I'm particularly inept at throwing balls, mostly because my fingers haven't figure out the right time in the hurling motion to actually let go. And when I throw a frisbee, it often heads ninety degrees from where I was intending to throw it. I have a lot of friend who play ultimate frisbee, who try to get me to sign up too, and I have to explain that they are better off without me on their team. Move the goal lines to the side of the field and then we'll talk. (On a mostly unrelated note, I know that if you shorten the name of the game, players prefer that you refer to it as "ultimate," but I like being contrary, so FRISBEE FRISBEE FRISBEE it is.)
For those of you have been reading this blog for a while -- I am still working on trying to do a pull-up, and I've made decent progress. David has also made decent progress, in not giving himself a concussion on the pull-up bar every time he walks through the doorway. Back in February, when we had our annual furnace maintenance done, the furnace technician royally clocked himself on the pull-up bar, which is in the doorway leading to the furnace room. He found a problem with the furnace and his services wound up being much, much more expensive than originally anticipated, and while I don't necessarily think that was in retribution for the traumatic brain injury he incurred at our house, I can't help but wonder. I would feel a little bit sorry for him for his injury, but his name was Wayne. I can't feel sorry for anybody named Wayne.
So I've been keeping my eyes open for some additional form of exercise to supplement running, and I think I found something. Stella goes to tumbling at a little kid gym, and they have a back-handspring clinic every Saturday afternoon, for what the gym calls "all ages, all abilities." Doesn't that sound fun? Now, if you asked me if I have a gymnastics background, I would say no, except that the word "no" doesn't really contain enough no-ness to fully explain my gymnastics non-experience. I told my sister about the clinic, who said in amazement, "They teach you to do a back handspring in just one hour?" and again, the word "no" was insufficient to actually answer the question. We need a word that magnifies the meaning of the word "no" by a billion, so that it becomes a black hole of no-ness that annihilates any nearby molecule of yes-ness. This is one of the few times I wish William Safire was still alive.
But I think it would be a great workout to do some gymnastics, even if I am not 4 ft 9 and 86 lbs. I think that attending a back handspring clinic could at worst offer some great conditioning activity with only a moderate dose of humiliation, and at best could open up a whole new world of athletics that I haven't been exposed to before. I think a lot will depend on the teacher we have. I'm hoping it's not a guy named Wayne.