My waning athleticism
I am not very good at sports.
It pains, absolutely pains me, to write this. I used to be good at sports. I was a good baseball player and played on a superb all-star team in little league. Before that, I was the most athletic, fastest kid in kindergarten and first grade. I had natural athleticism.
I regret to say that my athleticism and coordination have not grown concomitantly with my age. The other kids caught up with and surpassed me in baseball; I simply never got that much better.
It frustrated me in Bryn Athyn at ANC. It’s my working theory that the limited gene pool there has created an overly athletic population. Whereas I would consider myself average, in BA I was downright pathetic.
Today, the frustration is constant and acute. It happens every time I go to SPAC, the gym, and play pick-up basketball. I know what I’m supposed to do, and what others are supposed to do, because I’m a intelligent basketball player. That doesn’t mean my body actually does it, however. It means that I toss up lame-duck shots, can’t drive to the basket, and can’t recover when the guy I’m guarding blows past me.
I hate the feeling. It’s that of a has-been, not a never-was, and I think I’d take the latter at this point. Blissful ignorance, like that I see in the eyes of my fellow not-athletic-enough players, would make it more fun. Knowing I should be better makes it a hassle.