Why We’re Not Winning Any Athlete-of-the-year Awards


Remember last week when I screwed up the times of our first outdoor sports program, unleashed my PMS rage on another human being, and admitted I hate organized fun?


If you missed that post, you can read it HERE.


Well, the good news is that I found it in my heart to give it another try, and even managed to find the darn class.


The bad news is that I will never be going back.


Ever.


If you're still reading, chances are you want to know why.


So let's start at the beginning, shall we?


After spending another morning packing water, snacks, swimsuits, towels, and sunblock into my handy-dandy backpack, my 2-year-old and I made the 20+ minute car ride to the park, found a premium parking spot, and started our trek to the baseball field.


Now, if you recall from last week's post, the park is located on a ravine, so in order to get anywhere in the park, you have to go up and down a number of hills, which is not an easy task with a distracted 2-year-old in tow. The trouble is, the last time I was at the park, I spent 30 minutes navigating those hills with said toddler in my arms, and thought I was going to die by the time I made it back to our car. So I was convinced I would be doing myself a favor if I took the stroller this time.


I was wrong.


About 2 minutes into the park, without any warning whatsoever, the path we were walking on became a 45-degree slope, leaving the stroller to drag me by the arms at a speed I'm not used to walking at.


But that was the least of my worries.


It was the mountain I had to climb up to get to the baseball diamond that was an issue. By the time I got to the top of it, I felt like I was at one of the summits on Mount Everest.


I'm not kidding.


It was that steep.


And all I kept thinking was, "I'm going to have to get us down this thing…"


But I didn't have time to dwell.


Nope.


The moment I made it to the top of Mount Everest, I was immediately transported to Austria.


The only difference was that the hills beneath me were NOT alive with the sound of music.


By the time I finally made it down those 2 ridiculously large hills and navigated my way across what felt like 3 acres of grass to where the coaches had set up all of their gear, I'm surprised my sweet girl didn't have whiplash from all of the bouncing around she was doing in her stroller.


But we made it.


And, damnit, we were going to have fun!


The class itself started out okay. The sport of the day was baseball (because that makes sense with a bunch of 2- and 3-year-olds), and the coaches did a great job of trying to make it fun.


The only trouble is, my daughter hated it.


She didn't want to pick up the tennis balls that were scattered all over the field.


She didn't want to throw bean bags through the hula hoop I was holding.


And she certainly didn't want to sit on the "magic line" and listen to all of the directions the coaches kept throwing at her.


So after only 40 minutes of a 90 minute class, I found myself carrying my crying, 27-lb toddler back up the Austrian hills and back down the side of Mount Everest, while simultaneously navigating the stroller (all the while trying not to kill us) as all of the parents and coaches stared in stunned silence.


Because offering to help would've been too much effort?


When our feet were safely planted on American soil again, I momentarily debated heading down to the splash pad.


But then my daughter threatened to throw a temper tantrum.


And I didn't have it in me to deal with a temper tantrum.


So I defeatedly started the uphill trek back to my car.


And I vowed I would never, ever, return to that stinking class again.


EVER.


Are you doing any classes with your kids this summer? Are you loving them, or hating them?


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Dated : 2021-04-06 23:23:40

Category : Funny stories

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