Sporty vs. Athletic

It is hard to live on a military installation and not see athletes.

Staying physically fit is part of the job. Our house is located on part of prime running route and I am often found in the morning with my coffee, some kind of fiber bar, watching the parade of runners from inside the cozy confines of my house.  I watch to see if anyone huffs and puffs like I do when climbing the hill that leads to my cul-de-sac.  So far, I am the only one looking like death.  Everyone else looks like they could run all day.  They are seasoned runners, athletes, and that incline is a molehill to my mountain.

There are many spouses who are athletes, too.  They have the drive, the discipline, and the desire to get off their fannies and run.  I had a neighbor in Boston who was religious about working out.  Her Army husband was the definition of sinewy; he was a small wisp of a man but crazy strong and without a lick of fat on him.  Upon giving her a compliment on her dedication to the gym, she replied, "Heidi...you've seen my husband.  If I didn't work out, I would crush him."

I do my best to live an active life for two reasons:

1. I like to eat.  I like to eat whatever I want.  And in whatever portion I want. 
2. I think clearer and more rationally when I have exercised.  

But don't confuse my active lifestyle with my being an athlete.  Someone once called me an athlete.  I had to correct them.  Let me tell you why......

• The only sport I was ever good at was soccer, and that's because I played since I was six. It gave me confidence.  And also three knee surgeries by the age of 21.
• Last week, a spouse passed me while jogging and talking on her phone at the same time.
• My high school volleyball coach announced to everyone during an awards banquet that I could not walk and chew gum at the same time when she first saw me.  
• I lose respect in an aerobics class.  
• I broke my arm first time snowboarding.  
• I run into the corners of tables and the outside of my thigh looks like my husband takes a bat to me.
• My husband is a machine.  The dude can and always has run circles around me.  When we bike around the flight line, he is merrily weaving back and forth, whistling, and even circles back to me while I struggle to stay upright with forward progression against what feels like gale force winds.   
• I am clumsy.  I trip while walking in a straight line.  On a flat surface.
• My boys beat me in a 5K by a good ten minutes.  They are 10 and 8.  

Athletes are good at sports.  I am merely 'sporty'.  Like a Miata.  Not really the athlete of the car world, but sure looks like it could go fast.  I dress the part, talk the part, instruct the part, and have knowledge as to what an athlete should do.  My problem lies in the connection between my brain and my body.

It is hard to be sporty among athletes.  It is even harder to have excuses as to why that athlete isn't me. The best thing I have going for me in that department is that I don't give up.  Call me sporty.  Call me slow.  But don't call me a quitter.