You know that awkward girl at school who was always picked last in the "choose your teammates" lineup. That was me.
You know that girl who during baseball or (in my school) rounders, was stuck far out in left-field so she could do no harm, but who, very occasionally, would find that hard weapon of a ball barrelling towards her and flail across the field to the sound of "GETTIT GETTIT GETTIT!!!!!" only to recoil in horror once the ball go into her general physical vicinity. That was me.
This is all by way of saying that though I might "exercise" as a form of self-flaggellation (intended to beat the wobbly flesh into some sort of submission) I am more than bereft in the athleticism department. To say the very least. Unless you consider knowing how to clomp up and down on a step for an hour in a Y group class. Then, m'peeps, I ROCK.
Which is why it is a true testament to how truly powerful the lurve of my Stitch N' Bitch friends must be, because (as I reported a few weeks back) because of them I managed to find myself registered as a runner in a 5K race last weekend for the local women's shelter (and I use term "runner" here in a very loose fashion). My own hubs also enrolled as an honorary "sharp chick with pointy sticks" team-member (because he can actually really run, you see) and we brought along the jogging stroller, the 3yr old, and the dog. Because life's much too simple otherwise.
And it was chucking it down with rain, I can tell you. But did that allay the team spirit?? NO! Apparently a whole lot of shrieking and manical laughing, groping of the University mascot, along with the wearing of sexy team t-shirts and knitted headbands (I shit you not. I know.) wins you BEST TEAM SPIRIT AWARD!!!
HEY! and that's not the only award I won that day. I won LAST PLACED IN MY AGE GROUP. Chew on that, suckers. This is an award you can only achieve if you enroll as a runner, start off at a nice pace for the first, oh, 200 yards, then take a "walking break" while chatting with your team member (who is being nice and keeping apace with the pregnant lady). You discuss hearing some report that proves that "some people are not physically designed for running" as you watch your other team-members quickly blaze a nice trail ahead of you. Pepper your effort with a few sporadic bursts of running ("let's just try and keep up with that really old man ahead, K?) and a few whining sessions (all on my part) about one's "hip-flexors" hurting and how "I'm SOOO wet" and "your legs are longer than mine, WAAAHHHH" and you got yourself LAST PLACE. You can live the dream too. I promise.
Team Stitch N' Bitch, I salute you. And thanks for not picking me last.