In which participation by one named DeeAura should not be found.

I love my FHE group this time around. We have the best activities, and the people actually come and participate and we have more fun in one night than all our other ward activities combined. I'm just saying. We're kind of a big deal.

Now. With that said...

There I was. Supporting an FHE activity I actually possess no physical skill in which to participate.

(Translated, this means the activity was sports related, and may or may not have required hand/eye coordination. The author of this blog posesses no such skills.)

Trooper, right? I thought so. I mean, I knew beforehand what we would be doing, but I went anyway because I like the people.

The only drawback to this whole setup is the well-meaning people in my group who keep inviting me to play said sport. Now, in all fairness, they have no concept of the skills I do not possess. Also, I like the invitations. It's not their fault that the very idea of such a small particle of athletic ability is actually incomprehensible to some of them. I've accepted my position on the ladder of athletic ability, but that's because I've known about it my whole life. :)

And just for the record: just because I'm terrible at sports does not mean I do not enjoy watching them, and I also still participate from time to time. I'm a very good sport without actually being good AT sports. :) I also have a very accurate gage of how competetive those participating in the game are, and that tells me whether or not I should participate.

For instance: Will they laugh good naturedly at the fact that the ball only goes where I intend to throw it about 10% of the time, or will they plot to pummel me from behind so they don't have to deal with me anymore?It's really a very simple system.

I realize I could easily stall them with stories of my athletic success, and then tell them they deserve to have fun without me winning and taking all the fun out of it. :)

I could do that. But I'll have to do that another time because it would be complete fiction and I’d have to make it up first.

So...just for the record, I want to make public the reasons I decided to use this life to develop every skill except those of the athletic persuasion. This way, whenever I encounter a future persuasive essay in human form, I can just refer them to this blog and move on with my life. :)

Ahem.

"Sometimes I say to myself, why is that frisbee getting bigger and bigger? And then it hits me...." I didn't laugh when I first read this "quote" because I'm pretty sure that's actually happened to me before.

I. Hate. Playing. Sports.

No. No, let's rephrase that. I'm pretty sure they hate me. I certainly never started this argument. I know that.

I can't remember the exact day it started...

Maybe it was in grade school when we had to play flag football. Though...all I really remember from that was how fun Mr. Evans was, and how I accidentally scored a touchdown one day. That's right. Accidentally. And...well, I really liked kick ball. And those little square scooters? Those were cool. (though it could be argued square scooters don't equal sports...but I'll just ignore you if you point that out.)

* sigh * Those were the days.

No, I think for me, it all started at church. I was an unsuspecting 14-year-old kid, going to Wednesday night mutual activities like I should. I guess I could have noticed before then the absence of sports in my life, but...why would I? I grew up with the mom who put all emphasis on music, not sports. Sure, my Dad played. And I loved going to his games! But...uh...other than the occasional church basketball game, I never played any.

(Okay, correction. I played AYSO soccer for one season when I was...like...12 or so. But that doesn't count because I'm pretty sure at that point, most of us were still going for the juice boxes. I think two girls on our team actually cared about the fact that there was a game to play, and they sort of scared me. Whatever.)

So there I was. 14 years old. Joint young men/young women's activity at church. Clearly since the boys were involved we had to do something involving either sports or food. This time it was sports. I won't bore you with the gory details, but let's just say the ONE TIME I decided to be brave and get the stupid ball myself instead of allowing one of my far more capable teammates take care of it, said ball got stuck right in between my elbows.

Take seven seconds to picture that. Now, look to my right and you'll see attractive 15-year-old boy in my ward staring, dumbfounded by my blatant inability to play volleyball.

And people wonder why I hate sports.

I'm still not sure why my obedience in going to that weekly activity didn't somehow save me from the damaging teenage agony just described for you.

Opposition in all things, I suppose. Okay, then. Moving on. :)

I managed to avoid sports with a fair amount of skill for the next ten years or so. That is, until I was in Nauvoo. There's this thing about serving any kind of mission that sort of makes you feel like you should participate in every recreational activity allowed. Thus the reason I gave in and played ultimate frisbee almost every morning we played it in Nauvoo...ugggghhhhaaaa.

Ahem. Please note when I say I "played" Ultimate Frisbee, it actually just means I'm running back and forth on the field while my other teammates caught and threw the frisbee. Just trying to be honest here.

Then came the day it was banned because someone got hurt. (It actually wasn't me. I know what you were thinking.) Unfortunately, I felt only a small twinge of regret at the cancellation of aforementioned activity.

...Aaand we're back to the frisbee comment at the beginning.

Since then, I have continued to avoid sports with precision and skill until just this past summer when I gave in yet again for a rousing game of Broom Hockey.

I will never learn.

After getting pummeled by the same giant angry broom hockey dude three different times, I'm pretty sure I started seeing stars. Good night, Nurse. And did giant dude stop trying to kill me after seeing my complete and utter lack of ability? NO! Of course he didn't! But did I sit out? NO WAY. I'd come with two guys. There was no way I could back out without admitting defeat. I hate admitting defeat.

P.S. Despite the stars I saw for the next twenty minutes or so, broom hockey was actually fun.

So, yeah. There you have it. I could go on, but this is already a long post, and I'll bet half of you didn't even make it to the end. But at least now those of you who did actually read this whole thing know I really don't care about getting picked last for dodgeball. :)

And there goes my resolve to write shorter posts while still being funny so people will COMMENT. * sigh * :)

The end. Finally.