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Do you remember the last girl standing on the blacktop when teams were picked for kickball? That was me. My feeble attempts at hitting, kicking or catching anything flying in the air always ended badly with face plants, bumps, scrapes and a bruised ego.
In short, I was terrible at sports — or anything that required the tiniest amount of athleticism. This was frustrating for my parents, who were avid tennis players and spent most summers horseback riding, hiking or skiing the steep mountains of Montana. I tried tennis, but sweating on the courts and using my racket like a fly swatter at balls launched over the net was not my idea of fun.
My hands were better suited for holding the latest Nancy Drew book while lounging on a comfy couch in the air conditioning.
I was also the girl who brought a forged note from home ("severe menstrual cramps") excusing me from the rigors of the Presidential Physical Fitness Tests. After failing the push-up test the first time (my chin never made it to the bar) and costing my team points when I tripped over my own feet during a relay race, I vowed never to compete again.
No fitness badge or trophy was worth the anxiety and soul-crushing failure that put a bullseye on my back for school bullies. My competitive side appeared only when the music cart lady visited our class after lunch each day. I was REALLY good at shaking the tambourine! I avoided sports throughout my remaining school years and skipped the days that required anything more strenuous than a leisurely walk around the ball field. At that point, if napping were an Olympic sport, I would have been a gold medalist.
Ironically, the man I married was a natural athlete, much to my parents' delight. Mac excelled at any sport he tried, even conquering the black diamond slope after just one hour on the beginner's run as a first-time skier. I didn't bother strapping on a pair of skis that weekend because I wasn't about to embarrass myself on the beginner slope. Instead, I spent my afternoon cuddled up with a nice glass of Pinot Grigio by the lodge's massive fireplace.
By the time I reached my 60s, I'd spent the majority of my life sitting comfortably on the sidelines while everyone else in my circle of friends explored new sports. Though I did work out — Zumba classes a few days a week, walks through the park and online yoga — but nothing that required competitiveness or too much exertion. I knew my limits and stuck to them, unable to shake my old childhood insecurities of being athletically inefficient.
One night at an outdoor brewery, my son challenged me to a game of cornhole. I'd never played before and lost by a mile, but to my surprise, I didn't mind because I was having too much fun. Later that week, my husband brought home a cornhole set and offered to teach me a few tricks to improve my aim. We played in the backyard every weekend, and I became increasingly competitive. I wanted to win, and was confident that I could. Pretty soon, I was winning almost every round against Mac. I still couldn't beat my son's score, but finding something fairly sporty that I was good at was a relief. What other games or sports could I try?
We bought bikes, and as tough as it was, I kept up with my husband's pace. Bocce ball was next, and surprisingly easy for me. I also discovered I'm a fast runner and that I'm not too shabby when it comes to throwing a few hoops. Each new discovery brought a sense of accomplishment and joy, inspiring me to keep exploring.
These experiences have taught me that confidence comes from trying something new and a willingness to learn from one's mistakes. I didn't have the patience for this when I was younger. If I didn't pick up a skill after the first try, I assumed I'd never be good at it and quit, not realizing that frustration was a natural part of the training process. But my insecurity-driven limitations prevented me from allowing myself time to improve. I'm learning to stop saying, "I can't," and to trust the process of growth that comes with practice.
Crawling out of the negative headspace of my past has also been a game-changer to help me achieve the self-confidence I lacked in competitive sports. It's not about winning or losing anymore; it's about having fun and not caring what others think if I make mistakes along the way. At least I'm staying in the game and giving it my best.
Maria Shriver recently said this on Facebook that deeply resonated with me: "Start where you are, not where you think you should be, or where someone else wants you to be." If I had embraced this attitude in school, my foray into team sports might not have been so short-lived.
Whether it's a competitive game of horseshoes, a friendly match of chess or a race to the end of a hiking trail, I'm always up for the challenge. With the endless sports possibilities out there, who knows what's next? I might dust off that old tennis racket after all!
What's YOUR favorite sport to play? Let us know in the comments below.
Amanda Cotan
Follow Article Topics: Fitness
