I love the idea of being athletic. Being tan, toned, healthy, able to beat the boys at just about everything. Nothing wrong with that. But alas, athletics are left to the coordinated, of which I am not. Let's take a little trip into Jordan's athletic past shall we?
Elementary School:
There was the time we were playing basketball in gym class, I'm about to make a shot, when suddenly, life decided I was being too athletically gifted and forced my knees to give out. As I fell into a lump on the floor, the ball scattered, inevitably to the other team. I lay there. Humiliated. While my teacher asked me if I always said a prayer before making a shot. Yes. Yes I do. I was praying you hadn't noticed. It didn't work. Now the angels are laughing at me.
I also broke my best friend's arm in the 5th grade playing dodgeball. There isn't really much more I can say about that except that our friendship didn't make it much past elementary school...
Middle School:
I'm pretty certain Middle School physical education class is just an entire conspiracy to make adolescents feel even worse about themselves. The locker rooms in and of itself is a giant vortex of self hatred, bath 'n' body works perfume, and insecurity. But then you actually get out there and have to show of your physical prowess. If you're good at things like running, and catching balls, and push ups, it's no problem. But when your head is a ball magnet like mine, you leave exhausted, sweaty, and with a headache. (I've been hit in the head with a 9 lb medicine ball before... didn't feel good). Although I don't have very many specific stories about middle school gym class (pretty sure I suppressed it all), I know it was an awful point in my life, and the first time I ever got a C in a class. My OCD was a little nuts that year...
High School:
Thankfully, in high school we were only required to take one full credit of P.E. and half of that credit could be health class, so I only had to take one semester of actual gym class. My summary of that semester? Always being picked last for teams, passing out during volley ball, getting hit in the eye with a dodgeball, and my gym teacher telling me to take art instead, and getting an A out of pity.
Now in college, things are different. You suddenly realize that you don't care what people think about you as much and you can essentially become a whole new version of yourself because you haven't grown up with these people and they don't know about your 3rd grade prayer sessions. So, I decided, I was going to be athletic. I got the cute outfits, recently got new running shoes, and have been trying to get out and do more active things this summer.
However, it always turns out the same way. Here is another magnificent crayon depiction of how it usually goes.
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| I start out in my fancy work-out appropriate duds. Looking quite athletic if I do say so myself. |
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| Then the actual exercising begins, and I feel like nothing can stop me. I'm on top of the world. TAKE THAT HATERS! |
Approximately 2-5 minutes later...
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| Soon, however, something else kicks in. I'm hot. I'm sweaty. But I can't give in...I can't... I must go... on... |
Another few minutes later...
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| I give in. -dies- |
And that's pretty much it. My short-lived attempts at creating a better/healthier life for myself have failed yet again. But the way I see it, at least I'm trying. And it's the thought that counts. Right?
