kicking at the dirt, trying to look as if you didn’t care as you waited to hear your name, knowing your team didn’t really want you but, rather, were stuck with you.

You’d think, with all the bullying awareness campaigns, adults who inflict this psychological pain upon children would realize that they are helping the bullies – essentially putting a target on the backs of those picked last.

And I have one thing to say about that.  Please stop.

Friday, 15 February 2013

The Wrong Country

I celebrated my birthday in the middle of a blizzard.  A friend called to wish me happy birthday and asked why in the world I didn’t stay in New Zealand where I could blow out my candles on the beach.

Believe me, I’ve sometimes felt like I’m living in the wrong country.  While others are loading up their skis and snowboards, dragging out their sleds and skidoos, and lacing up their skates and snowshoes, I’m doubling up my socks and sweaters.

My aversion to winter sports may have started my first year in Canada when I was two and couldn’t see over the snow drifts.  Or maybe that same winter when I walked onto an ice rink in regular boots, slipped, and whacked my head.

Sledding is about the only winter sport I’ve ever enjoyed.  Growing up on the side of a BC mountain it was kind of hard not to.  Yes, I’ve done my share of sledding, also enduring the related injuries, including the worst bloody nose I’ve ever had when I crashed on crusty snow.

Skating and skiing were part of our PE curriculum (I think).  At least they dragged us off to the rink and Red Mountain ski hill enough times.  I tried, but I knew things weren’t going well when the teacher asked, “Kathryn, would you like to help the Kindergarten class put on their skates instead?”

I just don’t get what there is to like about skiing.  It’s cold, it’s fast, it’s high (chair lifts: “don’t look down, don’t look down”), and one can snowplow for only so long.

I’m glad many of you enjoy winter sports; I wish I did too.  Maybe I really do have Kiwi climate preferences in my blood.  But if I lived there, I wouldn’t get to shovel walks, drag garbage bins through snow, or start my car a half hour before I go anywhere.
 
Or have a white Christmas.