When I was a little girl I wanted to be a gymnast or a figure skater.
There were 3 problems with this. First, I was 5'11 1/2" by grade eight. Second, my proportions and weight were appropriate for someone who was 5' 11 1/2". And third, I am not graceful by any stretch of the imagination.
The memory of this came crashing down on me, literally, this morning during my run. Let me set the scene. I worked evenings last night, so I didn't get to bed until about 12:45am. When my alarm went off at 6:30 for my long run I was SO tired. I was not optimistic about how 10 miles would go. Off I went anyway, and surprisingly I felt fantastic. The miles ticked by quickly, I held my pace easily, and I felt great. Feeling strong and confident, on top of the world, and maybe a bit cocky. After all, 10 miles was feeling easy.
I was running on the sidewalk in front of a strip mall, with a Tim Hortons, a bank, and a grocery store in it, on Saturday morning. Just for good measure there was also a bus stop with two people standing at it. I thought to myself, "boy this sidewalk is really icy and bumpy here, I'm gonna hop down onto the road up there at that driveway." Literally as soon as I thought this I pushed off with my right foot as I stepped forward with my left, I realized that I was on a slippery smooth lump of ice, and my right foot slipped backwards, my watch beeped 7 miles, and I was on the ground. Thankfully my instincts made me twist to one side, protecting my face, wrists, and knees, but I came down hard on my left elbow and hip.
So I did the only thing I could do. I stood up, and ran away.
And that my friends is why I never became a figure skater.