Proof that I have lost my mind

At some point during last weekend's pub run, I allowed myself to be talked into the possibility of participating in some sort of intramural softball league. A friend's team apparently needed more female players...badly enough that they'll accept anyone who stumbles onto the field, I guess, as pretty much the last thing I'm known for is my baseball/softball ability. I'm a distance runner, and by that I mean I am not fast and can by no means sprint. With enough warmup time, I can make some decent shots with a basketball, as long as no one is running into me or getting in my way. And that's about where my athletic ability ends. (Ahem...see blog title.) In high school, I suffered through a miserable year of P.E. to discover towards the end of it that if I signed up to run every day after school, I could skip the misery of volleyballs, basketballs, softballs and dodgeballs flying at me and causing me to duck or run away. Joining cross-country and track my sophomore year was one of the best decisions I ever made--not only because I enjoyed the running but also because I did NOT have to play any team sports that whole year, and then my P.E. requirement was over.

So fast forward to this evening, and the girl who can't play sports and really only started running again last summer is now standing on a softball field, struggling to put on a glove, and feeling utterly lost. The only thing that was working in my favor was the lack of a competitive spirit that would have had the whole team yelling at me in high school...because really, the whole team was terrible. Aside from a few poor guys who could actually throw AND catch, and possibly even hit, the team I joined was seriously lacking in skill. I think the Little League group of four-year-olds playing next to us would have trounced us in a game, and I do mean TROUNCED.

I couldn't have joined a more perfect team!

Free to be my terrible, unathletic self, I warmed up by throwing and catching the ball a bit, and was pleased to note that I was actually catching the ball each time, even if I was doing it incorrectly and hurting the palm of my hand. Then we started to play, and I remembered why I used to duck or run away when a ball came at me. Not only am I terrible at catching anything hurtling toward me at 50 miles an hour from 100 feet up in the air, I also kinda dislike pain and bruising.

But there was some good news from tonight: it turns out I can actually hit the ball with the bat! On purpose! It doesn't tend to go past the pitcher, or even forward sometimes, but I am MAKING CONTACT.

Unfortunately...so is the ball. With things like my leg:


And that was not the only time the ball collided with a part of me that was not a baseball glove.

On Sunday we have a game. Seeing as I can't throw farther than 10 feet, can't catch anything not gently thrown to me, and can't hit a ball past the pitcher, I can only imagine how fun THAT is going to be. Especially with people like my 12-year-old son yelling things at me like, "Hey Mom, want me to come out there and show you how it's done?"

But on the bright side...I am a really strong contender for "most improved" at the end of the season! If I can survive that long. :)