My Olympic Trials (and Tribulations)

In the AF I would be known as a grape.  I am not an athlete; I am totally fine not being athletic since I don't enjoy perspiring and, well, podiatrists frown on people running in heels. Not to mention, you can't carry a handbag while running.  And don't even imply that I could simply use a fanny pack.  Completely unacceptable for anyone.  Much less a handbag snob.  And a handbag snob with hips to boot.  Egads.

So when I had to do four semesters of PE as an undergrad I was less than amused.  First, I did horseback riding.  I adored that since I love horses and it seemed like more work for the horse than me.  Next I signed up for archery.  How hard can that be?  I mean, I saw Robin Hood so I am WAAAYY ahead of the competition, right?

Well, the compound bow requires a lot of strength to pull.  And when that tension is released, it causes a HUGE muscle bruise on the forearms of the unsuspecting and/or uninformed.  I was forced to wear long sleeves the rest of the semester to quell the heroin addict rumors.  Seriously, the bruises were that bad. 

Then, there was "the incident."  I still feel really bad about this.  I am normally a total pacifist so imagine my horror when I shoot the lawn mowing guy.  Well, technically, I did not shoot him but my arrow zipped along the top of the grass and got sucked into the riding lawn mower.  Sparks a-flying.  Horrid sounds.  Panic stricken old guy in the driver's seat. 

Let me tell you, there are not enough apologies possible to strike the guilt from your conscience when the lawn guy tells you he is three weeks away from retirement/he thought he was a goner/never seen nothing like that/did anyone else sees those sparks?  All while popping nitroglycerine pills like they were M&Ms.  You don't even have to be Catholic to know that you are going to hell for tormenting old, toothless, really nice guys who wave to everyone.  I swear I brought him brownies for a month afterward (then I realized that he had retired and the rest of the staff was simply banking on me being too blond to realize this).

So, the "professor" (seriously, no one sans a PhD and wearing polyester shorts needs a title like that) and I cut a deal.  I would tutor the basketball team in math and he would give me an "A" in the class.  {The moron actually started off negotiations with a "B."  Seriously?  You think I am ruining my GPA over Archery?  I think not, dude.}

So, naturally, I appear the next semester in the class.  The coach was less than amused to see my happy little face in there again but, under duress, he cut the same deal.  Clearly, he had not been raised with my mother whose philosophy was "when you got someone in a position of weakness, exploit it."

So, imagine my surprise, when I got a letter from the Olympic Archery team inviting me to try-outs.  Apparently, they queried female college students who got A's in archery.  And, c'est voila, there I am!

I did not go to the invitational since I am pretty sure no one is looking for a math tutor for Olympians.