Sports | justinewinter

Sports. This is the Devil’s way of siphoning out the co-ordinated from the clumsy. In school you have no choice, sport is a part of your curriculum no matter how good you are. As an adult, you’d think that makes things simpler. You’d think the days of heckling are behind you because you get to choose which sport you’re going to do, if any. And for the life of me, I’m still wondering why I put myself into these situations.

Let’s talk about swimming. I mean, there’s not much that could go wrong besides drowning, right?

Wrong.

There’s swimwear that doesn’t fit your body shape – unless you’re a man. Yes, the men get it easy. A pair of shorts. That’s it. No fuss.

But, women? Ohhhhhh. . . No! First we have to decide if we want an all-in-one piece, and no matter what, that costume will ride up your butt when you try to exit the pool without slipping on the rungs of the ladder.

Then there’s the bikini/tankini, and you know what? Doesn’t matter what size you buy, guaranteed one half will be too small/big. Don’t even get me started on the practicality of strapless tops; those are not swim-friendly if you wanna keep the ladies tucked away nicely.

And after all of that there’s still the issue of actual swimming. I try my best, honestly, but there’s some part of me that can’t help but try and show off even when I know it’s going to end in disaster. It’s like accelerating in a 1-litre engine car against a 16-cyclinder Bugatti Veyron.

Disappointing. Laughable. Pathetic.

I can’t help it though when I see him strolling out of the changing rooms into the pool. I have to regain some kind of composure after my terrible fart escapades last week. I can’t catch a break – 3 weeks ago I’d never laid eyes on Drew. Now he’s everywhere I go, and every time a little spark flies between us, I manage to ruin it all like a goddamn wrecking ball.

Here is my chance to rectify that.

I manage to escape the water without injury, and I step up on to the diving block ready to show off the dive I’ve been trying to perfect since I was a kid. I catch his eye and wink with a seductive smile too.

I don’t know, I’m feeling brave all of a sudden.

I bring my legs together, and breathe in and out as I tuck my head in my arms ready. I rise on my tiptoes, and just as I’m about to jump I lose my balance, slip on the wet block, lose my leg half way down the water, and the rest of my body tumbles down in a big ol’ belly flop.

My skin stings from the impact, but I stay underwater. I’m too embarrassed to resurface anyway.

While I wait down here, watching the bubbles float from my mouth, I’ll tell you my name. My friends call me Lib or Libbie, but my real name is Liberty. I tend not to use it though because every day I’m reminded by my own name that my life really is just that.

A liberty.

Oh, how I’ve been doomed from the start.

Stay tuned for more adventures next week in Living Funny; Dying Clumsy

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Warbling my way through another song in the car, I was on my way to Center Parcs at Longleat for the family holiday. I’d waited for what seemed like years, though it were mere months, for this time away.

As with most holidays the time flew, and regrettably I had to say goodbye.

As it was a sporting holiday (yes I did say sporting), I came home thoroughly bruised, achy, and covered in oil – you know to ease my joints. I may not be a good dancer, but even I could manage the robot with all my stiffness.

For those of you who don’t know, cycling is considered the main form of transportation, besides walking and the land train. If you thought you were healthy before, you’d definitely come home twice as fit. The vast expanse of Center Parcs pushing your stamina to the forefront.

I’m terrible at cycling. When I was younger, our annual trip included extra family members. While they were sorting out their bike rentals, I pedalled outside on my very own pink, purple and white bike. As clumsy as I am, I did indeed fall off, landing uncomfortably on my arm. That was the first hour of the first day of our holidays. Yes, I had broken it.

Fast forward a good 10 years or so, back to the same bike rental building. I decided I would be brave and rent a bike for the week, though I hadn’t ridden one in years. I cycled from the shop to the villa and that’s where it stayed the entire week. I couldn’t believe how utterly rubbish I was at it.

Two years on, I decided this time that I wouldn’t bother with the hassle. I had learnt from my mistakes. Though my father and brother had gotten bikes, I resisted the urge.

After much cajoling I was made to use my fathers’ bike on occasion. A saddle sore bottom, scrapes and cuts across my legs, fixing chains more often than cycling, and a generic lack of enthusiasm, I realised the term ‘It’s just like riding a bike’ true meaning. It wasn’t so easy after all.

Even more spectacularly was Adventure Golf. As proud as I am to boast that I was the only one to have a hole-in-one, I was also the one that lost drastically. Go figure.

My favourite sport had been eating, and I regularly exercised my stomach muscles. They are now at their rotund peak. I will soon be ready to compete at Sumo Wrestling.

Through foraging in the woods with my newfound navigational skills, splashing and getting stuck in the not-so-lazy river part of the pool, and spending quality time relaxing and editing my novel, I have had a well-spent, exhaustively-happy holiday.

A shame it’s back to reality on Monday.