The Accidental Olympian

SUNDAY SNUGGLES

Ashley, the Accidental Olympian

ONE OF THEM

Standing against the wall she turned to me and asked, "Can't we try this in slow motion? I mean, does anyone even know what the hell is going on right now?"

I chuckled, "I've been told this is actually harder in slow motion."

"I don't believe you for a second," she rebuffed.

I tried in this free moment to explain how the team operated. Trying to explain the whole 'throw you in with the wolves' approach I too had been subjected to as a newbie. I looked back into the three months I had been coming to practice and I threw a handful of tips at her I wish I had known. Her eyes darted from my face to the gaggle of women slamming into one another on the track before us.

I remembered what it felt like to feel as if you have absolutely no idea if standing on that spot was the greatest idea you ever had, or the worst.

Practice ended and as I packed up my gear there she was again. She introduced herself and then surprised me by thanking me. "Not everyone is willing to help out the girl falling all over herself in the corner. It means a lot," she said. I professed it was no big deal, and told her that I too had felt as she did when I started. I admitted to her that watching the advanced skaters dance in the rink had made, and even still makes my inabilities feel as if they are larger than myself. I explained, "I only started in November, and I am proof that these girls can teach you to skate. Somehow, someway." 
 
As I walked through the doors on my way to my car I called behind me, "BYE! See you all tomorrow night!" and calls of, "BYE!" "SEE YOU!" and "LATER!" reverberated behind me. For the first time I realized I may have passed that milestone I have been so eager to reach. Quite possibly becoming overnight someone that a new player feels confident enough to ask a question, if only to ask if it gets less scary down the road. Against all odds I might have become someone worth reaching out to in the middle of all the chaos and confusion.

The entire conversation, as short as it was reminded me how recently I too was that girl only one or two practices in. I still remember all too well what it feels like to stand in a room that was moving dangerously fast hoping I would either get it, or get the sense to stay home. 

Who knew I'd have the confidence to proclaim, "I promise you it gets better. Even better, I promise you'll get better."


Plus, she has to keep coming, or else she'll miss out on all the fun socks.

People, I live for derby socks.

Ashley, the Accidental Olympian

TULIP BULBS, ALSO KNOWN AS ALIEN FINGERS

Walking to my front door the other day I spotted these little guys and I couldn't help but whip out my camera. I wanted to be all, "Look how nature reminds us to be positive! Springtime bulbs represent new beginnings, baby puppies, lambs frolicking in fields of daisies, and the return of hope love and laughter."

But then I downloaded all the images and all I could see were ALIEN FINGERS.

I was pretty sure in September that I planted tulip bulbs, but turns out I actually planted alien seedlings. These tricksters are currently maturing into evil man eaters and are going to spring from the ground any day now and eat my soul while wearing Oly's dead pelt on their heads like a creepy dog hat.  

Damn I make a shitty gardener.

Ashley, the Accidental Olympian

SELF DIAGNOSIS

So, I just diagnosed myself. Yep, who needs a masters in therapy, clinical hours, and experience? Bitch I know stuff.

After careful examination I've come to the delightful realization that I have Seasonal Affective Disorder, also known as SAD. Isn't that the LAMEST acronym you ever heard?


"How you feeling today Bob?"

"Oh, not so good. I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with SAD again."

Could this 'disorder' sound any more pansy?

But seriously. After going through a week of dreary weather, and a week of hiding under the covers and getting NO sleep because my mind kept waking me up to thoughts of 'INTRUDER!', I was more than pleased to realize Saturday morning that the tides had finally turned. The sun was back, and suddenly I was a new woman. 

I mean, I grew up in a world where roses bloom year round, where tanning in January is normal and can actually be done out in nature instead of a tanning bed, and a world where threat of rain will actually send people to the store to stock up on food, groceries and toilet paper. Because God forbid their hair frizzes from all the sudden moisture.

I thought I knew all there was to know about sunshine after this California upbringing. I thought it was no big deal and frankly a little overrated. And then I moved to Washington. Suddenly I live in a world where a gorgeous day like this Saturday, after so many weeks of rain feels like having crack injected, snorted, and inhaled into my system ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

A sunny day makes me feel like I am mother fucking super woman. I can plant a garden, hike up a mountain, solve world hunger, repair Brangelina's relationship, grow rock candy, repaint the house, bake 20 hideous cakes, run a marathon, TWICE, train a monkey, reorganize the house, dig a well, volunteer at a soup kitchen, teach Oly how to mix me a cocktail, and build an addition to our house out of sticks and rocks collected in my front yard all after I end the war in Iraq, single-handedly.

There is no task too difficult, and even scooping up wet mushy three week old dog crap in my backyard feels like a fucking stroll through Disneyland because look, THE SUN IS OUT!

After a day of vitamin D I lay in bed, reviewing the trail of greatness I've left in my wake and suddenly I feel like my world has been turned right side up again. Those feelings of worthlessness, low self esteem, or despair appear to have happened AGES ago! Silly silly girl.

Then I wake up on Sunday and it's raining. And not like a sprinkle here or there, I'm talking torrential downpour where I was pretty sure that it was time to get to work building that arc I've always been itching to construct because there was a 90% chance my house might float away without me. Before I know it I've slept in till noon, haven't washed my face, and I'm refusing to go to the store to get more food so instead end up eating peanut butter on Cheese-It's with a side of pickles all day. I feel the urge to paint disturbing images, but then ten seconds in remember I can't actually paint worth shit and proceed to get really upset with myself for being such a terrible artist. I watch depressing movies about the Holocaust and then bemoan the pain of humanity for the rest of the day. I paint my fingernails black. I realize Brangelia are going to be ok after all, which seems great (obviously my counseling from Saturday worked), until I realize now Brad and I might never be able to be together. Damn big lipped bitch and all her children. Before I know it I feel the urge to write angry tirades in my diary about the evils of the world and I find myself having two too many glasses of wine and passing out without showering. Again.

And if on Monday I wake to a beautiful sunny day, suddenly I'm fucking Martha Stewart, Richard Simmons and the Dalai Lama, all wrapped up at once. When I sit down for my morning pee unicorns and sparkles will flow from my va-jay-jay and I wont be able to help but sing, "Damn it feels good to be a gangster," all day long. Because well my friends, it does. 

BASICALLY I've come to realize that the sun is fucking with me.

Ashley, the Accidental Olympian

A LITTLE BABY

January has been a weird ass month where I constantly feel like I am trying to play catch up, writing out this long list of things to do and finding myself unable to check off a single one.

It started with a new year, one that was supposed to hold promise, opportunity, optimism and WHOOO-HOOO it's not 2009 anymore bitches!

Then Adam left for a work trip and Oly and I went about our business, feeling a tad overwhelmed but we're independent confident bitches so we watched chick flicks and ate popcorn for dinner and said things like, "Adam who?" and then cackled and high fived one another. Ahhh girl time.

Then the roommate returned, and before I knew it we were off to California.

Suddenly that too was over and before I'd even unpacked my bags Adam was off again for another work venture, this time for even longer. But Oly and I didn't mind, we got a keg and we haven't stopped partying since. 

Kinda.

If by partying you mean going to work, going to derby practice, and then coming home and pulling the covers over my head.

Yeah, fucking party ANIMALS.

I try to play it off to friends like it's sort of funny that I get all freaked out being home alone in the dark as a grown ass woman. Like, "Haha look at me afraid of the dark! Boo! Look out little kid there are ghosts in the closet! Aren't I HILARIOUS? More wine please!"

I'm doing my best to play down the fact that really I'm sort of this panicky and anxious person since the loss of my Grandmother. In all reality, when the sun goes down I get all itchy and nervous, and most nights end with me locking the bedroom door, clutching a glass of wine, and taking a heavy dose of Tylenol PM wishing frantically for daylight.

The worst is that I remember what it was like to feel no fear in an empty dark house. To relish in it even. And I try to joke around with it, I talk out loud to my fear, I laugh at my childish terror, Ashley stop being such a baby, but it's still there. Each time I open the door to an empty room, each time I walk down the stairs into a quiet black space my heart stops, just for a moment and I think, what if...

SO, the moral of this story is, WHO WANTS TO HAVE A SLUMBER PARTY? You bring the pillows for the sexy pillow fight later, and don't worry, I've got PLENTY of wine.

Ashley, the Accidental Olympian