There’s nothing like doing something new to remind you of who you really are, on the inside.
Today with my five and two-year old in toe I headed to the local softball fields, like we’ve done almost every Sunday this summer, to watch my husband play on his co-ed team. The team is pretty bad, they lose more than they win, but they have fun and the kids love to watch daddy and a little time outside, when the kids are entertained, I’ll surely take.
Except this Sunday I wasn’t a spectator, I played.
We walked up to the dugout just as the first game was ending. Unfortunately, one of the female teammates was experiencing a bit of illness due to the heat and with her out of the game there weren’t enough gals to make the coed quota to play their final championship game.
I show up in cutoff denim shorts and a tank top with strappy sandals not even close to softball gear when my husband says to me, “Honey,” (notice the buttering up) ‘We’re going to need you to play or we’ll have to forfeit.”
It needs to be stated that I’m not athletic. I’ve never played softball. Sure, I’m not clumsy, and I did play one varsity sport in high school, but that was a long time ago. I’m physically fit and I love yoga, but softball – not even close to my thing.
At this point, the whole team’s looking at me, counting on a yes. They promise all I have to do is stand in the outfield and then go up to bat and hope to get walked. Quite nervous inside I agreed. Totally irrational things were running through my head about how I might embarrass myself or get injured, but I couldn’t say no, they were all looking at me. And saying no felt mean. I’m not mean.
I wasn’t too worried about being in the outfield. I’ve seen some of their players out there, and I knew I could fit right in. I was more worried about getting distracted trying to parent from the grass and losing a front tooth or something when I missed the popup coming right at me.
First inning down. Then my turn in the batting order comes. I guess I knew it would, but I was secretly hoping they’d get runrulled before my at bat (not completely out the question with the skill level of this team). I get up there and the ump says to coach, “She’s gotta have shoes, she can’t play in sandals.” He calls a timeout and I run back to the dugout as a woman on the team take off her shoes. I lace up, and more nervous than before, I stand at the plate. They walk me. What a relief.
That inning I actually scored a run.
The following inning, I made a decent throw to the short stop (my husband) and kept the runner from advancing.
And then I was up to bat again. This time, in another woman’s shoes. First pitch, a strike. The catcher cheered. Based on how I was dressed and the overzealous encouragement from my newfound teammates, the opponents knew that if they just threw strikes, I’d be out, because I hadn’t shown any signs of going down swinging.
You know what I learned about myself? I always try. I already stuck out like a sore thumb, so what if I swung and missed? In the few seconds these thoughts are going through my head I see the next pitch coming in right over the plate and without really thinking I swung. I made contact. It was a solid grounder but it went straight to the second basemen and I couldn’t beat it to the bag. But I tried and I didn’t embarrass myself.
I had two more at-bats each in other women’s shoes, but what happened at the plate anymore didn’t matter. The team lost, but I achieved a mini victory. Stepping out of my comfort zone reminded me that I always go down swinging.
Do you have a habit of trying new things to remember who you really are?