sport of bus nature
Since graduating from high school athletics have really slipped from my priority list. Unfortunately my years of basketball, volleyball, swimming and running withered away into quarterly, or bi-annual occurences. Now, athletic activity usually constitutes a sprint up the stairs of the restaurant I serve at or the occasional night of dancing (which doesn't really count if you tally up all the bevvies I consume to get myself revved up) or the odd sorry tennis match (with my Aussie-schooled friend who pummels me time after time with aces).Luckily, for my ass size I am a bus rider. I manage to keep my family's heifer tendencies at bay thanks to the misadventures I have in catching or not catching the bus. Riding the bus is a sport. Where as in university I refused to run for a bus because I was worried about my outfit getting ruined or my platforms betraying my ankles or just plain not looking cool, now I revel in sprinting for the #9, #6 or #7. My heart races (rare these days), I work up an instant sweat (rarer still) and get all flushed (not so rare, unfortunately, when I drink red wine: often). When I hop on the #9 after a sprint from my house, 20 meters, my chest pulses with pride because I actually caught as it was about to pull away. I especially take pride in my sprint prowess like this if I pull off the feat in my 'grown up shoes' or a skirt. Fuck looking professional, I'm gonna score that layup, er, I mean catch that bus as though my life depends on it. If I'm gonna sprint less than 10 times a year it might as well be for something worthy like meeting friends on time for beer or getting to work.
posted by Miranda @ Wednesday, November 02, 2005
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