The Athlete in Me

If Your Butt Hurts, Don’t Go To Disneyland


Yesterday I worked from home. This means that I spent my day with a headset on, talking to coworkers through the attached mic, or typing away in emails or IM. I also spent the day listening to the downstairs neighbor’s TV and the upstairs neighbors walking around all day. (Not so bad except their floors are CRAZY CREAKY.)

I asked Nathan, “Who are these people that sit home all day?”

He reminded me that I was home, too.

That evening we ate dinner. Delicious, of course: corned beef, cabbage, potatoes with some horseradish.

Then it was off to the gym. As we were using our unique fingerprints to sign in at the 24 Hour Fitness desk, the guy behind the desk asked us, “What are you working out today?”

I deferred to Nathan.

“We could do legs.”

“Yeah, I don’t have soccer tomorrow,” I agree, but grimaced. Legs are tiring.

And so we did legs and halfway through lunges (the second lift) I was wobbly. We attempted to play a little basketball before leaving the gym. That was funny. I could sort of run, but stopping on a dime, definitely not happening. I should have tried. I would have collapsed to the floor and whatever guy was shooting around on the other side of the gym would have wondered what Nathan was doing to me.

Today, I worked in the office and spent much of my time sitting at my computer or in meetings.

I couldn’t even run now if I tried, let alone attempt to stop on a dime thanks to all of that sitting on sore muscles.

I really hope that I can make it up the stairs to the front door when I get home.

So what does that have to do with Disneyland? Well, let me tell you.

A few years ago, I did a leg workout with my brothers the day before we went to Disneyland. It was a no good, very bad decision. I lost a pair of sunglasses on the Matterhorn because of it. Sitting was too painful especially on the bobsleds you ride in for that ride. So once strapped in, I grabbed onto the bars at my side and lifted my butt up in the air. I rode the entire ride like that.

When my sunglasses, which were clipped to the front of my shirt, started to come loose on one of the high-speed turns, I had to make a choice. Catch the sunglasses and have to drop down onto your butt, or keep holding myself in the air.

I made my choice and somewhere in the mountain, an abominable snowman is sporting my sunglasses.

There IS Such Thing as Too Much Soccer


Let me share with you a quick summary of the schedule that I followed on Saturday.

1:00 a.m. Get home from bike ride to Arts Fest and Gateway for movie, and shortly fall asleep in my contacts.
6:30 a.m. Alarm wakes me up.
6:50 a.m. Leave house mostly dressed in soccer gear to drive to West Jordan and finish getting dressed on the freeway (thank you cruise control, I am safe).
7:20 a.m. Arrive at soccer fields, put on shinguards, wonder why my contacts are blurry.
7:35 a.m. Soccer game begins; we are very tired, but manage to win 3-2 and somehow my jersey and shorts have dirt on front and back.
9:30 a.m. Watch our division 2 team play the game after ours (I’m on the division 1 team and we all try and cheer for each other); realize that I have dirt in my hair and under the elastic waist band of my shorts.
11:30 a.m. Leave the soccer fields.
12:00 p.m. Wash off all of the dirt.
12:35 p.m. Arrive at Mick and Tracy’s to watch the sad, sad U.S. vs Ghana World Cup Game… sad.
3:00 p.m. Fall asleep on the couch in their basement.
3:30 p.m. Wake up; play with kids, talk to siblings and Mom.
5:30 p.m. Make a trip to REI with Maren.
6:30 p.m. Get home and change back into soccer clothes.
6:40 p.m. Go to Cami’s “birthday bash.”
7:30 p.m. Leave the bash to drive to indoor soccer.
7:40 p.m. Arrive at soccer to learn that all of the games are 40 minutes behind because of a major injury in a previous game.
8:50 p.m. Finally start playing my game originally scheduled for 8:10 p.m.
9:50 p.m. Go to Tony’s Bar for Cirbie’s birthday party.
11:00 p.m. Leave Tony’s Bar to drive back to indoor soccer.
11:20 p.m. Play soccer game that was originally scheduled for 10:40 p.m.
12:10 a.m. Play fourth soccer game of the day that was originally scheduled for 11:30 p.m.
1:00 a.m. Leave indoor soccer to go home, shower and go to bed.

I want you to know that I have come to the realization that I am on too many soccer teams. This is a very sad thing for me to admit because I play soccer with all of my friends. I am addicted to the social aspect of it. Thankfully, my body is happy for the cardio although it is unhappy for the sore muscles.

I told one of my friends that I won’t be playing with her for the next indoor soccer session. It was a sad conversation for both of us but it had to be done. My back and toe have since thanked me. I’m glad they did because I did it for them, not for me.

I am in a group on Facebook. It’s called “I Can’t I Have Soccer.”

The end.

World Cup Begins; Americans at Work


World Cup started today. If you didn’t know, I’m disappointed in you.

I really need a new phone.

Know why?

Because my current phone isn’t “smart” at all. I can’t get on the internet, I don’t have apps installed, I can’t watch the games from my phone.

I can’t watch them online, either. At least not while I’m working. Sports and streaming media are blocked at work. This is a good thing, really, because if I could access it all, I’d end up having zero productivity during certain games and would, therefore, have to make up that time. So my way of coping instead: recording the games and watching them after work.

So if I don’t want to play with you in the evenings for the next month, don’t take it personally.

And if I’m a little distracted at work, I’m sad that this nation hasn’t figured out that it would be okay to give everyone a vacation for a month once every four years. Or can’t we at least give that kind of vacation to the soccer lovers? Wishful thinking, I know.

Who are you cheering for to win the entire thing? And who do you want to win tomorrow’s game, England versus USA?

Happy Knee!


Enter the caption contest now! It’s so exciting isn’t it? If you need the rules for this supposed-to-be-weekly contest, click here: Caption Contest Rules Shmules.


Last Contest’s Winner: It’s NOT Braden because he called my nephew a girl. Boo. Winner is Janet with her Back to the Future comment, great! What does she get for winning? To meet me for lunch tomorrow, what a lucky duck.

The Gainer that Never Was


I tried.

I really did.

I tried as best as I could, but you know how there is that phrase about teaching an old dog new tricks?

First, let’s clarify: I don’t consider myself an old dog.

I just think that perhaps I would have been a bit more fearless when I was younger.

But I tried really hard to learn a new trick on Saturday.

I tried to learn how to do a gainer.

It all started at the second annual Campbell-DeLaMare swimming party at the DeLaMare mansion. They wouldn’t call it a mansion. They just call it home, but I never had my own bathroom connected to my bedroom and a walk-in closet growing up. I never had a swimming pool in the backyard with a diving board and slide. I never had an upstairs and downstairs kitchen. I never had an indoor swimming pool either. I did, however, have a pool table and a ping pong table.*

We became friends with the DeLaMares when they moved in to the average-size house next door over a decade ago. Before long, Maren and I were babysitting their youngest kids, Mom was scheduling her daily walks with their mom, Lisa, and we built a new fence with a door in it so we could easily walk from one backyard to the other. It was neighborhood bliss. And then the DeLaMares decided to upgrade. They moved to a bigger home and left our little neighborhood behind. But don’t worry; we stayed friends.

Isn’t it great that even though they live in their fancy new home they still want to see the Campbells? And they want to see ALL of us? GOOD friends.

This last Saturday afternoon was the swimming party.

Maren, Thane, Laina, Hobbes and I drove up together. Before long, we were all outside swimming and the diving board was just asking for my brothers to fling themselves off of it. I hesitated.

But they made it look so easy to do a gainer: Jarv, Mick and Thane.

“You just arch your back,” Thane instructed me.

Mick said something about jumping higher.

Jarv said something about tucking.

I tried the first time and landed on my head. Not too bad. I was more than halfway around.

I tried again. Back flop. Lost my courage.

Try again.

Went in shins first.

Try again.

Head first.

Try again, jump higher.

Back flop.

I’m done.

So much for learning how to do a gainer.

Guess the remainder of the lessons will have to wait for the Campbell-DeLaMare swimming party next year. I’ll let you know how that goes.


*You’d think because of this I would be a decent pool player or have some amount of ping pong skills. Your thoughts would be wrong, though. I can, however, play both sports better than I can bowl.

I’m Healed… Kind Of


It’s been six weeks.

That’s a long time to baby an ankle.

Let me give you some really good advice: do NOT sprain your ankle.

I’m not talking about just rolling it, or twisting it so it hurts a little. I’m talking about the type of sprain where you can’t even put weight on it for hours, where it swells up like a golf ball instantly and where the bruising drains into your toes and runs up your shin, where you can’t balance on it even with a brace AND shoe on, and where you cut your other leg shaving because you foolishly tried to balance on the bad leg in the shower. Don’t do that.

It’s frustrating that after six LONG weeks (they’re never short weeks when you can’t do what you love), my ankle still hurts. It’s also still swollen. But it’s been SIX weeks and do you know what that means?

I can play soccer again.

The doctor said so.

So I will wrap it, put on a brace and go running tonight because if I’m REALLY out of shape (instead of just sort of), I will be worthless in my game this Saturday morning.

Aren’t you excited for me?

I AM!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So much so, I just used THIRTEEN exclamation points. That’s a lot for a girl that hardly uses any because excessive exclamation points are the bane of my existence (as are LOLs).*


*Did you know that there’s a Greasemonkey script that dumps extra exclamation points that might appear on websites? Yeah, I know, it’s totally nerdy that I know that, but also grammatically COOL that I do.