Track and Field Day

It wasn't very long into my elementary school career that I realized athletic ability equated with success.

And that I didn't have any.

I was picked last in P.E. and my ultimate humiliation was the yearly track and field day.  I was last in the races.  My effervescent cousin went home each year with about 8 blue ribbons which didn't make me feel much better.

My mom tried to comfort me annually when I arrived home in disgrace.  She reminded me that I had other talents.  She told me I excelled every other day of the school year, academically.  No one cared.  Least of all me.

I hated track and field day.

When I was in fourth grade, I "tripped" and "sprained my ankle."  It was really quite tragic because I couldn't participate in any of the other races that day.

(It was tragic for the person who had to come in last because I wasn't racing...I was as happy as could be.)

My mom let me skip school on track and field day when I was in 5th grade and 6th grade.  She's pretty much the best mom in America.

I was asked to go to Emma's school today and help with field day.  I hope I don't "trip" and "sprain my ankle" on the way to the school.

(In case you're wondering, the irony of me training to run in a race is not lost on me...Stephanie and Jill promised we'd all run together.  If I collapse, they'll drag me across the finish line.  No one was that generous when I was in elementary school.  They left me in their dust.)