Flag football was definitely my favorite intramural in college. I don't really know why...I've always loved watching football, so I guess I enjoy the chance to play! I joined a Co-Ed team a few weeks ago. This guy who comes into the fitness center has a team that he always plays with and he asked me to join. Our name, which we voted on, is DMV Soldiers...I'm almost positive no one on the team works for the DMV. I'm not even entirely sure if its supposed to stand for the Dept. of Motor Vehicles or not. I don't ask questions. This name was voted on by all of us, so apparently everyone knows something I don't. I forget what I voted for...I think it was something like Highway Soldiers. My choices were limited. I wonder if I can make it through the whole season without understanding my team's obsession with driving and vehicles.
We had our first practice last Saturday. It was on the complete opposite side of DC from where I live, so it took me about 40 minutes to get there. It was called Suitland, MD. It didn't look like Maryland at all to me...it looked a lot more like Macon, GA. Anyway, we were meeting about an hour before we had a scrimmage with another team in our league. This was the first time I was meeting everyone from the team. When I pulled up, I see tons of people, all decked in their long shorts, cleats, armbands, underarmor. I looked down at what I was wearing...running shoes, running shorts, and a t-shirt. Another thing I noticed? I would be single-handedly supplying the cultural diversity. Yep...I was the only white girl. I was so mad at myself for looking like such the stereotypical white girl in my little shorts and running shoes to play flag football. I took the walk of shame from the parking lot to the field, wondering what they were thinking. I picked out Clark from the crowd, my friend from the fitness center, and he introduced me to some people on the team. We started doing some walk-throughs of plays and stuff before our scrimmage. When Clark was putting his cleats on I looked down at my shoes and said, "oh man! I forgot my cleats!" (as if I had intended on bringing them). Maybe if I acted like I forgot them, that would be better than me just showing up in running shoes intentionally.
Our scrimmage was about to start so we were all grabbing belts to put on. The flags we used in college looked a lot different than these. These...were a little more complicated to put on. As I was stepping out on the field I was examining my belt and how in the world someone would be able to pull one of these flags off. It looked like it was fused to the belt. After realizing this was a good thing for me, I left it alone. I was one of three girls out on the field for my team...there were four guys. Things started out slow on offense for us since this was the first time we'd all played together. On defense, they put me at cornerback. I was looking for any chance to prove I wasn't as un-athletic as I had appeared. On the next play, I was the only corner on my side so I was covering two receivers, essentially. When they hiked the ball and I saw their quarterback look my way, I got a rush of excitement...I knew he was throwing my way. He drew his arm back and released the ball towards one of the girls. I broke forward right inbetween the two receivers and took off with the ball. Now...don't get your hopes up for a returned touchdown. There was no way I was outrunning them. I felt like I was running in slow-motion for my little life! Someone that was chasing after me accidentally clipped my heel and sent me flying to the ground. I was kind of glad because it might make me look more hardcore when I popped back up. I stood up and was greeted by my team with high-fives and an "oh shit, baby girl's got hands!"
At halftime, we talked more about offensive plays. Trying to get everyone on the same page. We all brought it in for a chant before we got on the field again. One of the guys said, "soldiers on 3..." Now when I said it, it sounded like "soldiers!!" The rest of my team said it real cool, with the 'soul' part being loud and the 'diers' part real short, sounding like "souljas". Here I am, enunciating the stupid word and screaming it out loud. I embarrass myself.
You can bet your bottom dollar next week I'll be looking the part!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Running in Heels
Wow, so much for updating regularly...
I'm pretty much choosing to skip over the whole "snowpocalypse" or "snowmageddon" if you will. I'm so sick of snow it's not even funny.
So...if you've ever seen "The Holiday" with Cameron Diaz, do you remember the part towards the end when she's running back to the cottage to see Jude Law? She's running how I would be running in athletic shoes, except she's in heels. Or Beyonce...have you ever seen her dance on stage? In her stilettos? It's like she's practically barefoot, it's so fluid. Whenever I put on heels, I always think of these moments...wondering how much time I would have to spend in heels before I could run 10k in them or be able to "drop it like it's hot" in them...
Let's rewind a little to Wednesday...I gave a lecture at NIH on Pain and Injury Prevention with Aging. I was really excited about it! Usually in college, I would get a little nervous before a presentation but for some reason this week I was 100% ready...no nerves. I dressed up, all business-like, in my black pants, grey dress top, AND heels. Now...I can handle heels just fine. It's not like I look like a baby giraffe just learning how to walk- but I've never looked as graceful or sexy in heels as other women. Not to mention it puts me at about 6 feet tall. I can't quite figure it out. So...I had a little time to practice. My lecture was on main campus and I just planned on walking from my house (about a 10-12 minute walk). As I was walking, the scene from "The Holiday" flashed in my head and it sparked my curiosity. Can I run in heels? I started at a slow jog...more like a trot, really. Throwing one leg out there hoping I would land on the narrow heel. Picture this...please. It's still pretty much at the pace of a walk..but with a little hop thrown in. I think, "ok, I'm ready to go a little faster." By the way, I'm in no hurry to get there. So I pick up the pace a little..it still doesn't look like a real jog though. My hands are staying glued to my sides, a few wobbles back and forth after I land on one foot. I progress to a jog...except I'm cheating by landing on the balls of my feet rather than my heels. I probably looked like a 4 year old in her mother's heels. Cameron Diaz kept flashing in my head, so I threw the heel of my foot out there....Erin, you are no Cameron Diaz...you're a baby giraffe in heels. Crash and burn. I didn't fall COMPLETELY to the ground. I made a nice save, but if anyone was watching..I probably provided them with a story for dinner.
So...enough of the running. I was just going to perfect my walk. I decided to give my "runway walk" a go. This I could handle. Runway models always put one foot directly in line with the other foot when they walk. I actually felt pretty confident doing this...until after about 5 steps when I would start to keel over from lack of balance. On the upside, this is doable with a little practice...I just don't know that anyone really walks like that off of a runway. I did get a honk from the Fed-Ex guy though...and he got a "that's not ok" look from me.
I'm almost to the building at this point...my feet already screaming at me. I don't know how women do it! I was tempted to just walk barefoot the rest of the way. Don't worry...I didn't. I sucked it up. But you better believe I walked all the way home with those bad boys in my hand! I'll leave the running to Cameron...but Beyonce, I'm comin' for you next!
I'm pretty much choosing to skip over the whole "snowpocalypse" or "snowmageddon" if you will. I'm so sick of snow it's not even funny.
So...if you've ever seen "The Holiday" with Cameron Diaz, do you remember the part towards the end when she's running back to the cottage to see Jude Law? She's running how I would be running in athletic shoes, except she's in heels. Or Beyonce...have you ever seen her dance on stage? In her stilettos? It's like she's practically barefoot, it's so fluid. Whenever I put on heels, I always think of these moments...wondering how much time I would have to spend in heels before I could run 10k in them or be able to "drop it like it's hot" in them...
Let's rewind a little to Wednesday...I gave a lecture at NIH on Pain and Injury Prevention with Aging. I was really excited about it! Usually in college, I would get a little nervous before a presentation but for some reason this week I was 100% ready...no nerves. I dressed up, all business-like, in my black pants, grey dress top, AND heels. Now...I can handle heels just fine. It's not like I look like a baby giraffe just learning how to walk- but I've never looked as graceful or sexy in heels as other women. Not to mention it puts me at about 6 feet tall. I can't quite figure it out. So...I had a little time to practice. My lecture was on main campus and I just planned on walking from my house (about a 10-12 minute walk). As I was walking, the scene from "The Holiday" flashed in my head and it sparked my curiosity. Can I run in heels? I started at a slow jog...more like a trot, really. Throwing one leg out there hoping I would land on the narrow heel. Picture this...please. It's still pretty much at the pace of a walk..but with a little hop thrown in. I think, "ok, I'm ready to go a little faster." By the way, I'm in no hurry to get there. So I pick up the pace a little..it still doesn't look like a real jog though. My hands are staying glued to my sides, a few wobbles back and forth after I land on one foot. I progress to a jog...except I'm cheating by landing on the balls of my feet rather than my heels. I probably looked like a 4 year old in her mother's heels. Cameron Diaz kept flashing in my head, so I threw the heel of my foot out there....Erin, you are no Cameron Diaz...you're a baby giraffe in heels. Crash and burn. I didn't fall COMPLETELY to the ground. I made a nice save, but if anyone was watching..I probably provided them with a story for dinner.
So...enough of the running. I was just going to perfect my walk. I decided to give my "runway walk" a go. This I could handle. Runway models always put one foot directly in line with the other foot when they walk. I actually felt pretty confident doing this...until after about 5 steps when I would start to keel over from lack of balance. On the upside, this is doable with a little practice...I just don't know that anyone really walks like that off of a runway. I did get a honk from the Fed-Ex guy though...and he got a "that's not ok" look from me.
I'm almost to the building at this point...my feet already screaming at me. I don't know how women do it! I was tempted to just walk barefoot the rest of the way. Don't worry...I didn't. I sucked it up. But you better believe I walked all the way home with those bad boys in my hand! I'll leave the running to Cameron...but Beyonce, I'm comin' for you next!
Monday, January 18, 2010
A Series of Unfortunate Events
Man, you guys! I am not doing well with this...I guess I just haven't been in the "blogging zone" lately. Hmm...what to tell you? A lot has happened since I last blogged...
Well, I think it's safe to say that the honeymoon phase of my move is officially over. Not to say I don't like it here anymore...I love it! It's just that my ridiculous streak of very fortunate events is over with. I know I told a lot of you about the "straight guy" from the gay bar...I'm still debating his sexuality. Since I haven't heard back from him, that automatically makes him gay. Yes, he's gay. The feaux-hawk should have tipped me off right away. Dang it.
I went to take my CSCS exam last weekend (personal training certification). I was taking it in DC at 9am, so I took the metro. I gave myself plenty of time..I knew how the metro could be and I just wanted to have a non-stressful morning. I emerged from the metro around 8:30am and I saw a little Indian woman, no more than 5'2" holding a single sheet of paper looking around at all the buildings. I pulled out my single sheet of paper (our exam information) and said to her, "are you taking an exam?" She looked at me, smiled, and nodded...we had a bond. She and I teamed up to find where in the world we were supposed to take our exams. She was taking a nursing exam from what I understood...she had a thick accent. We walked around the block looking for an entrance to this building. After walking back and forth several times, we established there were two places that might be where we were supposed to go. The main entrance was locked and the other one had a homeless man sleeping in the doorway, sooo....we waited by the locked entrance. She was talking about a mile a minute in her precious little accent. I think it was mainly to calm herself down and rationalize the doors being locked. A few minutes later, a man showed up. He was a black man in his late 50's...wearing some high-watered jeans, dress shoes, a leather jacket, and a sock hat. He came to join us in our stressful adventure. He was taking a medical exam of some kind...some acronym I didn't know. Since he arrived, we decided to try the homeless man's entrance again. We walked back around the corner, and the little Indian lady just walked up and stared at him..she was a little firecracker. She went up and reached right over him to try and open the door...it was locked. The homeless man, who was buried in blankets, peaked out of his little nest and then rolled over. She asked him if it was locked (clearly it was) and he reached up with one hand and pulled on the door, not even looking at her. It was kind of like he was saying "seriously? It's obviously locked...let me freakin' sleep!"
We found an open door to the building next to the one our exam was in..we thought we'd give it a try. Maybe there would be another way in. So here we are...a middle-aged black man, a freakishly tiny Indian woman, and me. I felt like I was on some kind of reality show. So we entered this other building and started to take the elevator to the basement (our exam was supposed to be held in the basement of the other building). We got down there and the walls had weird paintings on them...strange looking people all in bright colors. There were several doors and I kind of felt like I should choose one. Then it hit me...I wasn't in a reality show...i was in Mystery Theater! Wondering which one of them would try to kill me. Probably her.
Anyway, we decided that wasn't the route to go so we came back to the street. The Indian lady tried talking to the homeless man once more. I think he was more scared of her than she was of him. He finally got up and moved to another stoop. I don't blame him. BUT, the door was still locked. We decided to go wait in the warm lobby of the building next door until 9am. While were were there, we collected more characters in this little story. A young, smiley, kind of heavyset black girl and a thin-framed 50 year-old white man with glasses and thinning hair that he was obviously ashamed of (you could tell by the way he combed it). So here we are, all in this lobby...and I thought to myself "where am I right now?" Looking around at this very diverse group of people, it looked like we were waiting for a verdict of some kind...to find out who was indeed the killer.
We each left at different points to see if the door ever unlocked, eventually the skinny white man came back and motioned for us to follow him. The door had finally opened and we all walked off hand-in-hand into the building. Actually, we all got to take our exams extremely peeved and stressed but that's not a good ending, is it?
On a lighter note, but just as amusing...we had some visitors last weekend. I heard the doorbell ring and I was the only one home so I ran down to answer it. I see this random guy looking through the door, looking kind of confused. I opened the door to find this guy and girl, both early 20's standing there. He told me they were friends of Dan's and he told them to come over. I replied saying Dan wasn't here but they were welcome to come in. I introduced myself and they did the same. The guy told me his name was "Mock," and I thought to myself, "hmm...Mock. That's different, but he looks kind of hipster so whatever, it fits." Her name was Anamari. Which made me rationalize his name being Mock even more. I was talking with them and I had referred to him as Mock at least twice. As we talked I came to realize they were from Australia, which was really exciting! After my excitement subsided, I then realized how the name Mark would sound if one was Australian. Craaaaaaaaaaap. Whatever, I was just trying to make him feel more at home...I bet they all call him "Mock."
Well, I think it's safe to say that the honeymoon phase of my move is officially over. Not to say I don't like it here anymore...I love it! It's just that my ridiculous streak of very fortunate events is over with. I know I told a lot of you about the "straight guy" from the gay bar...I'm still debating his sexuality. Since I haven't heard back from him, that automatically makes him gay. Yes, he's gay. The feaux-hawk should have tipped me off right away. Dang it.
I went to take my CSCS exam last weekend (personal training certification). I was taking it in DC at 9am, so I took the metro. I gave myself plenty of time..I knew how the metro could be and I just wanted to have a non-stressful morning. I emerged from the metro around 8:30am and I saw a little Indian woman, no more than 5'2" holding a single sheet of paper looking around at all the buildings. I pulled out my single sheet of paper (our exam information) and said to her, "are you taking an exam?" She looked at me, smiled, and nodded...we had a bond. She and I teamed up to find where in the world we were supposed to take our exams. She was taking a nursing exam from what I understood...she had a thick accent. We walked around the block looking for an entrance to this building. After walking back and forth several times, we established there were two places that might be where we were supposed to go. The main entrance was locked and the other one had a homeless man sleeping in the doorway, sooo....we waited by the locked entrance. She was talking about a mile a minute in her precious little accent. I think it was mainly to calm herself down and rationalize the doors being locked. A few minutes later, a man showed up. He was a black man in his late 50's...wearing some high-watered jeans, dress shoes, a leather jacket, and a sock hat. He came to join us in our stressful adventure. He was taking a medical exam of some kind...some acronym I didn't know. Since he arrived, we decided to try the homeless man's entrance again. We walked back around the corner, and the little Indian lady just walked up and stared at him..she was a little firecracker. She went up and reached right over him to try and open the door...it was locked. The homeless man, who was buried in blankets, peaked out of his little nest and then rolled over. She asked him if it was locked (clearly it was) and he reached up with one hand and pulled on the door, not even looking at her. It was kind of like he was saying "seriously? It's obviously locked...let me freakin' sleep!"
We found an open door to the building next to the one our exam was in..we thought we'd give it a try. Maybe there would be another way in. So here we are...a middle-aged black man, a freakishly tiny Indian woman, and me. I felt like I was on some kind of reality show. So we entered this other building and started to take the elevator to the basement (our exam was supposed to be held in the basement of the other building). We got down there and the walls had weird paintings on them...strange looking people all in bright colors. There were several doors and I kind of felt like I should choose one. Then it hit me...I wasn't in a reality show...i was in Mystery Theater! Wondering which one of them would try to kill me. Probably her.
Anyway, we decided that wasn't the route to go so we came back to the street. The Indian lady tried talking to the homeless man once more. I think he was more scared of her than she was of him. He finally got up and moved to another stoop. I don't blame him. BUT, the door was still locked. We decided to go wait in the warm lobby of the building next door until 9am. While were were there, we collected more characters in this little story. A young, smiley, kind of heavyset black girl and a thin-framed 50 year-old white man with glasses and thinning hair that he was obviously ashamed of (you could tell by the way he combed it). So here we are, all in this lobby...and I thought to myself "where am I right now?" Looking around at this very diverse group of people, it looked like we were waiting for a verdict of some kind...to find out who was indeed the killer.
We each left at different points to see if the door ever unlocked, eventually the skinny white man came back and motioned for us to follow him. The door had finally opened and we all walked off hand-in-hand into the building. Actually, we all got to take our exams extremely peeved and stressed but that's not a good ending, is it?
On a lighter note, but just as amusing...we had some visitors last weekend. I heard the doorbell ring and I was the only one home so I ran down to answer it. I see this random guy looking through the door, looking kind of confused. I opened the door to find this guy and girl, both early 20's standing there. He told me they were friends of Dan's and he told them to come over. I replied saying Dan wasn't here but they were welcome to come in. I introduced myself and they did the same. The guy told me his name was "Mock," and I thought to myself, "hmm...Mock. That's different, but he looks kind of hipster so whatever, it fits." Her name was Anamari. Which made me rationalize his name being Mock even more. I was talking with them and I had referred to him as Mock at least twice. As we talked I came to realize they were from Australia, which was really exciting! After my excitement subsided, I then realized how the name Mark would sound if one was Australian. Craaaaaaaaaaap. Whatever, I was just trying to make him feel more at home...I bet they all call him "Mock."
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