Basketball - Destroyer of Steps
I've been trying to push myself to participate in more staff activities. Since I had started Cheer Team for the boys basketball teams, I figured when the Staff vs. 8th Grade Boys game came around that I would play.
As I watched the sign-ups, it was... "jocks" for lack of a better term. Super fit and/or tall. I'm a little 5'4" thing with a lot of extra junk all around. I tried to get some of the other women at the school to join me with very little to literally no success. I had gathered a motley crew of me and two other women. We were all set to go, but I wanted to know if there would be a staff practice. I remember when there was a staff game last year, I think against the girls, there was a staff practice.
So I went to the nearest teacher who was probably part of organizing it and asked. And the answer I got kind of blew my mind and was a smidge too arrogant for my liking. I wanted there to be a chance to like... meld as a team or make sure we're all on a similar page. I mean... my goodness... we're going out there in front of like a hundred+ kids and middle school kids are kind of ruthless with their critiques. And it said all skill levels. So what... you're only going to play the weaker teachers sometimes and the sporty ones take it all? I'm not putting that in their mouth, it's just how I feel.
Sadly, I caved and took my name off. I talked to one of the crew and she bailed, too and I wasn't going to leave our third member out. So we all stepped out. It left the team with 4, maybe 5, players for the game. But hey... a phy-ed teacher, a super tall teacher, a sporty woman teacher, and a relatively tall player who knew all the plays would be fine. That's what one of the teachers said. Then another phy-ed teacher signed up, so they officially have 5.
Bottom line.... I bailed. I let my head get caught up in whatever I was picturing and I'm out.
And yet... I'm not out.... I decided one morning, when I walked by the gym, that I was going to practice on my own.
I couldn't believe how out of shape I was for basketball. If I had just showed up to play, I definitely would have been in for a rude awakening. I spent 45 minutes on the floor practicing free-throws and some jump shots. That's how it started. When I got back up to my classroom, my little Fitbit was flashing a lot higher than it had been. One sync and I saw I'd hit well over half my step goal for the day. Like... an insane amount of steps and I hadn't even realized how much I "walked" or "run" or whatever. I was totally pumped.
I went in the next morning, too. Over-confidence was running high. Then the weekend arrived and the soreness had set in. Did you know you have muscles ALL OVER?
I had to rest, but on Sunday I powered through things and got in my three miles on the treadmill. Excitedly impressed myself.
Then Monday came around. I woke up at 4:30AM and tried to get to school in time. I got in about 45 minutes before someone showed up. I was super psyched. Then Tuesday arrived and I got up again. This time, though, my right foot was feeling a little sore, but that wasn't anything new for me. I'm really hard on my feet. The pain, though, was growing.
By Wednesday morning when I went to practice... I was feeling a good deal more pain. I stretched and went to do my running and by the time I was done (pushing through the pain to finish), I was hurting pretty bad. Tried to shake it off with some shooting and... one shot took me out and I was on the floor clutching my foot in pain. The tears came.
I stood up and tried to shoot and push through the pain. Even just rising up on my tiptoes was painful. I didn't want to give up, so I stood under the basket practicing my one-handed shots to help with my layups when I was better the next day. I was in tears, even yelling out to my father in my mind to somehow help me make it through this. I wanted to play... I wasn't going to let my hard work go to waste.
As the day went on, the pain became worse and worse. I had to take my shoe off. I had students swapping out an ice pack for me every hour. I even had a student as one of our phy-ed teachers for a tennis ball so I could roll my foot. The pain was too intense. I finally asked for an elevator key so I could actually leave the top floor.
Arriving home in tears, I immediately took to soaking and icing and exercising my foot. I needed it to get better for Friday. Thursday morning I couldn't walk at all. I was hopping around and it was really hard getting downstairs. Happy Birthday to me! (It was my birthday. Der.)
I tried to be strong and push through it, but I couldn't. Friday morning I was convinced I could play. I brought my clothes and one of my coworkers who was playing said I could just be a cherry picker on the other side of the court. I was set and then fourth hour... my anxiety kicked into high gear. As I, by myself, tried to push through it... I finally made it to the bench. As I stepped onto the bench, the pain shot up through my foot. As the first substitution happened, I jumped up and left. I broke down into tears in this dark corner of my school.
Going back upstairs, I thought I could find solace but I found none. Then I told myself, "You don't just hide. Go out there and do what you do best!" I quickly changed and got my poms. I joined my one student who I knew was cheering and I cheered with him and then more students wanted to cheer and my little cheer section was born. The pain in my foot was still there, but I was happy.
The shame I felt was so intense. My students were counting on me. I was supposed to be brave. I wasn't going to let anything stop me. I wanted it so badly... to prove to myself that I could do it... to show that my hard work mattered. I failed my friend, I failed my team, I failed my students, and I failed myself. Gotta love the INFJ Anxiety! YES!
But it didn't matter that I wasn't there. The staff won. Just like my coworker said they would without practice. I wasn't missed. I wasn't needed. I was where I needed to be. I was with my kids cheering on the 8th grade boys as the more sporty staff members crushed them with height and nimble fingertips.
I'm still upset with myself and I let it all eat away at me. I couldn't even use WWSWD. This battle is too hard to fight alone. Next year... next year I'll be part of the game. Now it's time to turn my attention to the 8th grade girl's game. Time to keep pushing forward. When something knocks me down, I always get back up. I may be bloody and bruised, but I prefer to take things head on.
As I watched the sign-ups, it was... "jocks" for lack of a better term. Super fit and/or tall. I'm a little 5'4" thing with a lot of extra junk all around. I tried to get some of the other women at the school to join me with very little to literally no success. I had gathered a motley crew of me and two other women. We were all set to go, but I wanted to know if there would be a staff practice. I remember when there was a staff game last year, I think against the girls, there was a staff practice.So I went to the nearest teacher who was probably part of organizing it and asked. And the answer I got kind of blew my mind and was a smidge too arrogant for my liking. I wanted there to be a chance to like... meld as a team or make sure we're all on a similar page. I mean... my goodness... we're going out there in front of like a hundred+ kids and middle school kids are kind of ruthless with their critiques. And it said all skill levels. So what... you're only going to play the weaker teachers sometimes and the sporty ones take it all? I'm not putting that in their mouth, it's just how I feel.
Sadly, I caved and took my name off. I talked to one of the crew and she bailed, too and I wasn't going to leave our third member out. So we all stepped out. It left the team with 4, maybe 5, players for the game. But hey... a phy-ed teacher, a super tall teacher, a sporty woman teacher, and a relatively tall player who knew all the plays would be fine. That's what one of the teachers said. Then another phy-ed teacher signed up, so they officially have 5.
Bottom line.... I bailed. I let my head get caught up in whatever I was picturing and I'm out.
And yet... I'm not out.... I decided one morning, when I walked by the gym, that I was going to practice on my own.I couldn't believe how out of shape I was for basketball. If I had just showed up to play, I definitely would have been in for a rude awakening. I spent 45 minutes on the floor practicing free-throws and some jump shots. That's how it started. When I got back up to my classroom, my little Fitbit was flashing a lot higher than it had been. One sync and I saw I'd hit well over half my step goal for the day. Like... an insane amount of steps and I hadn't even realized how much I "walked" or "run" or whatever. I was totally pumped.
I went in the next morning, too. Over-confidence was running high. Then the weekend arrived and the soreness had set in. Did you know you have muscles ALL OVER?
I had to rest, but on Sunday I powered through things and got in my three miles on the treadmill. Excitedly impressed myself.
Then Monday came around. I woke up at 4:30AM and tried to get to school in time. I got in about 45 minutes before someone showed up. I was super psyched. Then Tuesday arrived and I got up again. This time, though, my right foot was feeling a little sore, but that wasn't anything new for me. I'm really hard on my feet. The pain, though, was growing.By Wednesday morning when I went to practice... I was feeling a good deal more pain. I stretched and went to do my running and by the time I was done (pushing through the pain to finish), I was hurting pretty bad. Tried to shake it off with some shooting and... one shot took me out and I was on the floor clutching my foot in pain. The tears came.
I stood up and tried to shoot and push through the pain. Even just rising up on my tiptoes was painful. I didn't want to give up, so I stood under the basket practicing my one-handed shots to help with my layups when I was better the next day. I was in tears, even yelling out to my father in my mind to somehow help me make it through this. I wanted to play... I wasn't going to let my hard work go to waste.
As the day went on, the pain became worse and worse. I had to take my shoe off. I had students swapping out an ice pack for me every hour. I even had a student as one of our phy-ed teachers for a tennis ball so I could roll my foot. The pain was too intense. I finally asked for an elevator key so I could actually leave the top floor.
Arriving home in tears, I immediately took to soaking and icing and exercising my foot. I needed it to get better for Friday. Thursday morning I couldn't walk at all. I was hopping around and it was really hard getting downstairs. Happy Birthday to me! (It was my birthday. Der.)
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| How about just greatness? |
Going back upstairs, I thought I could find solace but I found none. Then I told myself, "You don't just hide. Go out there and do what you do best!" I quickly changed and got my poms. I joined my one student who I knew was cheering and I cheered with him and then more students wanted to cheer and my little cheer section was born. The pain in my foot was still there, but I was happy.
The shame I felt was so intense. My students were counting on me. I was supposed to be brave. I wasn't going to let anything stop me. I wanted it so badly... to prove to myself that I could do it... to show that my hard work mattered. I failed my friend, I failed my team, I failed my students, and I failed myself. Gotta love the INFJ Anxiety! YES!But it didn't matter that I wasn't there. The staff won. Just like my coworker said they would without practice. I wasn't missed. I wasn't needed. I was where I needed to be. I was with my kids cheering on the 8th grade boys as the more sporty staff members crushed them with height and nimble fingertips.
I'm still upset with myself and I let it all eat away at me. I couldn't even use WWSWD. This battle is too hard to fight alone. Next year... next year I'll be part of the game. Now it's time to turn my attention to the 8th grade girl's game. Time to keep pushing forward. When something knocks me down, I always get back up. I may be bloody and bruised, but I prefer to take things head on.
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