Once upon a time there was a girl who didn't like to run. She liked to dance, to skip, to hop, to climb trees, to dash around the tennis court, to round the bases during kickball and slide into homeplate in her brand-new clothes (much to her mother's chagrin), but running...not so much.
Then she started junior high and two things happened: A. a rigorous running-based P.E. program was instituted and B. she grew a nice pair of ladyparts. Neither increased her joy of running. Also, the outfits were terrible. There ensued injuries and allergies, being carried off the field in the arms of the coach, hobbling back onto the field on crutches, ace bandages by the carton, visits to the podiatric surgeon - yep, she has another heel fracture, this time it's the left ankle, three toes broken this term. Her body and mind collaborated to avoid running at all costs. And then a fancy diagnosis, calcaneal apophysitis, which can be reduced by avoiding activity beyond the child's ability. In this case...running.
Fast forward a few decades and Miss O has fallen in love with the sportiest boy on the planet. What can I tell you, love is blind. After a few months together, he asks her if she wants to "come to sport" with him. Miss O responds with outrage and indignation: If you don't love me the way I am blah blah blah! I know you'd rather be dating some spandex-clad gym rat! and other colorful, irrational ranting in multiple languages...
After listening calmly to this tirade, le sporty boy responds: "Um, actually, sports are a big part of my life and I want to be with you all the time, so I was hoping le sport is something we could share." Miss O, for once in her life, has no rebuttal and is forced to "go to sport".
Well, Darlings, four years later and Miss O is still reluctantly going to sport with Honey. It still doesn't come easy to me, but it's not going to kill me either. Except maybe the AbdoCuissesFessier class (AbsThighsAss) which makes me fantasize about beheadings. No joke.
One of the biggest benefits of la vie sportive besides, you know, better health and time with my sweetheart, is that it provides me with a LOT of material for the Diary. While huffing and puffing my way on the treadmill, I am able to make keen cultural observations that will be meticulously recorded for your amusement. Said observations have inspired a new category for the Diary, namely the open letter format henceforth known as Cordially, Miss O. Stay tuned for future installments...
Miss O, taking one for the team. You're welcome.