I am the Wunderkind

In which Our Heroine discloses her true Identity.

            There is a small segment of our society that somehow coexists alongside the highly athletic and health-concerned here in America.  I am of this segment.  We call ourselves the uncoordinated, the out of condition or out of shape.  Those of us so athletically unable are also unfortunately dubbed incompetent, inept, hopeless, unsuitable, and useless by Microsoft Word’s Thesaurus.  The opposite of the word athletic is unfortunately unfit.  Is there a societal critique implicit here?  (You would think the unfit brainiacs responsible for dictionary definitions would stand up for themselves a little more).  For those of us in the flabby, frail, weak, puny, and ailing category, I’d like to perhaps redefine our “hopelessness” a little.  You see, its not that I don’t want to be capable on the basketball court, or able to run long distances very fast and impressively.  I’ve just never been able to do it as well as nearly everyone else.  And I like to be successful at everything, so my resolve in these athletic instances sharply declines even in the heated and sweaty moments.  By the way, how do you all get past the icky sweat barrier?  Can’t figure that part out…

                So, to redefine: The un-athletic are uninspired physically, perhaps too rational and controlled in competitive situations.  (Please disregard unintended critiques here—unless you have wronged me personally in some athletic way) But really, forget the hyperbole.  Its mostly about this: many of us assume we should be able to do whatever the others can do, and feel disappointment when proven wrong, wrong, wrong.  The additional problem is that I have become jaded about this physical stuff over the years, suspicious of my friend’s attempts at making it “fun” for me.  Okay, just to be quite clear at least once, making contact with the ball using anything other than my face and nose is HARD for me. 

                The good news is that even this part of my former identity has been deconstructed in the last month.  Apparently, I am a physical therapy wunderkind.  My body is healing swiftly in all important ways.  I love thinking that I am a veritable physical genius for once.  Yeah, I’m going back to the basics at therapy, but I’m finally a success, so I’ll take it.  My therapist, Maria, has expressed surprise several times at the progress I’ve shown, especially when I admit to not having practiced much between sessions.   To the physically unable who read this blog, I even confess a heady enjoyment at times when I am throwing a ball, catching a stick, or screwing bolts on screws at a therapy session.  I understand now that being able to use my body better is FUN.  (More fun that having a dead limb dangling uselessly at my side, for sure).  Ah, such happy times—such bliss—when I find joy in the simple things in life.