I am about as athletic as the rock Charlie Brown gets every Halloween. As in, “small, rounded, vaguely putty colored, and generally inert unless picked up and thrown at someone or something”.
On the other hand, if you consider fencing (with swords, not stolen goods) a sport, I did sort of enjoy that, likewise rapelling (sp?) down the sides of buildings, firearms training, and archery – I am very bad at these things, but I again, sort of enjoyed them when back in the 1980s I was an art major faced with mandatory PE options.
It was either that, or four miserable semesters of mandatory volleyball when I’d just as soon lie around reading “Elfquest” or play D&D. Frankly, I do not care to have a ball aimed at my head by some Barbie-esque nursing student in the name of General Education Credits.
I mean, all that fuss about a ball you can’t even eat if you win the game.
And then there’s those damned shorts – sensory and extreme sun sensitivity issues say, “No.”
I am the weirdo who wears long pants and 3/4 length sleeves even in August, and cotton socks to bed well into September before I switch over to wool socks in October.
In fact, I am wearing some now.
As to winter sports, I once upon a time attempted, while on a contract job in Denver, Colorado, snowshoeing. It was ok.
I met a moose.
We left each other alone.
Even I recognize the inherent threat of a ton and a half of easily upset wildlife when I see it. Bullwinkle and I went our separate ways that cold day in Estes Park, Colorado, both unharmed.
And I got the deposit back on the snowshoes. And then I spent the rest of the day at a nearby hot springs spa doing little more than sit in a stone tub of water that smelled vaguely like somebody farted.
I consider that a win.
I have canoed and kayaked. I have played whiffle ball and pickle ball, though to this day, I do not get the point of either. I was once even chased off a softball field in ninth grade by a small herd of yearling black Angus heifers – best P.E. session to date. I have been beaned more than once by softballs, and endured the humiliation of High School P.E. teams being chosen by the two designated captains where said captains argued over who didn’t have to take me, while I, standing next to the equally unpopular girl with Down’s Syndrome, learned in front of my peers that they preferred her over me and that they had to flip a quarter in the end.
Ain’t being on the Spectrum with all it’s attendant clumsiness grand?
As for things that are vaguely athletic, let’s not forget the three years of Middle Eastern dance classes that resulted not in 7 veils and limber hips but an under the bed box of coin belts, bruised knees, and hurt feelings.
Frankly, when faced with participating in team anything, I prefer spending the day in a hot spring-fed spa in Hot Springs, Arkansas.
Even if I have to spend a day driving down there by myself.
As to other people playing sports, be it pro or local sandlot, they may run around in too-tight pants, baggy shorts that come to their knees, or bounce volleyballs off each other’s heads to their heart’s content just so long as I am not required to participate.
Or even watch.
This includes football, softball, baseball, soccer, track, field, and everything down to parkour where a trained chicken runs through a series of obstacles while a judge judges.
However, wiener dog racing has its appeal, but you don’t see that very often. Likewise watching some dudes in muck boots chase greased piglets around an arena in a fair. Well, until PETA steps in.
And complains that the redneck coated head to toe with mud and pig crap is being treated cruelly and/or unusually.
Or something like that.
Yes, indeed, I am Charlie Brown’s Halloween rock when it comes to sports.
And damned proud of it.
Tags: bloganuary, bloganuary-2024-29, clumsy, dailyprompt, dailyprompt-1832, humor, life on the spectrum
Random Potshots in the Dark 
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