Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Move along. There's nothing to see here. :)

Oh, thank you NaBloPoMo, for a theme that I could rename "Much Ado about Nothing"

The question for May 7?

Monday, May 7, 2012
What sports did you play as a child?

Well, that's a tough one.

There was cycling - and a banana seat bike was the best. Naturally.

Nope, that's not me, but I had that hair. Just not those siblings - or a Dad with sideburns.
Photo courtesy: www.hopelesslyflawed.com

and my Lemon Twist:

Spin it. Twirl it. Swing it around your wrist and hit someone!
Photo courtesy: www.70schild.blogspot.com

Does unpacking adjectives count?

Probably not. 

"Athletically inclined" is NOT a phrase one would use to describe me. It's not just the "only child" thing, although you know how I love to bring that up. 

It's an overall health thing - as I was rocking the hip brace before I could walk (convenient, no?) - which later led to one leg being an inch shorter and scaring the crap outta me in junior high when a school nurse (I hope) and a school employee/witness did that highly scientific scoliosis check. Y'know the one. You're in the teacher's lounge or counselor's office or some "discreet" cramped room on campus that smells like old books and decades of body odor and you're asked to take off your shirt.  You hope you've reached the age where you're wearing a bra, yet absolutely mortified. 

Of course, it's all very professional and scientific. After all, they're looking to see if you look like this (although you get to keep your pants on):

So apparently I looked like this from the back? Just call me Quasimodo.
Photo courtesy: www.umm.edu

Once they informed my parents - and me - that I was lopsided, my athletic career ended, and my geekdom was secure.  It wasn't scoliosis, but my congenital gift of hip dysplasia and its treatment (hip brace) leaving a calling card: a shorter leg (and still deformed hip joint). Lifts added to shoes, no PE classes (medically excused) - and a headstart on cellulite. It was like a booster shot to ensure my ego remained portable.  

There was that one time. In junior high. Was all sorts of cool wearing braces (important later). For some reason, we were practicing track events INSIDE.  Why? I have no idea. These were the folks who convinced me I had a hump, remember?

Anyway, I believe I was trying for a triple jump (or long jump) with the mat/pad against the brick wall of the gym. Why? I was a pleaser kid, even in PE. Idiot.  Anyway, the pad was lined up so that it was landscape, not portrait (meaning there was less pad between the jumper and the, um,  brick wall.)

You can imagine what happened next. I think I looked a bit like this. 

Aside from making others laugh and bruising my dignity, I didn't notice anything else (likely due to the concussion). I was sitting in class next period with Mr. Breed, the teacher who used a golf club as a pointer, when I was running my tongue over my teeth. (Y'know. Typical behaviour. . .right?) Well, things didn't feel quite right. There wasn't any blood (that I knew of) or any loose teeth (that I could tell), but there was wire. Loose wire. Poking the inside of my cheek and freaking me out wire. I had hoped I wouldn't have to tell my parents of my misadventures in athleticism, but I think they already knew I was not destined for the Olympics (unless they were the Special ones). 

Turns out my mouth of metal saved my teeth - and I got to share my story with my orthodontist and his assistants. 

Good times. 

I think I'll add some more Bailey's to my coffee now. I've enjoyed our little chat.. Haven't you?

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