Leap Day and Life Goals
Today is the first twenty-ninth of February I've spent with my blog. Yay.
In other news, I have a new goal. My old goal was to receive my mission call. Now that I have, my new goal is to spend as little time in the MTC as possible. Accelerated Spanish class, here I come!
You see, the MTC has cafeteria food, which is a great way for me to lose those last fifteen pounds that are keeping me from being truly emaciated. But cafeteria food is nothing when compared to the other evil of the MTC: gym class.
(I haven't seen this movie, but Billy Bob Thornton is about the most terrifying gym teacher I can imagine.)
I can see it now, the inevitable volleyball game at six in the morning (if sisters' PE is still either at 6:00 a.m. or 10:00 p.m.): Quickly fading into the background while some women who are actually good at volleyball duke it out. Someone says, "We should let Sister Bethylene have the ball!" With heavy heart, I move to where I think the ball will be; the ball hits the ground five feet to my right. No one passes me the ball for the rest of the class. The gym teacher takes me aside, worried that I'm not participating, but I already have formed a Utah-style indirect retort: "Gosh, Brother Gym Teacher, if my hand-eye coordination and depth perception will determine my success as a missionary, then I should just give up now, right?"
Plus I hate being sweaty. Plus I don't like to lie on hard gym floors to do crunches and feel grit chafing my back through my shirt to complement the tailbone pain. Plus somewhere deep down I don't like doing stupid stuff like run in circles around a gym just because someone with a whistle told me to.
I'm a girl! An old-fashioned, pathetic, horrible-at-sports girl! My mother hates that she missed Title IX, that her only chance for athleticism was on the drill team. My high-school sport adventure was one year on the no-cut badminton team, in which I was the lowest-ranked player.
In other news, I have a new goal. My old goal was to receive my mission call. Now that I have, my new goal is to spend as little time in the MTC as possible. Accelerated Spanish class, here I come!
You see, the MTC has cafeteria food, which is a great way for me to lose those last fifteen pounds that are keeping me from being truly emaciated. But cafeteria food is nothing when compared to the other evil of the MTC: gym class.
(I haven't seen this movie, but Billy Bob Thornton is about the most terrifying gym teacher I can imagine.)I can see it now, the inevitable volleyball game at six in the morning (if sisters' PE is still either at 6:00 a.m. or 10:00 p.m.): Quickly fading into the background while some women who are actually good at volleyball duke it out. Someone says, "We should let Sister Bethylene have the ball!" With heavy heart, I move to where I think the ball will be; the ball hits the ground five feet to my right. No one passes me the ball for the rest of the class. The gym teacher takes me aside, worried that I'm not participating, but I already have formed a Utah-style indirect retort: "Gosh, Brother Gym Teacher, if my hand-eye coordination and depth perception will determine my success as a missionary, then I should just give up now, right?"
Plus I hate being sweaty. Plus I don't like to lie on hard gym floors to do crunches and feel grit chafing my back through my shirt to complement the tailbone pain. Plus somewhere deep down I don't like doing stupid stuff like run in circles around a gym just because someone with a whistle told me to.
I'm a girl! An old-fashioned, pathetic, horrible-at-sports girl! My mother hates that she missed Title IX, that her only chance for athleticism was on the drill team. My high-school sport adventure was one year on the no-cut badminton team, in which I was the lowest-ranked player.
posted by Bethylene at 10:34
2 Comments:
I think I should apologize for taking pleasure from your pain. I have that movie in my bag right now, with every intention of watching at my earliest convenience. Something keeps stopping me, though.
Anyway, Miami is very warm and rather humid, but not altogether unpleasant. San Diego was better, but maybe only because of my familiarity with the area.
Where have you been called to? Can I be nosey?
As in Philadelphia? The city of brotherly love (which sounds odd in this day and age)... So much wonderful history in those walls. I am jealous but then I realize the committment you have made to what amount to poverty and humility. I was never that magnanimous, and I am surely beyond being so now. Based only on the logic of the thing, I do not envy your tasks, but I certainly wish you the best of luck. I am actually really excited for you! I am not sure when you leave, am glad you have already committed to keeping us all in touch, and hope that I might actually see some post from the original US capital. That would be a kick and a half.
Anyway, please let me know if there is something I can do in the meantime to help out.
Cheers!
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