Basketball, Growing Old, and Forgetting to Change the Roll.

I ran into a girl I once knew a moment ago. I used to coach her in basketball when she was in ninth grade.

Let's rewind to that chapter of my life. This will be miserable for me, but perhaps mildly entertaining for you.

This was the time in my life when I thought I could do everything, when I thought I had boundless energy and could rise to every occasion. (Who am I kidding, I still pretend like that stuff is true). I was a meager assistant coach on a cross country team with absolutely no responsibility aside from running with the kids...oh, and one time the head coach asked me to record split times, once, at one race, the only real responsibility I was ever given, that one time.

And then the head coach approaches me one day, informing me that the girl's basketball frosh/soph head coaching position has opened up and that I should take it. I'm not sure why this woman decided I was right for the part considering she had only entrusted me with responsibility once in our entire professional relationship. I hadn't proved myself to her nor did she know that I was only a mediocre basketball player who was only chosen for the team because of my gargantuan size. I played for three years and that was it.

Not only am I baffled as to why this woman recommended me for the job, I'm at a loss for words as to why I went on to meet the head coach of the girl's basketball program, and accept the position. I would be responsible for ten girls. There would be practice every morning at 6:30am. I would not have an assistant nor would our games coincide with any of the JV or Varsity games. I was entirely on my own, with no guidance or support. I was fed to the wolves, the seething open mouthed parents of these young girls, open mouthed and waiting to pounce upon my young and naive unqualified flesh.

I was terrible. I had no idea what I was doing. I never once called a time out. My talks in the locker rooms were petty and pointless. We lost more games than we won. And the worst part is, my girls actually had talent. Some of them should have even made JV...another component contributing to the afore-mentioned seething mouths. They had talent. I just didn't know how to harvest it. One parent even called me and chewed me out over the phone. The others just yelled at me from the bleachers. Like a pack of wild dogs, they banded together, no composure, yelling and flailing, those little gobs of spittle gathering in the corners of their mouths. I'm surprised they never pounced. I still have nightmares about them, ones in which these wild dog like parents flock from the stands and drag me out to the center of the court where they rip my clothes to shreds leaving me naked and shivering in the fetal position, all the fans from each team pointing and laughing, cackling with their heads thrown back.

Ok, ok, I don't have nightmares...anymore.

But it was still miserable.

So to see this young girl at the coffee shop. This young girl I used to coach. This one girl who was actually one of my favorites due to her creative intellect and passion for books...was a wretched reminder of how I went down in flames as a basketball coach and will never attempt it again.

And to think...I coached a practice five days a week at 6:30am...and accompanied these girls to countless games and tournaments...the hours and effort are immeasurable..the embarrassment and emotional abuse stuck to the soles of my shoes forever....and all for a meager 600 bones.

I suppose I didn't even deserve that much for as bad as I was. I'm just glad it's over.

It was nice to see her and hear how she's doing, now that she's since graduated from high school, went to art school for a year, and has now moved back...it's weird how people get older. I started running into my old YoungLife kids at Sandbar. Awkward turtle to the max.

Anyway, that was a nice trip down memory lane. I hope you enjoyed it. It's time for me to go be productive now and stop thinking about what a failure I am. Was. Ugh.

Blah.

In other news,

I'm anemic and have to take several hundred milligrams of iron daily, which constipates me and makes me feel like an invalid. Apparently 12-14 is normal on the iron scale. I'm a 10. The box says to take one a day. The doctor over-rode the box and is telling me to take three a day.

I've developed the terrible habit of cracking my knuckles. And now have nightmares of giant swollen knobs on my fingers due to the incessant popping and cracking of cartilage.

I watched all three movies in the Back to the Future saga in the last 36 hours.

I forgot to change the toilet paper roll once and Anthony made note of it.

I took a CSET practice test and only got half of them right.

One of my toenails is bruised and is going to fall off.

It's the second one from the left on my right foot.

I took Jemma thrifting on three for one Wednesday and have ignited a new passion within her. She makes me proud. I also bought ten cat puzzles for $1.92.

The Monopoly game at McDonalds is making me and my boyfriend morbidly obese. Good thing it's over this week.

And if you get a chance, rent the movie Pirate Radio. It's rull good.