I was thinking today about my inability to commit. Call me weird, call me crazy, or just call me awesome but not only does that certain talent of mine apply to the ladies (although not in the standard sense) it also applies to my sporting activities.
So I thought I'd combine those two things in one amazing set of paragraphs.
Through my life post-puberty, I've had a lot of time trying to figure out what I wanted from a girl. Did I want her to be model hot? Did I want her to be movie-star hot? Did I want her to be really pretty? Well, the short answer was yes...I wanted all of those things. Intelligence doesn't matter at all to me. Just looks. (Sarcasm). The problem for me was figuring out how to 'put myself out there,' if you will. In high school, I thought playing golf would be a big draw. As I drove and putted my way to the heights of golfing skill I thought all of the cute girls watching would be mightly impressed with how well I wielded my clubs. Their reactions would pretty much range anywhere from "Wow, do you know what THAT guy's name is? Because I definitely want that and his number," to "I bet he looks good naked, we should talk to him."
The only problem with these two philosophies (the ONLY one, mind you) was that it always involved the girl coming to me! How against the laws of nature is that? In every boy-girl scenario the main central theme involves something along the lines of "what is the guy going to do to get the girl," but as opposed to my realistic vision of that story it was more like "what great pick-up line will he use or how will he ask her to dance without being awkward or what nice thing will he do that will make her realize he's more than just another guy?'' You know, things like that.
My strategy was flawed from the start.
But what does this have to do with sports? Well, it's simple really. I've never played any meaningful sport for more than four years. I'm not counting pre-high school days because those days were also before I "came of age" so to speak. You can read between the lines. In high school, the sport of the day was golf. I played A LOT of golf for four years, got to be pretty good, and then stopped. Suddenly and immediately. Abruptly and quickly. Crazily and wickedly awesomely. It was epic how suddenly I stopped playing golf, if those previous three sentences didn't convey that truth well enough. I've had a set of really nice golf clubs worth well over $1000 just sitting in various closets for the past 5 years. I just couldn't commit to taking it to the next level.
College brought with it new challenges; one of those being the easiest and fastest way to shave your legs. Cycling was a brand new thing for me, as I had never done any endurance sports before (unless you count golf) and it showed. I was pretty slow at first but over the months and years I got to be a pretty decent cyclist and leg-shaver. I believe my record time was just under 8 minutes with a new razor in the spring of my sophomore year. April 22nd I believe, at about 5:27 in the evening. Not that I keep track of that sort of thing. But again, I couldn't stay committed to cycling. I would go through phases (most notably practically the first half of my junior year) where I would get bored and not ride for long periods of time. I just couldn't take it to the next level. I wanted the fitness to just happen; I didn't want to have to work for it (sound familiar?).
It's hard to intertwine one's "love" life and one's athletic life, but I think that the comparisons I can draw in those two aspects of my own life are almost eerie. I don't really want to do any work, I just want it to happen. But where's the reward if you never work for it? How can you feel any sense of fulfillment if you don't put in the hours of training (and the hours of being nice to a girl, yuck)? You can't, suffice it to say.
Note: this is laced with heavy sarcasm. Take it how you will.