Fear of Freaky Basketball Fingers

Following one of my many fitness lapses there are often many false starts. This particular lapse and this week were no exception.

 

Running plan for week 1

Week #	Sun	Mon	Tue	Wed	Thu	Fri	Sat
1	Rest Day	35 min	35 min	40 min	Cross train 45 min	Rest Day	45 min

What I actually did for week 1

Week #	Sun	Mon	Tue	Wed	Thu	Fri	Sat
1		3.30 miles 36:25 min	3.29 miles 35.27 min				2.72 miles 33.05 min

So the goal was about 3 and half hours of running and what I actually accomplished was about an hour and a half of running. I went through my usual gamut of emotions: feelings of inadequacy, self-pity and memory regression.

Starting anew on a running or fitness program underscores the realities of my limited running potential. At age 50 I can no longer indulge fantasies of running an 8 minute mile pace for a 5K. Hope is a powerful motivator and when you become horribly aware of your limitations some of that essential hope is diminished. I move from feelings of inadequacy to self-pity and say things that no self-respecting runner/athlete would say: "I am not a real runner", "I will never be even a decent runner", "I'm a big fat loser", "I hate running".

And then in the middle of the night I woke up and could not go back to sleep. I succumbed to what I call memory regression. This is the seemingly uncontrollable overtaking of my mind by bad memories.On this particular night Dean could not sleep either and so I regaled him (much to his delight I'm sure) with tales of my middle school athletic failings.
 
This middle-of-the-night memory involved my futile attempt to play basketball in 7th grade. This experience involved daily bouts of nausea as the basketball practice hour approached. The stars of my middle-school angst were hot-tempered Coach Hawkins and 8th grader Jill. Coach Hawkins sported cropped and scary red hair and possessed freaky basketball fingers that flexed in peculiar and intimidating ways and gripped the basketball with suction cup action. She was reptilian.  I will never forget the terrifying sound of her hand slapping the ball to initiate play. Not that I played. I watched from the bleachers. Of my rare court appearances I have blurry memories of me surrounded by 7th and 8th grade giants, yelling, elbowing, jerking and waving like they were in a tribal war dance. The key to successful middle-school basketball playing seemed to be intimidation, frantic hand waving and loud and abrupt shouting of the word "hey" over and over again.

In life I tend to be intuitive and to see the BIG PICTURE. In team sports my world becomes very small, I cannot see the BIG PICTURE, I do not understand the play, I cannot adapt to change once the play is initiated. And back there frozen on the stinky gym floor all I could see was 8th grader Jill's sneering face contorted in aggression and disdain. And all I could hear was red-headed Hawkins screaming at me, "Are you stupid?".

 Eighth-grader Jill, who I am sure grew up to be an unhappy nag, said many unkind things to me and others none of which I remember specifically. What I do remember is how she looked at me as though I were LESS, unworthy, and repulsive. At the time I was too young to understand that she was the one to be pitied and that what she needed most was forgiveness. I can handle the FORGIVE part of my middle-school past but apparently in the middle of the night I cannot accomplish the FORGET part. 

I was usually one of the last persons picked for teams in PE. In my entire basketball playing experience I played a total of about 15 minutes, always at the end of the game, and always wearing the left-over uniform that was different from everyone else's and did not fit. All I remember about any of my 15 minutes of playing in a game was the feeling of terror, the screaming and the freaky basketball fingers flailing in front of my face.

I do not know why I can't let go of these memories forever but in some ways they serve a purpose. These memories make me angry on behalf of all non-athletic middle-schoolers! They reignite my passion for running because I will not let the 8th grade Jill's of this world be right. I am not LESS now, I was not LESS then. I may have been repulsive to her but I am and always have been lovely to the One that matters, Jesus Christ.

I never overcame my fear of basketball, nor did I ever excel at team sports but I did very slowly accept God's love for me and very slowly I developed a love for running. Both Jesus and running (and wonderful friends and family) have pulled me through the dark and light of the last 30 years.

So even if I experience these running/fitness lapses and even if I go through many false starts. I will run. I will run to be with God, I will run to stay healthy, I will run through hurt and anger and bitterness and I will run into the LIGHT. I have a family history of heart disease, cancer and stroke. I will run to be here for my kids and hopefully for my future grandkids. When these happy goals are not enough to motivate me then a dark night of middle school memories will be enough to get me going again. I will run for all the awkward 7th graders!