From Helmet & Cleats to Bikini & Boots

Another birthday has come and gone, and I can confidently say that I have earned every one of my 43 years and wear them proudly. I'll never be this young again, and I'm taking advantage of every opportunity for adventure that comes my way. 

As Fall 2012 crept into Spring 2013, I found myself spending more and more time training and conditioning for my return to play with the Calgary Rage. Taylor and the guys at King Football chased and cheered me on to a season of firsts - not the least of which were my first season running with no knee brace, and my first interception!

Football, both the sport and the women with whom I play it, has made me courageous in ways I could never imagine. The fact that I am willing to drag my sorry ass out to 6 hours of practice a week during the season surprises no one more than me, but I love what it does for me! I'm stronger, both physically and mentally. I think nothing of running at another player with the sole purpose of knocking her on her ass. My courage hasn't ended there, though.


This past weekend I took part in a fundraiser for Special Olympics. So, what's the big deal, you might ask? This was no ordinary fundraiser. Bikini Espy required its participants to show up downtown on a Saturday morning, wearing nothing but a bikini and cowboy boots. Yes, you read that right. I got up at the crack of stupid and joined 99 other women out on a city street in a bikini. In exchange for my $100 registration, and the funds generously donated to Special Olympics by my friends, I got to hang out with some of the craziest women around. There were all shapes, sizes and ages of women there. Each of us danced, clapped and yahoo'd our morning away while we waited to be styled in custom western gear by the fantastic staff at Espy Experience.

I showed up that morning in my bikini and boots, shivering and giggling with the other women in line. I expected to leave with my custom outfit and maybe a few extra little items. What I really got was a strengthened confidence in myself, and a new appreciation for how much fun life can be if you really let it. Peel off a layer or two, figuratively speaking, and find out what's really under there - you might be a lot more fun than you remember!




Special thanks to Mike Bailey for the photos, and Cara Fullerton & Camilla Di Giuseppe for the celebrity shot ;)

Boundaries

What is it about something that draws you back to it time and again, even when you know it's in your best interest to walk away? The rational part of your brain rhymes off myriad reasons to keep moving forward, but the prehistoric, instinctual, lizard part of your brain pushes you back until you're tip toeing the line between sanity & mania. There's something exhilarating about bumping up against the edge of propriety, all the while looking over your shoulder just to be sure no one's watching. Or maybe you're checking in the hopes that someone is watching, and will give you that sly wink and shuffle along as though nothing happened. How do you push the envelope?

Places of Worship

There are so many ways people choose to share a common set of beliefs; church being likely the most obvious among them. It seems that lately I have found myself in the company of quite a few friends who are either aetheist or agnostic; that is, either they believe there is no god, or they think there may be a god or gods, but they don't believe in him/her/them.

Regardless of which camp I fall into, I've learned a great deal from having such a diverse group of friends. People are passionate about their beliefs and will argue and defend them tirelessly to any detractors.

The most amazing discovery I have made is this - I love the debate. I enjoy a well thought out argument and relish the chance to match wits with anyone who sees it as a healthy intellectual exercise, and not a personal attack. I don't expect to change anyone's mind; nor do I think anyone will sway my beliefs one way or another. What I love is hearing people passionately defend their belief systems and showing me their rationale for believing what they do. What I find annoying is those who follow on blind faith alone.

The past year has taught me something very interesting about myself. While I am not a "church goer" in the traditional sense, I am far from lacking fellowship. My ever-growing circle of friends is more supportive and fulfilling than I could ever imagine an "organized" group to be. They are my family as much or more than any blood relative could ever be.

2012 has given me so much, and I hope I have, in return, given back at least a little. Find your people, whomever they are. Enjoy each other, and allow those around you the same freedom, in whatever form that takes.

Absentee

I  realize I've been pretty quiet here of late. Life is a busy thing. Marriage, kids, friends, work... all kinds of things to soak up one's time and energy. I've been so busy doing, I've had no time to sit back, think, and write.

Last weekend was the close of another chapter for me. Season 2 of my foray into women's tackle football ended with a less than satisfying record of wins and losses, but a definite feeling of personal accomplishment. After an extremely gratifying round of off season training with the amazing guys at King Football, I finally felt like less of a couch potato and more like (dare I say it?) an athlete. Now I know that some of you reading this are likely rolling on the floor in fits of laughter at the thought of me calling myself the "a" word, and to you I say hear me out.

I have never been athletic. I was the uncoordinated, bookish one. I've always enjoyed watching sports, but never felt confident or competent enough to play. I spent the first 41 years of my life that way. I was always a little envious of people who could jump into a sport and manage to pull off a relatively decent level of performance with seemingly little effort. Last year I finally took the plunge and started playing football.

It hasn't been easy; my body protested loudly. Four decades of inactivity will do that. And to add insult to injury were the naysayers and cynics. "You're too old." "You have a husband and kids; you shouldn't be wasting your time on football when you should be spending time with your family." "Women's football is a joke." "Your knees hurt? Maybe you should quit. Your body is trying to tell you something." "Have you lost your mind? Are you having a midlife crisis?"

Not one of these people ever asked me how I feel when I play. Or what it's done for my mental and physical well being. It's been a fight to try to rationalize with people why I'm doing this, but after handing in my equipment for another year, I've discovered that it doesn't matter. I love this game. As corny and cliche as it sounds, there's a whole other me when I put on that gear and get on the field. There's no way I can explain that to anyone outside my head, but when I talk to other women who do what I do, it's like a shared secret. We belong to an exclusive group of people who do what they love in spite of, and sometimes because of what their families and friends might think.

If you're one of those people who have tried to give me three hundred and two reasons why I have no business playing tackle football (and you know who you are), I say this - you can take your patronizing "girl power" platitudes, condescending comments and attempted guilt trips and stick 'em wherever it pleases you. What pleases me is football, and I'm going to play.

Passion

It's an odd word, passion. Makes me think in two different directions which aren't really that different at all.

There's the romantic, lusty kind of passion that you always hope to find with a significant other, and then there's the pit-of-the-stomach, keeps-you-up-at-night, invades-every-part-of-your-life kind.

Some of us are lucky enough to get both.

The Human Garbage Can

A strange thing happened when I had kids. I turned into a human garbage can. It probably has roots back as far as my own childhood - sitting at the table and being told to eat everything on my plate, "because there are starving children in Africa". Heaven forbid I left a mouthful of food on my plate - it just wasn't done.  And on those rare occasions when I did manage to escape without stuffing myself, nothing was ever wasted. My mother was always there to clean up the scraps.

Funny how we, as parents, are loathe to scrape food off a plate into the garbage can, yet we think little of cramming it down our own throats. I was thinking about that very thing as I loaded the supper dishes into the dishwasher last night. What I was doing every time I ate that last piece of whatever, rather than throw it out, was treating myself like a garbage dump. I wasn't hungry; I didn't need to eat any more, so why was I still putting things in my mouth?? Am I not important enough that I can say no to someone else's leftovers?

The answer is yes. I am important enough. I will no longer eat that "last bite of" whatever it is. I don't need it. I've actually found myself putting food in my mouth and then spitting it out - old habits are hard to break, but I'm on this one. My dreams for 2012 are big, but my ass will not be!!

It's Not You, It's Me.

Usually this is where I go to make funny; to write about something that I'm excited about or has made me proud. I don't have that today. This is me looking for a place to offload all the mental garbage I've been carting around for some time now.

I'm usually quick to brag about what I've written - I love to hear the comments from friends (and strangers) when I've evoked a laugh or made someone think. I'm an attention whore like that. This, though, is something else. My personal illusion is that the people who usually read my writing will be surprised by what I have to say; but it may be just that - an illusion.

 There's something wrong with me. I like to think that I've been hiding it pretty well for a while now, but if you venture into my house, my secret would probably be quickly revealed. I'm drowning. It's becoming more and more obvious to me that whatever it is that I think I need in my life has nothing to do with other people. It's what's going on in my head.

 I have a husband who loves and provides for me. I have 3 amazing kids. I have a safe home and food on my table. And yet, I don't feel "happy". What's worse is that when I try to figure out what's "missing", all I find is a huge cloud of guilt. How dare I want for anything? I'm living the dream, right? I'm a "kept woman"... I should be thrilled that I'm not living on the street, scrabbling to feed myself. Or that my kids are not clinging to life in a hospital somewhere, or worse...

I keep telling myself that I don't deserve to be as miserable as I feel. So I slap on my fake smile and climb back on the hamster wheel. Yeah, that's me - the funny one; the girl who likes to make jokes and laugh harder at them herself than does anyone else. Every day I trudge along, hoping that no one looks too closely and notices that I'm just a little off...

 I joke to people that I'm nuts. Crackers. A head case. Humour is my favourite defence mechanism. The sad thing is, it's no longer a joke to me. I've come to the realization that there really is something going on that I need to address. The history is there. It's a ghost that's been haunting me for several years now, and it's time I opened that dark closet and took a really good look at what's inside.

 A friend of mine recently reminded me that I'm intelligent, well educated and capable of making change in my life, and that if I were to argue otherwise, I don't want it enough. I hate it when he's right.

 If you know me, you might understand that this is likely the most frightening thing I've done in my life. Admitting I'm wrong is not something I do often. I'm seriously wrong now though; regardless of what I've been trying to fool myself (and you) into believing, I am not "fine". I will be, though, because I'm tired of hiding.