Title IX and Me

Here I am, sixty years old, and I have never played team sports.

It is uncomfortable for me to give, or receive, a high five from the person next to me on the treadmill, even after we both completed the same Orange Everest climb, just at different speeds.  It feels awkward.  While I appreciate the thought, I don't understand this supportive team mentality.  I am shocked when the coach comes up to me and says, good job or good form.  When they correct what I am doing wrong it is easy for me to feel embarrassed that I didn't get it right the first time, instead of grateful they noticed and cared enough to help.

In 1972 Congress passed the Educational Amendments. One section of this law, Title IX, prohibits discrimination against girls and women in federally-funded education, including in athletics programs.

Growing up, there were no girls sports teams.

We were never taught the fundamentals - not in gym class and certainly not as part of some summer program.  We were steered toward more appropriate activities like badminton, square dancing, and maybe tumbling (not to be confused with gymnastics) where we rolled awkwardly across padded mats.  Little League baseball, intramural basketball, football clinics, wrestling - all just for the boys.  Girls learned to cook, sew and maybe, if the family could afford lessons, play piano.

Girls just did not participate in organized team sports.

We were encouraged to be cheerleaders or pompom girls and if we couldn't make either team, pursue some academic achievement in our spare time.  The feminine social hierarchy was well defined - cheerleaders, pompoms, and everyone else.  For one glorious year I dipped my toe into girls athletics, such as it was.  I earned a spot as pompom girl, mainly because my friends were on the team and not because of any true desire or ability.

I was in high school when I first felt the effects of Title IX in my small town.

Suddenly, we had girls cross country, girls gymnastics, girls volleyball, and girls basketball.  We didn't know the rules. Most of the us had never handled a basketball or volleyball before.  No one had taught us to dribble or spike. It was mostly parents who attended games (or the occasional boys who liked to see girls run around in short shorts).

By the time this happened I was happily entrenched in my non-athletic activities, falling safely into the academic tier. I was on the forensics team, was the token girl on the high quiz bowl team, and was the year book editor by my Senior year,  I dabbled in the greasepaint of musical theater, sang in the choir and wrote a weekly High School Happenings article for the local paper.

This is why it is so hard for me to see myself as even remotely athletic.

I instantly become that seventh grader who tried to run the half mile but failed to realize how much commitment to daily practice was required,  I didn't know you had to build endurance and learn technique.  I revert back to that little girl who, running in her first race, hears the crowd yelling run faster and just couldn't.  Instead of patting myself on the back for finishing in the top three, I berated myself for not coming in first.  So twisted.

In almost every activity, I often feel like I could have done better, done more.

I may not have played team sports, but I do feel empowered when I accomplish anything physically challenging.  I understand the draw athletes feel to their sport.  I, too, feel competitive and want to win.  I don't want to give up in the face of adversity.  Only problem, I lack confidence in my abilities.  Confidence younger adults seem to have in abundance.  Was it because I was never pushed physically?  Or felt like part of a team?

As I get older, I realize I like the muscle aches the day after a tough workout.  It helps me remember how far I have come...how much my body can achieve.  I am getting used to the encouragement of my fellow OTF members and good job doesn't feel so foreign.  I am grateful that little girls can embrace team sports in a way that was not afforded to me, all because of Title IX..

I am finally learning the pleasure of physical activity and team support.

It is a good feeling.

Cucumber, Tea and the Everly Brothers

Donny and Lorraine were the COOLEST parents in my neighborhood.

For one thing, they were young - much younger than anyone else's parents. They asked us to call them by their first names, something you just did not do in the late sixties.  And they seemed to have more time - and energy - to spend with all the neighborhood kids.

I grew up in small town Wisconsin during the turbulent sixties.  I vaguely remember President Kennedy's funeral as broadcast on our black and white console television.  I remember listening to WRIG (Wisconsin's Big Rig Top Forty on your AM Dial) while singing along to Brandy by Looking Glass.  As children, we ran freely around the neighborhood barreling from yard to yard.  It was all one big playground for us.  In the summers we played all day, then ran out again right after dinner and came back in when it got dark, figuring out the time by peering into the neighbor's window to see what was on television.

We were the quintessential small town family.  My mom stayed at home and ran the house.  She always had some sweet treat baking in the oven and the family gathered around the kitchen table every night, promptly at five.  My dad worked in the local door and sash factory, tinkered on his car parked in the driveway and smoked Pall Mall cigarettes with no filter.  Our vacations consisted of road trips to our Uncle John's cabin where we swam in the lake, fished, hand pumped drinking water and used an outhouse when necessary.  We read books, danced to the radio, played board games and card games, giggling the whole night through.

Kids ran around our neighborhood with no worries about getting hit by a car, or being abducted, or having anything more serious than a scrape on the knee happen to us.  We rode bikes without helmets, went swimming in the river, and drank water out of the hose.  Life was simple...and fun.  We put on neighborhood carnivals, played SPUD in the street, and made up running games.

We spent a lot of time hanging out at Donnie and Lorraine's house.  We played jump the hedge in their backyard, school in the playhouse, flashlight tag at night and radio disc jockey during the day.  They had the best records to use when playing disc jockey.  We discovered the stash of forty-five's from Donnie and Lorraine's teen years.  We learned all the words to the Everly Brothers' Wake up Little Suzie  in that upstairs playroom, understanding there was something risque about the song, but not quite putting our finger on what.

Lorraine introduced us to the art of sewing.  She helped us pick material, taught us how to lay out the pattern for our matching jumpers, cut, sew, and hem our creations.  I still remember mine - dark green corduroy with patch pockets in the front...a little shorter than my mom usually let me wear.  I loved that dress.

Lorraine introduced us to healthy snacks.  Cucumbers sprinkled salt and cut into precise medallions, raw carrots cut into spears, and peas eaten straight out of the pod. In the cool months, we stopped playing at midday for tea time. She served hot tea with milk and honey in fancy cups.   Even if I didn't really like the taste of tea, I sure did like drinking something that seemed so grown-up from a china cup and saucer.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I was learning another way to be a mom.

Lorraine taught me to stay young at heart and fit of body, to try new things and play when maybe I should be working.  My own mom taught me the importance of stability (and a good book).  She was dependable, a hard worker and kept a meticulous house.  She was a planner and a saver.  She kept our family together.  She taught me to how to persevere and make my dreams a reality.  She taught me how to smile in the face of hurt.  She taught me how to be independent, how to repair just about anything, how to plan for a future that improved upon hers. 

I am forever grateful I had both of these women in my life and happy to be (to paraphrase Donny and Marie) a little bit Lorraine and a little bit Ruth...the best of both worlds.

Coping with Stress

My phone froze the other day and panic immediately set in.

I didn't realize just how dependent I was on that little piece of electronic wizardry.  My life was on that phone and that phone was my lifeline to everyone and everything.  All I saw was a picture of a charger cord on my screen and an Apple website URL.  I tried to manually reset my phone - nothing.  I did it again and again and again - still nothing.  I could not do anything more until I returned home to plug into my own computer and I-Tunes account.

I emailed the critical people in my life from work to let them know my phone died...and waited.

I hurried out the door promptly at closing time and headed home - no podcast, no audio book - just the radio and me.  Once I got home I turned on my computer, started I-tunes and realized I had to upload the latest IOS version.  UHG!  After thirty minutes or so I was able to plug in my phone, click update to reinstall IOS and run out the door to my Pilates class - without a phone.

I was more than a little distracted during class.  Was my phone updating?  Would all my apps and data still be there?  Would I be able to make a phone call?  If it didn't work, how would I manage until I could get a new phone?

About an hour later I hurried home to find the reset did not work.  Since I was not there during this reset, I tried again...and again...and again.  While I was waiting, I decided to fix myself a bite to eat.  Lance was at a meeting, so it would just be me.  Pull out something that's good for you, my brain suggested, you have been so conscientious for so long, don't blow it now.  But, whine, whine, my phone isn't working!

So, out came the sharp cheddar and Reduced Fat Triscuit's.  Fill up a plate with crackers, add cheese and microwave until it is gooey and ready to devour.  Repeat, because you can. So good...and so bad.  Next up, some Dove dark chocolates.  I haven't had more than one in a day for ages!

Did this temporary fall off the food wagon make my phone magically work?  Nope.

Did the junk food make me feel good about myself?  Nope.

To fix my phone I ended up doing a total factory reset.  Thank goodness most of my information was backed up to the mystical Apple cloud, so I lost very little.  I was proud of myself that I did not panic but thought through my options and acted on them.

But, my other reaction to the minor stress bothered me.  Why did I turn to food, the recliner and a dumb television show while I figured out what to do next?  Why didn't I go for a walk?  I try so hard to live a healthy lifestyle, but my immediate instinct was to feel sorry for myself and think, who cares what I do? 

Obviously, I am not perfect - far from it.

I make mistakes, bad life choices and over indulge on occasion.  I try really hard not to permanently beat myself up about my irrational urges  I know it sounds cliche, but I try to remember that tomorrow is a new day and a fresh start - and we all need a clean slate some days.

My daughter (https://www.annieandthelion.com/) wrote that we must confess and repent when we make a mistake  I think that to move on we must remember God knows us, loves us, and forgives us all ours sins....and that we should follow His example  I believe in His forgiveness and redemption - even for something as minor as mindlessly eating a plateful of cheesy Triscuits in times of stress.

So, I am trying to follow His example and forgive myself...as often as needed.