I have a “bleeding heart”. It seems to run in my family. I am constantly calling my mom a “bleeding heart” because it doesn’t take her more than two minutes talking to a stranger for her to discover that the person is struggling somehow. Immediately, she begins offering emotional support. She becomes overly sympathetic, and it used to drive me crazy growing up. I didn’t get it – Why did she care so much? It had nothing to do with her or her life. Couldn’t she just put it aside so we could continue on with what we were doing?
I started CrossFit sometime in October of last year. I never intended to join… I was happy working out at my local Mommy Bootcamp, despite the fact that I was the only one without toddlers following them around. But when G, who had signed a year contract 6 months prior, hurt his knee and could no longer attend, I figured I had better take his spot if we were going to be paying for the membership. I was quite terrified at first, to be honest. It wasn’t the act of weight lifting that intimidated me… Weight lifting had been one of my favorite classes in high school! But working out in a primarily male-dominant atmosphere did. And I knew enough about it to know that there were strong military ties with CrossFit… and lots of yelling (of the encouraging variety, but yelling all the same) and pain (the good kind, if there is a good kind).
Ok, it wasn’t really my FIRST. I did watch several of the 2010 World Cup matches, but this was in the very early days of what would become my crazy, footballin’, soccer-mom life, so it doesn’t really count. I had no idea who anyone was. I didn’t know which teams were considered “good”. I had never seen Ronaldo, Messi, or Rooney play, or had even heard of such people as Özil and Iniesta. I believed the USA could make it to the final, because they were the USA, I thought “soccer” was generally boring to watch, and that the only way the sport would impact my life would be the couple of days that I’d agree to sit and watch alongside G until the competition was over. Probably scrapbooking on the side or something.
G and I had wanted to go to Spain for years. YEARS. But we never actually thought it’d happen. We’re not world travelers… either of us. I had been to Europe in college (Italy) but other than that, neither of us had been further than Cancun, Mexico. Well, thanks to some decent tax returns and G’s entrepreneurial success this past year, we were able to save up the money to fund the trip of a lifetime. Or at least a decade. And there’s no doubt… our (my?) football obsession may have played a significant part in getting us to finally take the plunge and buy the tickets.
Part 1 was posted prior to this and should be read first…
Just a little quick background before I begin to write how football could have POSSIBLY changed my life in the significant ways I was implying in my previous post…
I was born an athlete. Not a very GOOD one, but one all the same. My earliest memories are of challenging my older brothers and their friends to sprints in the backyard, despite being 2 and 3 years younger than them (and quite small). I can remember that desire to beat them and make them think, “WOW! She’s really fast! I almost got beat by a girl!”
About two years ago my life consisted of being a mom to two elementary-aged kids, a wife to an overworked husband, and for all intents and purposes, a bored and somewhat miserable housewife. I spent my days cleaning or decorating the house, cooking and eating, and fantasizing about moving to a new house somewhere far away just so I could have an “adventure”. I exercised almost every day but never saw anything come of the hard work, and hurt all over… my knees were a mess, my wrists were constantly giving me problems, and my lower back gave me so much pain I had to see a chiropractor at least three times a week. My friends consisted of my mom, my sister, and my sister-in-law and the generic “acquaintances” on Facebook. In my free time I watched real estate and cooking shows, and scrapbooked my life into scrapbooks that no one ever looked at. Although I loved the people in my life, it was boring. I hadn’t made a friend in years, and I was growing more and more complacent with simply growing older, growing fatter, accepting the aches and pains that went along with both, and living the typical adult life of a stay-at-home mom.