Sports.

In elementary school I played soccer. The smell of the grass, the dew leaking into my new cleats, my socks squishing with every step. My long hair in a pony tail swishing the middle of my back as I ran. I never fit the oversized rec shirts we played games in... so when they were tucked in they hung out from under my shorts sometimes. Shin guards, the ball spiraling toward my foot, the adrenaline as I took aim. The joy in watching the ball soar away from my territory. Defense. Capri sun and cookies after a long game, and jabbering all the way home. Every year a different team...

Swimming was a terror. I never learned until sixth grade. When they bussed us over to the middle school I was petrified from the moment the chlorine slapped my nostrils. Wet floors, wads of hair, disgusting. Changing hurriedly, goosebumps. Sitting on the ice cold bleachers waiting for swim tests. Waiting to make an utter fool of myself as I half-drowned my way to the other end. But I needed the exercise, so I joined the rec swim team. Gasping for breath, water up my nose. Goggles foggy. Sweating in the water... my body heat sloshing against me in the cool water. I dive in... my goggles flip inside out, pressing against my eyes. Green, blue, red... I must keep going but the chlorine stings. The smell of conditioner and braided hair. Dry mouth. Cold.

Despite my terror of swimming, in 8th grade I joined the school swim team. I could never swim freestyle. When no one was looking, I would do breast-stroke kicks in the middle of my 50s, trying to keep up with everyone else. Swim meets with my dad the swimmer... and the excitement on the starting block. Coming up for the first breath in a race to hear my teammates shouting my name, helping me pace myself but driving me forward. Adrenaline pounding in my head. Two hand touch to stop the clock. Climbing out with no idea how I did... wiping the rivers of water from my face.

In the summers I play tennis. The satisfying pop of a new can of balls, the smell that tingles my nose. A muffled bounce... squinting at my brother from across the court as we imitate our Hungarian coach. The twang of the strings as I hit the ball slightly off-center... it approaches quickly. The ball meets the sweet spot and goes rocketing off while I feel like a pro. Sunscreen and bug-spray mixed with propel. The distant voices of other players on other courts. Dodging forward to tap a ball lightly over the net... my opponent just a distant mark across the court.

I don't consider myself an athlete. I've never found my niche. I tell everyone I'm just not competitive. I began to believe it. But then I went to a Grace soccer game. I watched Michigan play Ohio State. I screamed and cheered at a Grace basketball game, and slowly I'm realizing something different. I'm beginning to realize that I'm actually ridiculously competitive. If I truly begin to invest in the game, if I truly care about the players playing... then I am loud and obnoxious and the most extroverted I could ever be. I'm realizing that I don't allow myself to get invested because I don't want to be disappointed. I'm realizing that I actually love sports, even if I'm not an athlete myself.