If there's anything I've learned in the three years since taking up tennis again, it's that sports can really destroy a girl's pedicure. All of that running, stopping and starting is great cardio, but it sure takes it's toll on your pretty little digits. It doesn't matter how many pedicures I get during the summer: One good singles match and my toenails are chipped and snagged like a hobbit's.
As a life long non-jock, it never occurred to me the sacrifices those talented gals made in the personal pampering department. Yes, I knew they were dedicated, staying after school to run many, many miles (horrific!), getting up at the crack of dawn and jumping in a pool when it was 10 degrees outside (absolutely unthinkable!), not shaving their legs for weeks on end to build stamina and resistance (OK, so this wasn't unique to my swimmer friends. Most of my fellow all-girls school classmates passed on shaving too, until it was necessary for their date that weekend. Why bother shaving every day when you can instead sleep for 10 minutes longer and cover your gams with tights? It's really all about getting your priorities straight, ladies). I just never realized these fit and dedicated athletes were also giving up pretty feet!
Because I was blatantly terrible at sports as a kid, I never thought I would ever be so dedicated to something that could affect how cute I looked in the fabulous shoes I can't resist purchasing. I mean, for as much as my parents tried to find something for me to latch onto, I quit just about every activity I tried when it wasn't immediately obvious I'd be the next superstar. I gave up on swimming lessons once I could float, tread and motor around the pool because it was entirely too early and too cold to be jumping into a pool. This explains why attempting to do the freestyle or any other formal "stroke" just results in my running into the pool walls.
I passed on more than one session of tennis lessons because running laps around the courts in 90 degree midday summer heat just plain sucked. (As an aside, was it really necessary for the instructor to make a bunch of 10 year-olds run laps in beginner tennis lessons? Shouldn't we have been more concerned with HITTING THE BALL?)
I was not coordinated, rhythmic or graceful enough to keep up with the ballet or tap (though I did LOVE the costumes!). After a summer or two of getting stuck playing catcher in the local recreation department's softball league, I became one with the fact that NOBODY SHOULD HAVE TO CROUCH DOWN FOR THAT LONG! I mean, really. And my abilities during my short stint at basketball and volleyball were limited to the fact that I was tall.
Now that I've developed a love of certain sports as an adult, I realize that passion comes with some sacrifices (my days racing on sail boats created so many bruises a woman once conducted an impromptu intervention in an Old Navy dressing room because she thought my explanation of my bruises as "boat bites" was a blatant demonstration of denial).
So I feel it's only fitting to give a shout out to all my girlfriends who rocked their inner jock, getting up early, staying late, going on dates with furry legs or bruised appendages and just generally busting their cute butts in pursuit of competition. You go, my sassy sistas!
And now you all deserve a little pampering, so get yourself to the spa already. And call me when you make that appointment, because now that my tennis season is over, I fully intend to schedule a pedicure that might actually last for more than a couple days.
Viva La FemJocks!
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