Margo and Pam
(An encore post from 2013)
My two exercise buddies, Pam and Margo, trained with me a while ago for a sprint triathlon. We spent months preparing for the half-mile open water swim, 15-mile bike and 4-mile run.
All this, mind you, is done consecutively; not on different days, like normal people would do. And to top it off, we are expected to do it all within a couple hours or risk getting passed by the 95-year-old who’s in her 70th consecutive sprint-tri. Continue reading
This post was written a few years back, so long ago you know you don’t remember it, do you? That’s okay. My memory sucks too. So this will be just like new to you (and me!).
While my three friends and I huddled on the cold steel floor of the single engine Cessna, I struggled to remember what possessed me to want to hurl myself from an airborne metal tube. 
Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not crazy. At least I think I’m not. But still, I seriously questioned my sanity while checking my parachute pack for the tenth time. My curiosity was not based on its technical construction but simply to confirm that it was still on my back. Continue reading
Last week some friends and I attended my godson’s baseball game (an independent professional team) at Albert Park in San Rafael. Being there was a trip down memory lane. Thirty-one years ago these same friends and I stepped off the adjoining field for the last time after playing fast-pitch softball for 10 years. When we formed the team I was the old lady of the group at age 20. Little did we know then what fun times awaited.
Sitting there watching Martin play brought back many fond memories. Insert music here: Memories, light the corners of my mind, misty water-colored memories of the way we were. Okay, enough of that. Suffice to say those 10 years together stretched into 40. And we’re still going strong.
A few of the originals
I’ve been playing competitive team tennis for 30 years now. Whew…that’s an awful long time, isn’t it? But here’s the thing; something is wrong with me.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not dying. At least I don’t think so. I am behind on scheduling my annual checkup though, so until that happens, I can’t say definitively that I’m not dying.
Anyway, I digress…for those of you who know me, you won’t argue that something is wrong with me. I don’t mean I see dead people or anything. But wouldn’t that be awesome? I’d love to visit with my family who’ve passed on, maybe even meet Mark Twain, Jane Goodall or Einstein. Scratch that last one; I probably wouldn’t understand a word he’s saying. There I go digressing again…
Say what?!
Tennis is my passion so I hope to be playing into my 90s. My first obstacle is living that long. Then I’ll need to have my wits about me, which is already questionable. Then I have to be a smidgen ambulatory. Yes, it will be ugly tennis but some would say that describes how I play today. And they would not be wrong.
To be competitive in tennis, we generally partner with and play against those within our rating bracket. I’m rated 4.5. If you don’t play USTA tennis, that statement means about as much to you as the Theory of Relativity means to me. My point is, I enjoy competition.
You see, I’ve always been a tomboy. At least that’s what they called it when it was unusual for girls to be just as athletic as boys. Being a tomboy was a stigma because I wasn’t “a feminine young lady.” People didn’t know what to make of me. But things have changed. Today, female athletes are on boxes of Wheaties and the cover of Sports Illustrated.