A couple of disclaimers before I start: First, I’m writing this about an hour past my bedtime. So, if you think my typing/editing is bad on a good day, I anticipate the pain level to be turned up 10 notches before I finally hit “Publish”. Please say a tiny prayer now that my editor David has seen this before you had to endure reading it. Second, I’m about to brag. In the past you’ve seen the “strong language ahead” warnings, but today, today is a brag warning since I recognize that listening to people brag (or reading their posts) may cause involuntary eye rolling. I get it. Feel free to call it good at this point and return to your regularly scheduled email/social media browsing. I’m sure, without much browsing effort, that you can enjoy fun astronomy tidbits like how the moon is actually part of Mars. Fingers-crossed they reinstate Pluto as a planet soon. C’mon little guy, I’m pulling for you! Anyway…
Beth and Bragging
Let me start with some backstory: it’s a rare day that I brag. Sure, I do it on occasion, but most days I don’t feel I’m doing something so amazing that it warrants a herald shouting it from the rooftops. I just kind of do my thing – nothing really special about that. I’m ordinary – a bit dry-witted, and exceptionally sarcastic (my parents are so proud). If you were actually to pin me down and say, “Beth, name two things you feel you do well,” I’d tell you, “I’ve got great penmanship,” and, “I’ve got a great smile.” That’s really it. I can smile and sign things like a champ, and smiling is really not a thing I do; it’s genetics. My parents get more credit there. If you asked for a third thing, I’d struggle and then would probably offer up uncomfortably, “I’m the current holder of most f-bombs dropped on a Monday.” (Again, my parents are super proud.) In all fairness though, being asked repeatedly for sage advice about an upcoming potluck pushed all of my crazy buttons (there are multiple buttons varying in severity, but asking about the potluck was like you’d smashed all of those buttons at the same time). I started wanting to say, “I don’t have a dog in that fight, Carol – my ‘give a fox’ are super low,” but found that was taking much too long, especially when I could more easily give someone a wild-eyed look and carpet bomb them with colorful expletives. Hey, it’s seriously more effective at conveying the message of: “I’ve lost my mind. Now, lay down your offering right now, don’t lose eye contact, back away very slowly, and RUN!”
I’m also not particularly big on praise. Sure, I love it. Who doesn’t enjoy being told they’re good? valued? or what have you? That’s great. Thanks! But whatever I’m being praised for, I typically don’t feel – not deep down. I remember being at a friend’s grandfather’s in high school. She was introducing me and heaped on the praise. I demurred; it felt so keenly uncomfortable – like bragging, but bragging that was out of my control. And I didn’t want to say, “Why yes, I actually am as brilliant as she suggested. In fact, I feel she held back and didn’t quite capture the radiant and spectacular being that I am. Now get your genuflection on, briefly bask in my glory, and toddle on, please. Good day. I said, good day, sir!”
Yeah, that’s just not me. I keenly remember his cool response as he considered me with a frown and said, “False modesty is a sin.” I just blinked as if I’d been slapped. Needless to say, I’ve flipped him off multiple times in my mind for decades now. It’s to the point that if I were given the opportunity to go back in time, I’d revisit that moment (once I’d finished having dinner with Jay and my Mom, of course). I’d pop into teenage me, and treat him like it was a bad Monday and he’d just asked whether people enjoyed pizza from a donut shop at a potluck. In other words, I would have sworn a lot at an old man. (FYI, donut shops shouldn’t serve pizza. I’m just saying. That’s not a thing.)
Hrmmm… I probably should have thrown in a language warning, too. Oh well.
Another Small Story
There’s another piece of my story you need to understand before I get to the brag. My Mom was an athlete. She played tennis, badminton, basketball, and speedball. Mom bowled and swam and occasionally played volleyball. She could ice skate, as well. When she was a girl, her idol was Babe Didrikson, and she’d work on her forehand/backhand against the garage door. Growing up, I was taught to idolize Billy Jean King. The game against Bobby Riggs was a huge deal at our house. I was taught to worship Little Mo, too. On Saturdays, Mom would go off and play tennis with her girlfriends, or she’d drag me to a pool where she’d swim a mile or two while I splashed around.
Being an athlete was part of her identity, and then she had me. I was never headed down that road. I was clumsy, slow, and bad at almost every sport she dropped me into. I spent one summer, where I was forced into little league, sitting on the bench in the dugout for almost every game, because I’d do insane things like swing at balls rolling on the ground or I’d daydream while hanging out in the outfield. At nine years old, no one can really hit that far – at least in our league – so I didn’t feel a need to engage with what was happening on the field. In tennis, I was decent at serving aces, but terrible at returning balls over the net. Gymnastics was a complete disaster, and we don’t need to talk about volleyball ever. I was also the only kid in our pre-K group who couldn’t pass the swim test. Now some of that can be attributed to having no interest in the sport at hand, but the other part of that was my depth perception was/is poor. Eh, but mostly it was that I had no interest; I wasn’t Mom. Sports weren’t my thing. I enjoyed reading books, listening to music, and staring at the stars.
Now there are a lot of great things about my Mom, but when it came to sports Mom didn’t hold back. She would let me know how disappointed she was in my lack of athletic ability. She once told me she wanted an athlete, and I felt guilty that she got a book nerd instead. Eventually, how I viewed my physical abilities bubbled-up during one of the initial assessments with my trainer. I had a lot to offer about what I wasn’t… what I couldn’t…
At some point Jenn and I had a frank talk, and I’m going to misquote a bit, but know this is what my takeaway was, “Beth, I’ve worked with you and seen how you perform. You are not uncoordinated; you have athletic ability. I just think you were never directed to the right sport, and didn’t have someone really working with you.” (Jenn used some of those words, if not all of them. Ok, she may have only said, “the,” but hey I got some of the quote right? Maybe? Look, I’m not a professional journalist!)
The Actual Brag: What You Came Here For
Whew! You’re caught up! Hi, Buddy!
Now that we’ve knocked out all of that background fluff, I can move on to the brag. Here we go! Today I went to my lessons – week four of my Advanced Beginning Class, and eight weeks into swimming. My swim coach pulled me aside, away from the rest of the group, and said my freestyle was looking good, especially my side breaths. She was also very happy with my backstroke. Apparently, all I need to do in order to advance to the next level is learn the breast stroke and work on increasing my stamina (I still get winded, which drives me crazy – I mean, I can actually row for nearly two hours, yet swimming 25 meters, much less 50, which probably takes a few minutes tops, is incredibly challenging.) All that said though, I’m pretty excited about arriving at another new level. And to think I got here without sitting in my chair and holding my breath. GO ME!
And what it tells me is that there’s a lot I can do – things I never thought I could, yet here I am. I’m swimming. I’m rowing. I’m deadlifting. I’m throwing weight bars over my head, I’m squatting, and I do it six days out of the week. So, maybe if I could go back in time, in addition to Monday-screaming at my friend’s grandfather (who’d want to pass on that opportunity), I’d also stop by to visit me and say, “hey, you’re not your Mom. Those sports aren’t your thing, but take a look at these other things. You’re going to rock those. “
Anyway, it’s a small brag, but this non-athlete was pretty pleased with herself today.
Well done!!! now you just have to tread right? Weeee! The key to treading water, in my opinion, is a noodle. This allows one handed treading while holding your glass of wine or beer in one hand while balancing with the other. If this does not qualify for rowing, I think they need to reconsider their standards!
I like the way you think!! I should train my future crew, “Beth is in the water!! Quick, throw her the noodle and the wine STAT!!! Whew! We got her just in time. Look at her go! So happy!” 🙂 And yep, when the regular instructor returns, I need to get her back on the treading mission.
I had a running coach who use to say: “No matter how far you went or how fast you did it, you lapped everyone on the couch”
I love this blog and I love your writing style. I feel like you’re talking to me… it’s so conversational.
Oh, and well placed f-bombs are a work of art. Yes…and more please. Bring it!
Joe, in case I don’t say this enough, you are awesome! Thank you for the encouragement and the compliments. This whole blog started because Jonathan’s wife wanted me to write my goofy anecdotes – the conversations we’d have, and to write them like I wrote my letters. These posts are exactly like the letters I’d send to family and friends. Just put a “Dear Joe,” at the beginning and you’ve got a letter from me to you. 🙂
Just be patient with my writing. I’m a nightmare when it comes to editing the things I write and need about a week to clean-up/fine-tune/fix everything. I swear I go back and re-read, then re-read again, and it’s always sometime after I post that I have the first of many, “OMG! What were you saying here?” moments (like many many moments). So, there’s usually a healthy dose of fixing that happens for a few days after a post. BUT all of that to say, I’m super glad you’re enjoying the posts, and I appreciate it so much that you’d take time to read them; it means a ton to me!
Also, just thank you for being you. I’m so glad that our paths crossed. You’re one of those truly bright spots in my world who genuinely make me smile!
I love Joe’s couch comparison!
It’s like “why are you worried about speaking in front of people? You’re up on the stage and everyone else is sitting there sure you are the expert because you are on the stage and they aren’t.”
And I’m thrilled you are you.
Having a similar mom who was “soo disappointed in…”, it feels really good to get to the point where you’re comfortable in your own skin/know your own strengths and to heck with detractors..including moms.
Go you! (Hmm are you out of breath because you’re anxious of trying so hard that you are using up oxygen too fast? Heck if I know, but great I don’t have to worry about you sinking helplessly below the water without a fight. YEA!)
Thank you!! Thank you for all of that! And I need to remember both yours and Joe’s words when I’m doubting myself – whether it’s not quite being perfect at the gym or those rare moments I’m up on stage being silly. I know Mom would be proud even if I’ll never quite be her. Y’know, it occurred to me as I typed up that post that I genuinely do not know the top-seeded tennis players anymore when tennis had been such a big deal in our house. Mom would take time off from work just to watch particular matches during Wimbledon. It was such a big part of who she was that I actually made sure to have tennis rackets included on her headstone.
As for the winded thing, I think it’s a matter of working on my breathing, which is still a bit dicey (though much better). I noticed Saturday I was able to go farther thanks to a breathing tip from the instructor the previous week. I picked up a kickboard this past Saturday, and watched videos on breaststroke technique, soooo… fingers crossed I close-in on getting that sorted out. Right now everything is so mechanical “kick from the hips, feet flatter, don’t lock out your knees, now reach and rotate a bit, flutter, hands in, hands out, BREATHE!” The whole thing ends with, “oh dear… ok, just try to hop out of the pool as gracefully as… or… yeah… just like you did. Umm… maybe no one saw that?? Play it cool. Play it cool.”
Congratulations, Beth! (Been so busy, it took me a couple days to do the editing thing, but it’s done.)
Wait. Why do I get the congratulations when you did all of the hard/real work? I think you get the: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!!! Have I mentioned, “thank you”? Because THANK YOU!!!!