For as long as I can remember (which is surprisingly not very long for my age), people have always looked at me as the “sports kid”.  Yes, I was the little girl that happened to excel in all things athletic.  With a natural height and size advantage, I was a perfect match for the life that came with endless practices, games, and tournaments.  Through the years, my friends and I grew up together through sports, and like it or not, I became a leader in the gym.  “What’s the problem?” you say.  “It looks like everything has turned out pretty well for you, you haven’t complained that this life has brought terrible, life-ruining events that will cause emotional scarring for all eternity!”  Well my friend, you would be correct.  I haven’t complained about that (yet), and most likely for the remainder of my career, nothing like that will ever happen (I hope).  But for the time being, I’m stuck with those run of the mill problems that aren’t pathetic enough to not write about but really aren’t all that interesting.  So here we go. 

Sports are hard.  You run, and jump, and get in physical altercations with other sweaty girls whose emotions are running sky high.  I’m so tired of running, jumping, and getting in physical altercations with other sweaty girls.  I’m not even a fan of regular physical altercations with regular amounts of sweat.  It’s not that I mind physical activity; I just like it on my own terms.  Being forced to practice every day has never been my cup of tea.  I’m not a robot who enjoys destroying my body every-day in practice. 

Competing is hard.  Having to go out and try not to make a fool of yourself in front of the whole community is hard.  Having the drive and the passion to win is a harder thing than most people realize.  I guarantee when it comes down to it, given the choice to work hard and win, or take the easy way out and lose, most people would choose the latter.  People who say otherwise have no idea what they’re talking about and probably should be labeled “Wikipedia,” as an unreliable source.

More specifically to my situation, the thing that makes me the angriest about sports is the assumption that my head is full of sawdust.  It’s not entirely sport’s fault, but yeah, I’d put most of the blame on it that no-good piece of garbage.  When someone is an excellent athlete the assumption is made that there are no other good qualities about that person, mostly due to the fact that that’s all that they’re recognized for.  If I were ever to say, have a month of free time; with no practices, games, tournaments, or therapy sessions, I would be very afraid and empowered with all the things I could do.  Who knows? Maybe I could find the cure for cancer?  What I’m saying is that when people read the name: Molly Hammersmith, in the newspaper, they don’t expect the headline: WINS AWARD FOR BEING A DO-GOODER.  They expect something like: PUTS BALL IN HOOP AND GETS IN PHYSICAL ALTRECATIONS WITH SWEATY GIRLS.  See what I mean?  I wish people (not tooting my own horn) knew how funny I was.  Or in less bragging terms, how much I enjoy comedy.  Or how I want to travel the globe and become the first Louis-Vuitton sponsored Astronaut.  Those are the things I want people to see.  I want them to see that I’m not just a sweaty girl, but I am queen who will go on to rule the nation with Beyoncé, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.

I realize this essay is quite redundant in the fact that it doesn’t matter if I complain about my life.  I’m never going to come across a person who listens to my problems and proclaims, “Wow!  I’ve heard a lot of complaints, Molly, but yours really take the cake!”  Don’t read this essay and think, “You really should quit sports, they don’t sound like they’re doing a lot for you.” Or “You need psychiatric counseling,” because neither would be correct.  The biggest lesson sports have taught me is that more often than not, life is going to scare the pants off pretty much everyone.  We are chemicals that when added to other chemicals (chemicals of adversity… I know just go with it) we become reactants.  Only we can choose how we react.  We can do things we don’t want to do, and be successful, or we can do things we want to do, and have the little voice in ourselves whisper “what if” for the rest of our lives.  Of course it’s hard to hear that voice over the crunch of potato chips, but more power to you either way.  I guess what I’m trying to say is that our lives our determined by us and when the final buzzer sounds, a final question remains: “Are we going to be the sweaty girl on top?”