I Love Sports

            by Ardith Wood

 

Biking

            We are on vacation in Vancouver, staying across the street from Stanley Park.  There are always people out and about – rollerblading, walking, biking.

            “Hey, we should rent some condom bikes,” I suggest one day.

            “Tandem bikes, Ardith.  Tandem,” my sister, Charlotte, corrects.

            “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

            My mom is all for it, and Charlotte and my dad don’t mind, so the next day we walk to a nearby bike shop and rent two tandem bicycles.  Charlotte and I will be on one bike, my mom and dad on the other.  We put our helmets on, and get ready to go.  Mom is steering her and Dad’s bike, Charlotte is steering ours.  We watch Mom and Dad get on and ride down the small hill to the path.  Looks easy enough.  While Charlotte holds the bike, I try getting on first.  She lets go to get on, but I can’t reach the ground.  On tip toes, I try to balance.  The bike starts to fall to one side, so I grab the handlebars.  This doesn’t help – the back ones are stationary.  When one foot can reach the ground, I throw myself clear of the bike.

            “How about I get on first,” Charlotte suggests. 

            “We can try that.” 

            Charlotte gets on, and as I attempt to sling my leg over the back, she starts going down the hill.

            “Charlotte! Stop!”

            “What?”

            “I’m not on yet!  Stop the bike!”  We are not-so-gradually picking up speed.  The “gentle slope” now seems like it should have a sign:  20% Grade; Trucks use lower gear.

            “Which one’s the brake?”

            “Both!  Hit them both!”  There is an awful grinding-crunching sound.  “Those change gears!  Pull the levers!”   We are flying now, right past Mom and Dad and straight toward a concrete footbridge.  Charlotte finally manages to locate the brakes, and we come to a stop, just short of hitting the bridge.  I am still neither on the bike nor off it, tipping from side to side while straddling the bar.

            “You girls okay?”  Mom asks when she and Dad reach us.

            “I want to go with you, Mom,” Charlotte replies.

            “I’ll go with you, Dad, if I can steer.”

            “Alright.”

            Charlotte limps over to the safety of Mom’s bike, and I get on in front of Dad.  Finally, we’re off.  It’s a nice day out, but this “leisurely ride” thing lasts for only so long.  I have an idea.

            “Hey Dad, we should race.”
            “Ardith, we’re on the same bike.  You’re already in front.”

            “No, we should race Mom and Charlotte.”

            “Oh, okay.”

            We get our mark, and start pedaling faster.  This shouldn’t be too difficult.  Charlotte isn’t even holding on – she’s taking pictures.  As we pass them, I call out “We’re winning!”  We round the corner, and the bike path forks.  Keeping my focus in the face of danger, I make a quick decision.  We take a little off-road detour, through the trees and between some signs.  I hear “oof!” from behind me.  It would really be nice if these bikes came with shocks.  When we find and get on the path again, it’s time for the sprint.  I take it up a gear, and pedal harder.  We pull ahead, and cross the finish line.  “Yes!” I cheer.  “Good race, Dad.”

            When my mom and sister reach us, they’re laughing.  I look at my dad, and he’s grinning, too.  “What’s so funny?”  I ask.

            “My feet slipped off the pedals, and I couldn’t get them back on again.”

            “What?”

            “They were going too fast!”

            “And we still won?  Sweet!”

 

 

Golf

            This is the final hole.  My cousin Jackson and I are tied for the course at three over par.  With us, there is no such thing as a little friendly competition.  Each “game” turns into a bloodthirsty battle, the two of us contending for the title of winner, victor, champion of the world. 

            I concentrate.  The skirmish rests upon this final putt.  I lick my finger and test the wind.  I kneel and examine the slope of the green.  Standing, I take a few practice putts.  I step up to the ball, adjust my stance.  I am ready.

            With light hands, I putt.  Beautiful.  The shiny red ball rolls over the bridge, across the moat, through the windmill and, with a satisfying “clunk,” into the hole.  Hole-in-one.  Beat that, sucka.

 

 

Crew

            So we’re rowing in one evening, at the end of practice.  It’s already dark out, so we have lights on.  Practice has been long and hard – I am tired and ready to go home.  My mind wanders away from rowing.  By this point, I have not only memorized the back of the shirt of the person in front of me, but I’ve also counted the number of stripes on the shirt of the girl in front of her.  Multiple times – there are 23 stripes.  I plan the menu for dinner that night (definitely spaghetti).  I convert fractions to decimals, decimals to percents.

            A change in the coxswain’s voice catches my attention.  “Shit!  Uh-oh, uh-oh.  Umm…”  This doesn’t sound good. 

            All of a sudden a horn blares.  It is so loud it hurts.  My head snaps around and I look over my shoulder in the direction we are going.  Out of the darkness, an immense object is coming toward us with surprising speed.  The running lights are lit up, but the rest of it is an inky black.  It is either the Queen Elizabeth II, or the reincarnation of the Titanic.  On steroids.  Oh. My. God.    My chest constricts, my heart starts beating faster than it has all practice.  There is no air in my lungs.  Someone gives out what can only be described as a yelp – not really a scream, but definitely more than an “oh look, a boat.”  

            “Umm, starboards power up.  Wait, no!  Eh, Way nuf, way nuf.  Ports row, starboards hold water,” the coxswain instructs.  With out-of-control vigor, we do what she says.  We start moving to the right.  “Okay, all eight row.”  Rabbits on speed would probably be less frantic than we are.  When we reach the side of the estuary, a sigh of relief moves through the boat.

            “That’s pretty much the scariest thing ever.”

            “Ugh.  My stomach hurts.”

            As the tug passes by, it momentarily blocks out all light.  I am so ready to get off the water, and the boathouse is in reach.  The coxswain starts to point us toward the dock.  I watch the tugboat continue on its way.  Then, I see the wake.  Oh man.  This is so not fair.   “Wake!”  We are about to drown.

            “Okay.  All eight lean away.”  We lean as far as we can to the left, attempting to block out the impending waves.  But no, resistance is futile.  Water cascades over the sides, the icy water drenching my back and lower body.  I should have worn my wet suit.

            By the time we reach the dock, my ears have stopped ringing and my pulse is under control.  A girl from the other boat runs over to catch us.  “Did you hear the boat?  We got it to honk!”