Olympian Couture

Ah! The Olympics: competition, cultural awareness, peace, harmony, American pride…the stabbing of 2 Americans, Russia’s invasion of Georgia while Putin attends the Games. There is such a swirl of politics surrounding these games. But come on, that can’t stop us from nit-picking athletic wear and hairstyles.

Overall, our athletes seem to be responding well to the pressure to win. Some have figured out how to channel that pressure, while others are just trying to get through the competition. But why oh why do the women’s beach volleyball teams, who are nowhere near water, wear fewer clothes than the swim teams? The women volleyball players should just go for it and wear the thong… I’ve seen more of Kerri Walsh’s cheeks in the last 2 days than I have in a PlayGirl magazine. They must schedule their waxes ahead of time to avoid well, embarrassment. Are these the particulars that the Olympians worry about? The same could be said about the girl’s gymnastics team, but I don’t think they’ve officially hit puberty yet. I want to watch women’s volleyball for their athleticism, but each time I do, I worry about if they’ve had a proper wax before they put those uniforms on. Really? They can’t wear a fitted t-shirt and some spandex shorts? They would be so much more comfortable. Do you think we’d have equal interest in men’s beach volleyball if the men were wearing Speedos? Please. We would all change the channel.

These same thoughts go through my mind when I watch the women’s gymnastics team. Of all the advancements each sport has taken, why can’t there be a better uniform for women’s gymnastics? As a young 12 or 13 year old, I couldn’t imagine putting on an outfit like that -- making sure everything is in its place. Heaven forbid a young girl have her period and have to wear that outfit. They must just get used to it because they’ve been doing it for years. The men, on the other hand, get to wear loose fitting comfy pants; the kind you want to wear around the house on a Saturday. Surly they don’t worry about the mouse getting out of the hole.

The other advancement that the US women’s gymnastics team hasn’t discovered yet is a proper ponytail holder. Our girls are wearing white scrunchies from the 80’s and barrettes that look like the one’s my 3-year-old wears. But last night, as I was critiquing the girls’ appearances, I was also noticing their tense body language.

I always enjoyed watching gymnastics, but our girl’s team looked stressed, scared and robotic. I felt tense watching them. Simultaneously, the swimmers seem to be having a great time. As NBC does their mini-biographies, the older athletes from all countries talk about balance in their lives. And all of them seem to be enjoying the ride. When I watched the women gymnasts Sunday night, they looked young – some of them too young—scared and off balance. They all seemed too worried about the final outcome rather than enjoying the thrill of competition. The only one who seemed to be enjoying the pressure was Shawn Johnson. She was confident and preformed well. She walked around with an air of confidence as if to say, “I got this.” All the while, wearing the 80’s scrunchy and the uniform that gives her a wedgie.

The Runner I used to be.

On our first day of family vacation during the kids’ naptime, my husband declared he was going on a run. My youngest sister-in-law asked him to wait and said, “I’ll join you.” Her husband then chimed in and said, “Well, I’ll go too.” I watched as they all readied – tying their shoes and strapping on their iPods as they left. I had to keep guard while the kids slept.

From 7th grade on up, every spring I would go with my mom to Athlete’s Foot and buy a pair of running shoes, usually Nike. One time my sophomore year in high school I bought a pair of Reebok’s and I lost the middle toenail on both feet. After college I would try a pair of Asics and love them, but they were too wide and I ended up wearing 2 pairs of socks just to prevent blisters. Each spring, when I bought my new pair of shoes, I would take them home and perform my ritual of completely unlacing them and then re-lacing them taking all of the twists out of the strings. Then, I would put the strings through the loop on the tongue. At the top, I laced them in a special way so that if my shoes did come untied, they wouldn’t loosen. Lastly, I would place the Nike extra arch support in the shoe. Ahhh! Such comfort!

I joined the track team with my friend Amy in 7th grade and found that I was a pretty good ¼ miler. That is until I reached puberty, got hip and became slow. Then, in high school I ran everything just because. I really enjoyed the 800 but my coach rarely put me in that event. He would always torture me with the 400. I even ran the mile once so our team could get a point. After college, while in graduate school, I became an assistant coach for the cross country, indoor and outdoor track teams. I tried to absorb as much as I could about coaching track. That year, the boys’ team won the indoor state title. The next winter, I finished graduate school and moved to San Francisco, CA. The year was 1998. I ran 3-5 miles 4-5 times a week. On Sundays I would run from the Pan Handle through Golden Gate park, reflect at the ocean and then run back. I ran numerous races -- especially Bay to Breakers and Bridge to Bridge consistently.

But now after ACL surgery in 2004 and 2 kids, I don’t know where the runner in me has gone. When I started seeing the man who would later become my husband he did every sport but running. I encouraged him to run – and he did – slowly. But in the past 5 years, he has run the SF marathon 3 times, the LA marathon once and the Big Sur Marathon once – not to mention numerous other half marathons. He has taken my workout and trumped me. So much so, that my in-laws and their family see me only as one who runs sometimes with her husband.

At times I think, “I’m the runner,” I want to yell. “I got HIM to run! I’ve been running longer than he has.” I want to get upset, but really is it worth it? One can only do what the body will do. I did get back into running after our first baby was old enough to go in the baby jogger (6 months) and I jogged until I was 5 months pregnant with our second baby. But now since the second baby, I have been suffering from tendonitis in my tensor fasciae latae in my hip. I have only recently been diagnosed because I kept thinking if I didn’t run, the pain would go away. It’s been 9 months since I last ran. And those last 6 months of running came with a lot of pain afterwards. The thing is, since I haven’t been running, no one has asked me, “Hey, are you still running?” And that’s how I know that I am not the runner that I used to be.

Mom vs. Disney?

Disney is bad. I don’t need my daughters growing up thinking they need to marry a prince to be happy. In fact, they don’t even need to get married. They will be strong independent women capable of making themselves happy… right? Plus Walt Disney has been accused several times over of including racist pieces in his movies. You can Google it and check it out. But I don’t want this piece to be an analysis of Disney. It’s about how I have lost the battle of keeping Disney out of my house.

When my oldest was born, I did my hardest to stay away from Disney. I thought, ‘we don’t need advertisements in our home,’ and I was successful, for a while. But then it started with a pair of pajamas from Grandma… The Little Mermaid. . I saw the Little Mermaid in high school – even bought the soundtrack. Okay I thought. Then my husband bought the DVD Cinderella. I watched it. I don’t like that Cinderella gets married, but I like that DVD because it’s more about the mice and the cat than it is about Cindy. Plus, it’s so old that it’s done with an orchestra and I can handle listening to it. But why does Cinderella need a man to save her? Snow White? Sleeping Beauty? Ariel? Belle is the only one who falls in love for loves sake but she still ends up with a man. And need I mention that these princesses are all white?

Then, my downfall occurred. One day at the mall we were walking by the Disney store and they had indoor play tents on sale: Tinkerbelle Fairy tents. I don’t know what happened, but I wanted that tent. It was more about fairies than princesses, so I broke down. My first Disney purchase. And my daughter loved it. I began my tumble downhill and have been sliding ever since.

Our friends have dress up, we go to princess parties, and our cousins have Disney everything including pajamas and beach towels. But a couple of other events have happened that have made me stop and assess what I want to teach my girls. Playing dress up was fine, but then we were over to a friend’s house playing Cinderella. The girls lost the shoe at the end of the ball, but they were walking down the isle to get married. I looked at my friend and she said, “ I know, I know this is what we play.” And my daughter was having such a good time; that I couldn’t stop her from playing.

The second event happened at dinner a couple of nights ago. The oldest was talking about dressing up and playing princesses and she said, “I’m going to be a princes. I’m going to be a princess like you mommy and get maaaaaarrrrrried.” And she points up to our 8x10-wedding picture. Of course, Mommy was a princess and she wants to be like mommy. It was so sweet. I wonder to myself if Disney knows how powerful their marketing campaign actually is. They got my husband to buy DVDs because of tradition. They got me to buy because of the fairies (they’re not really Disney, right?) And well, now my daughter has bought into princesses & the institution of marriage.

I guess there will always be outside influences, but I need to constantly re-evaluate my beliefs about popular culture and what I want to teach my child about popular culture. And as a parent I always have to ask myself, “What is this really teaching my child? What are the underlying influences?” There are three traits I want my daughters to have: strength, confidence and independence. Because I want them growing up knowing that they are the sole providers of their happiness and they don’t need to marry a prince to get it. Guess I have a lot of work a head of me.

If you’d like to read some titillating articles about Disney and racism you can check out the links below.

http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/boardarchives/2005/dec2005/racismdisney_1.html

A more balanced article: http://animatedfilms.suite101.com/article.cfm/floyd_norman_on_animation

http://www.mediaed.org/videos/CommercialismPoliticsAndMedia/MickeyMouseMonopoly/studyguide/html

Torrey Pine golf U.S Open

I don’t know if it’s the fresh sea air or the small of wet fresh cut grass, but watching the U.S. Open at Torrey Pines is awesome. My husband and I had been planning the trip for a year. We dropped our kids off with his parents in Southern California and had 4 days of kid-free-adult golf watching. Boring? Not in person. Being a golf spectator is the best. You’re outside: The Pacific Ocean against the golf greens and the Torrey pine; getting some exercise: walking the beautiful greens, watching the pro golfers: Tiger bogeyed hole 17; meeting the nicest people, and drinking beer. At $100 a ticket, there is little riff raff. The majority of men have collared shirts on; everyone is congenial, helpful, nice and chatty. I love meeting golf people. As far as sports events go, it’s the most relaxing to watch. That is of course, if you don’t really care who wins.

This year, of course, we were in for some history making golf. My husband and I went of Friday and Sunday of the U.S. Open. On Friday, we arrived at the course at 9am, got some breakfast, walked the course and watched golf. It was beautiful. Until, that is I saw this guy, Vanderplank (who I later named Vanderplunk), walk into the out-house located off the side of the green. Is he really going in there? In front of all these people? A father behind me with his two sons said, “He’s droppin’ the kids off at the pool.” I almost lost it. Which is hard to do at a golf match because quiet is usually in order. Did he wash his hands? Where? (I later discovered in my own outhouse usage that there is now a Purell container located on the inside of the port-a-potty.) And the port-a-potty, or Johnny on the Spot, is a funny little happening. Around the course, there were about 20 or more of these port-a-potties fenced off with green lattice fencing. It almost looked nice. But once one entered the “bathroom community” all talking ceased. Everyone waited in line, if there was one, did their business and got out. There was no talking or socializing in this quarantined area. But, I digress…

The golf. Yes, the golf. We saw a lot of good golf and we saw a lot of bad golf. The bad golf makes us all feel human. I saw one player throw his club into the ground. We’ve all been that made. Isn’t it wonderful? We saw Tiger warm up. There were hoards of people following him and Phil Mickelson on Friday. So much so that we had to go 7 holes in front of Tiger. As I mentioned earlier, we saw him bogey the 17th. Not a happy Tiger. We left the course at 6pm, exhausted. And all the while, reports of Tiger’s knee were trickling out: it hurt, it was sore. Nothing more. Fiift thousand people went to the course on Friday. We realized that we would really have to have a strategy to see Tiger on Sunday.

Here was our strategy: Watch Tiger at the driving range, leave and set up along the green of the 1st or 2nd hole, watch him on the 6th and then head over to the 18th. That’s what we did. It would be perfect. Tiger would drive the first hole, the ball would land right in front of us and then we could watch him put it up on the green. Well...Tiger banked the ball so far left that it landed in the crowd! Then, it hit the tree and bounced back. Humility. His third shot hit the branches and then landed on the green in front of us. There was Tiger in all his glory: built, focused and in red. The 6th hole went more smoothly. As we walked over the 18th we tried to get beer and a snack but it was getting crowded already. The grand stands were not a possibility. We walked along the other side and set ourselves up just about 50 yards down the right side of the 18th hole. There we waited for 2 and half hours. We were set, we had a nice couple on the left of us with the TVs we had a nice young couple on our right. And if front of us, was the shortest Asian couple I’d ever seen. Someone I could actually see in front of. Tiger and Rocco were on the 18th green. Tiger hit the ball RIGHT in front of us. In fact, all the camera people (hoards of them) were in front of us. Had they taken the shot from the other side, we would have been on TV. Onto the green he went. When it came time for the put, everyone was silent, breath was held. People positioned and repositioned, I stood on my tippy toes peaked in between ears and hair and heads. Between 2 inches of space, I saw Tiger hit the put, but then a head with a brown hat on it moved into the inch of space I was looking through and I missed the final shot.

Sports Insecurities

Embrace what you can’t do and be proud of it.

It is a bright sunny day and the 6th grade class is going outside for PE. We are going to play a game of kickball. Although I liked kickball I knew I wasn’t the greatest. It’s my turn to kick, and I’m excited but then I see the top male class athlete motion everyone in the outfield to move in. Right then, I realized how everyone else saw me: A girl who couldn’t kick very well; an easy out.

Growing up I wasn’t very strong. I didn’t have great eye hand coordination. I struggled, but did enough to get by. I quickly remember watching a volleyball fall to the side of me and felt everyone else’s disappointment. I remember pick up games of basketball that I didn’t participate in. Why put myself out there only to be made fun of?

But now at 35,Screw it. I don’t chase balls. I can’t hit. Won’t hit and that’s the way it is. Faculty softball game? You really don’t want me to play. I accept that I don’t do balls. Put me on a track and I can run. Put me on a bike and I can ride forever. But please don’t put me in the outfield and expect me to catch a ball. I wonder, if I had this confidence, this acceptance at say age 10, what would my classmates have thought of me then? Would I have been more popular? Would I have been accepted more? Oh, there’s Missy, she can’t hit, but she can run. It’s cool. Just like my nephew now who insists that he must change out of his wet swimsuit as soon as he’s done swimming. And that he must have his chocolate chip cookies warmed, won’t eat them cold. What if I just said, “ I don’t play baseball.” And what if, people just accepted it instead of ridiculing me for it? Would I look back at myself and see a confident self-assured 10 year-old? Would I look back and regret that I didn’t play baseball with my friends? Instead, I look back and I feel an insecure girl, and see one who lacks self-confidence. What if, someone would have just said, “It’s okay. Let’s work on it. It’s okay. Just accept it. Own it.” Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t know these insecurities arose when kids played sports together. When it comes to participating, adults don’t take a back seat. We coax, we conjure: “Go on, you’ll have fun. Just get up there and swing.” They think because we’re kids we should try. We should play. It’s our time to learn. Learn now, because you won’t when you’re old.

That’s not exactly true. In high school, I met a long time acquaintance and we became friends. One night, we went to a batting cage, where he proceeded to patiently teach me how to hit a ball. No pressure. No judgment. I am still a horrible baseball player, but I at least know now that if my life depended on it, I could play in a game of slosh softball. Due process. Isn’t that what we all need? Besides, as we grow older learning something new keeps us young. As my two young girls get older and I start registering them for gymnastics, soccer and swimming. I just ask myself, will I know when it’s right to take a back seat when it comes to my own kids?