I am not the kind of person who typically likes to live too far outside of her comfort zone.
I know what I am good at — and even more so, what I am not good at — and more often than not I live within those boundaries, happy to avoid activities and situations that cause me too much stress.
With that said, I recently shared about how I was unsure “how much was too much” to push our kids to continue on with activities that they may not initially be too keen on. I am proud to say my oldest, who was adamant she didn’t want to take skating lessons this year, recently got back on the ice despite her fears.
Was it entirely without concern? Absolutely not, but after a few tears, supportive words from one of the coaches, and a couple of deep breaths, she closed her eyes, spoke some words of encouragement her favourite babysitter/skate coach shared with her last winter, and slowly but surely took the hand offered to her and shuffled onto the ice.
After a few focused one-on-one shuffles around the ice, she seemed to have gathered enough confidence to join her group, and quickly found her footing. At the end of the lesson, she shared with me that it was “soooo much fun!”
Her little sister, who never used to go more than an arm's length away from her dad or I unless one of her “besties” was in the vicinity, switched to a new dance studio this fall, and it’s been beyond amazing watching her be so comfortable there among the new instructor and classmates.
I share this because, seeing them both do things that I know frightened them has ultimately prompted me to take a page from their books and do something that “scared” me. I joined a soccer team. No, I have never played soccer before and no, I don’t know anything about it beyond ‘foot kicks ball’ and ‘ball goes in net’ (and hopefully the correct one!).
I was encouraged to join after commenting on a friend’s social media post when she shared her end of year team photo. I initially sloughed it off as something other people do, but not me. I mean, who, at 42, picks up a new sport like soccer!?! Not me!
Except, last Thursday night, I did. I joined this group of (thankfully) very understanding women who, whether they felt it or not, didn’t look too irked that their newest teammate had less understanding of the game than a 5-year-old.
I won’t lie, I absolutely offered to warm the bench, hand out water bottles and be the most annoying cheerleader they’d ever had, but alas, they still stuck me in.
Somehow, I managed to only trip over my feet a handful of times, and didn’t go ass-over-tea-kettle as I had anticipated therefore turning myself into the next viral meme — or gif — or whatever they are called. I even managed to make contact with the ball a few times, if not always on purpose.
Given how small the gym was, it’s insane how quickly I ran out of breath. My lungs the next day felt like I had smoked a carton of Du Maurier cigarettes and, despite a boiling hot bath filled with a Costco-sized bag of epsom salts, my legs still hurt several days later.
All of that is enough for me to cut my losses and simply say “I tried” and leave these ladies to their game with one less accident-waiting-to-happen to worry about, but now that both my daughter’s know that “Mummy did it” I know I now need to lead by example and show up again next week and the week after.
Who knows, maybe I will eventually figure out how to connect my foot with the ball on purpose! Until then, I will remain as the self-deprecating comic relief who is simply enjoying a few hours out of the house surrounded by other grown ups, who thankfully, also didn’t take themselves too seriously.
Nikki Cole is a staff reporter at BarrieToday.
