I hate group sports.
I think my bitterness stretches back to 1986, when I was first recruited for an elementary school basketball team. I was asked to join the team because I could run like lightening, plus I was super tall and gangly and those are the ingredients of athletic prowess on the mini-court of kid basketball, right?
Wrong. I got my first glimpse of the fact that athletic levels vary wildly, even with matching intentions of grandure.
The coach, upon realizing my flailing, awkward incompetence, devised a system where he "splashed" me in and out, rather than booting me off the team outright, because it's not politically correct to kick a ten year old off the elementary school basketball team. I sat shivering on that team bench, waiting for my two minute splash ins, so I could splash the hell out and go home and go back to my solitary activities.
Preference for solitary athletic endeavours stretched into adulthood: I ran track and field where I never had the opportunity to eff up the chances of winning for another person. I avoided the relay where possible. I took up snowboarding because it, too, was a purely self reliant endeavour where I couldn't ruin the day of anyone else by dribbling anything illegally or scoring on my own basket. I politely declined activities like step aerobics (oh my god, the horror) or any other casual athletic pursuit where I'd even have to coordinate my movements with anyone elses.
Until this year. Until the godforsaken puffy, heaving, torturous exercise in perplexing masochism known loosely as "Boot Camp."
That's me in the blue, cursing under my breath, nearly collapsing because my skinny arms are not used to doing anything except flapping along beside me as I run. Corey and I started going to boot camp about a month ago. I hate it, I hate the mountain climbers and the sweaty-ass punching gloves and I hate having a giant medicine ball between my legs but then afterward? I feel wicked.
No one really secretly watches you in boot camp like they might in a medium level aerobics class. This is because there is no room for anything except utter concentration in boot camp. Things are intense, music is loud, there is a very serious man with hair that looks glued on and he sprints around the gym like his pubic hair is on fire, and you better do the same. There's often a fiery little instructor whose mission in your life is to make certain that your shoulders are back, your head is up, your abs are burning with the intensity of a thousand dying badgers.
It's a group activity, but no one is dependent on your prowess. Corey laughed at me a little as I jab, jab punched him (a little feebly), but I kill him in the cardio endurance stuff, so it all evens out.
And - competitiveness works in our favour, too. His total ease with anything pushup-related makes me want to push myself harder, too, because eventually I'm totally going to beat him in an arm wrestling match.
Weirder things have happened.
Before I started getting serious about fitness, I was content just to run. Mixing it up with the gym 3 days a week and boot camp once a week has been an awesome experiment. I feel more defined, more agile, and pretty good about myself after an hour of sweating through some gruelling activities. Also, Boot Camp is something you can do with your partner, who will never get mad at you for scoring on your own net.
We're thinking about adding yoga to the mix soon. But definitely never ever group basketball.
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