ambular0133

Yesterday I returned from a weekend in Webster, New York, where the 14U rep girls fastpitch team I coach participated in a rainy, poorly planned tournament. We've played better for sure, but that's besides the point. I'm drained. I'm drained of energy, of positivity and of optimism. I honestly want to crawl under a rock and never coach again. Sometimes the parents on a team are so bloody ridiculous that I want to scream. It happened when I played and I know that it happens to the best of us coaches at any given time. But when the girls are having fun, are being played fairly, have never had an onfield squabble or been yelled at for making an error and have developed way more than they could have going to some of these other teams at a tier two level, what right does a parent have to accost me and call me inexperienced? What right does this angry couple have to bring their daughter into my hotel room and ask why the hell we've been deflating her confidence? Especially when the poor player is banging her head against the wall (honestly, arms crossed, in tears) begging her parents to just shut up? When I run into girls from other teams that I helped coach last year, they tell me how they can't wait to play for me, Sarah, Rob and Katie. Everywhere we go other coaches are amazed that 23 and 24 year old girls would give up so much of their time to such a cause. But can certain parents on our team see that? No. Can they see that their daughter is happy? No. All they care about is winning! 

- Eleven months of the past year have been devoted to this team
- Each week I spend six out of seven days on this team, whether it be games, practice, dealing with sitches, emails or just planning
- Although this is volunteer, I have spent about $1500 out of my own pocket to coach this team 
- I am not related to one single girl on the roster

I should be at the bar with my friends or finding another job to save for my future. Instead I have angry emails and people yelling at me in hotel hallways in other countries. 

I want to quit...to crawl under a rock and hide until I can find energy for something else that benefits me for a change.

Human resiliency truly amazes me. For the past four days I have been drifting in and out of consciousness, battling some sort of throat infection that has left me with no voice and zero energy. As a result, I’ve had a lot of extra time to over-analyze and think through many aspects of my life—always a dangerous thing.

I haven’t come to any life-altering decisions, but I have realized that I am at a point in my life where I know myself better than I ever have before. I’m no longer making choices based solely on my emotions or on my heart, but I’m factoring in my mind and experiences. I’ve always been a dreamer, tending towards the idealistic side of human nature, and so I still follow my heart. The difference is that now I’m getting a better idea of when to stray off course so that I will wind up happier in the long term.

Two years ago I thought that I would never feel “normal.” That was a very dark time for me, because all of a sudden everything that I ever knew and believed about myself and those around me completely changed. I had gotten so used to caring about what a certain person thought about me that I kept running around, aiming to please, until I was frustrated, bitter, alone and clueless. Of course I could never live up to this person’s high expectations, because he was looking for someone that just wasn’t me. As simple as that is, when I was in the middle of it I couldn’t figure out what made me such a horrible person, and for the life of me I couldn’t understand why things went as sour as they did. Looking back, I went through a lot, probably a lot more than I really should have, until I hit a breaking point. I put my heart out there, wore it on my sleeve as I so often do, but to the point where it was wide open for anyone to grab and stomp on it. And that’s exactly what happened. And then it all came crumbling down.

I quit baseball, and vowed never to play competitively again. I was done with the high expectations and constant pressure to succeed; it had been plaguing me my entire life. I started drinking excessively and partying harder, and I met some people that I probably would have never associated myself with previously. I did some stupid things, but, looking back, I needed to make those adjustments to be able to climb back up in the end. As low and as depressed as I was feeling, there were a lot of good things that I did too.  

I stopped working 70 hours a week and I learned what it’s like to have a solid support group of friends that I could count on. I worked harder than ever before in school, graduated university with my best marks ever, and I put myself on a career path doing something that I’ve wanted to do since the fourth grade. I really opened up my eyes to the relationships that I’ve been around my entire life. My parents, having been split since I was about four, are each remarried and they have two strikingly different spouses. I learned to relax and just be, and when I started jumping into a relationship I backed off, knowing that I wasn’t ready; that I was still “damaged and scary.”

It wasn’t, and continues to not be easy, and there have been lots of hiccups and personality conflicts along the way. For a while there, I was really bitter about the whole relationship and dating scene -- I had become prematurely cynical. A few months ago my past came back to haunt me, but I took it head on, and stayed strong. Recently I’ve had issues, but I think that my turnover rate is rapidly improving. That couldn’t have been done, or even mentally realized, without the people in my life who accept me for me; those that I know care about me, and that I care about, even when we don’t always have time or energy to show it.

In short, I never knew how resilient I could be to something that once sent me reeling. Even though I still care, the hurt was enough to open my eyes. And it happened for a reason: I was already trying to dig my way out into the light two years ago. If I wasn’t knocked off course, I would have kept digging eastward, when really, all I needed was to go north. I’m definitely spiraling, and it’s never felt better.       

Perma-fatigue has officially settled in. I’m half sitting, half lying down on my bed and I have absolutely no intention of moving unless it’s to get another stiff drink. In which case I would have to kick my cat off my feet, and that just seems like entirely too much effort at the present moment. This weekend, as with all weekends, was ridiculously chaotic in a self-fulfilling kind of way. 

After work on Thursday, A-C and I hopped on the subway and headed south to the rainbow cinemas to meet up with Lindsay and Vanessa, to see The Devil Wears Prada. Being former j-schoolers with semi-ok jobs, I think that we all took a sort of guilty pleasure in comparing ourselves to the main character, who winds up as a slave to the fashion industry’s biggest piranha. Add the fact that we were finally able to afford both the ticket and the medium-sized complementary snack, I, at least, was feeling pretty smug about myself, despite my non-fashionista makeshift outfit from le Chateau.

After the lights turned on and the theatre crowd panned out, we made our way down to Scotland Yard for a pint and some catching up. Those who opted out on the movie met up with us, and before we knew it there were nine of us sitting around on the patio, drinking and laughing like were we still in the golden age of university and limited responsibilities. Eventually, around midnight, I asked Lindz if she wanted to head out. “Sure,” she replied, “but we’re walking.” I looked down at my strappy, three-inch heals, mentally calculating the distance from my chair to Lindsay’s front door. “Sure,” I smiled as brightly as I could. “No problem!”

Ten minutes later I realized that I had not worked Lindz’s long legs or her powerful stride into my calculations. Toes numb, I tried balancing on the balls of my feet as we raced up Yonge street, dodging street trash and deeking pedestrians. Fifteen minutes, a pizza stop at the Big Slice, and a curious tingling sensation later, I collapsed into Lindsay’s apartment and threw off my sandals, only to discover blood trickling down the tops of both ring toes, where thick welts had set in. As I was rummaging through my bag for my toothbrush, my stomach sank as I realized I had not brought alternative footwear. Oh well, I thought to myself. How much more can it hurt tomorrow? The subway station is only a five minute walk away.

Did you know that five minutes can sometimes seem like twenty-five?

The next morning was completely brutal. With every single solitary step that I took, I felt as thought someone was ramming knives into my feet. I looked at the gummy, dirty brown sidewalk and wondered what the possibility of contracting hepatitis would be if I went barefoot. In the end, I figured a planter’s wart just wouldn’t be worth it, so I grinded my teeth and contented myself with thoughts of Johnny Depp.

When I arrived at work, I hobbled straight for the first aid corner in the kitchen. Frantically throwing aside aspirins and gauze, I procured a couple of small band aids and a package of iodine from the bottom of the kit. Back at my desk, I kicked the cursed shoes off and went to work on minimizing the damage. As I was unpeeling the second band-aid, I remembered that the Claire’s at the Sheppard centre sold heavily discounted ballerina slippers. So after I finished logging into my computer and setting up my day’s work, I shoved my feet back into my shoes and limped the block to Claire’s. Smiling to myself at the brilliancy of my plan, I grasped the handle to the glass doors, my eye catching a display of belly-button rings. Something was wrong. The display usually sits to the right, just inside the doors. And the door wasn’t budging. My eyes darted to the cashier desk, where a girl with cropped black hair and a black tie was shaking her head at me. “We’re not open yet!”

Eating a few choice words, I did my best impression of a 180 and headed back to work. 

Not forgetting that our office staff was going out for our bi-weekly luncheon patio beer, I wondered how I would manage to find a pair of shoes to wear before the three block walk to our regular bar. Finally, at noon, near tears whenever I stood up, I decided that enough was enough. I ambled over to my editor Lisette’s desk, meeting Janine on the way. “Nice shoes!” she cooed as I grimaced.

“Thanks. I’m trying to get rid of them.”

I made my way past her and slipped conspiringly into Lisette’s cubicle. She spun around in her chair. “Hi Lisette, I have a huge favour to ask of you.” I lowered my voice. “I know that we’re going out for lunch today, but I was wondering if I could take fifteen minutes now and go to buy a pair of shoes. You see, my feet are bleeding.” Janine, who had followed me, burst out laughing. Lisette took one look at my feet and handed me a bag from under her desk. Inside was a pair of flip flops. “Sure, but you’d better wear these down.” I could have hugged her.

Back inside Claire’s I settled on a four dollar pair of two season-old pink ballet slippers, sequins and all. They were worth every penny, and I vowed to wear flip flops or runners for the rest of the weekend.

Six hours later I let myself and my tired feet into my house, carrying a bag of shoes, my overnight bag from Lindsay, my keys, sunglasses, and my work bag. As soon as I set foot into the laundry room, my phone started going off. Dropping everything, I rummaged through my bag until I found my cell. Kat calling. “Hey what’s up?” I asked, collecting my strewn items from the floor. “Nothing. Are we still getting tickets to the show?” Ah yes, Pirates of the Caribbean, opening night! “Yessssss. I’ll pick you up seven. I need to chill for a bit first.”

We hung up, and no sooner had I put my bags down then my phone rang again. Ian calling.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Not much, having a party, folks are out of town. You should come by.”

“Really? Sounds like fun. I’ll give you a call later on.”

I hung up my phone and took off my sweater. Incoming text message. Jenn: what’s the deal with tonight?

- Meet at AMC after work, I’ll get your ticket.

- Sweet, I’ll get the popcorn

I looked at my watch: 6:20 p.m. So much for chilling out and all. I changed my shirt, threw a clip in my hair, applied some fresh mascara and headed out the door. As I pulled into Kat’s driveway, my phone jingled again. Eli calling.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you and your dad were still planning on coming by the dealership tomorrow to see the Yaris.”

“Yup, we’ll be there at 10:30.” I unlocked the door so Kat could hop in. “I fully plan on lying by my pool all day and having some sort of BBQ, so I want to be back for the afternoon.”

“Oh really? I’m going out on my boat to see fireworks with a few people and I was going to ask if you’d like to join, but if you’re going to be busy…”

“Hmm, well I dunno, it’s in the afternoon, maybe if you’re going later… I don’t know, give me a call. But I have to go now, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kat squinted at me. “You’re having a BBQ tomorrow?” she asked, flipping down the visor and slipping on an extra pair of sunglasses from my dashboard.

“Yes. Well no, not really. I just plan on lying around my pool all day and sharing the fact that I have a pool with my friends in 30 degree weather. I told you about it Wednesday when I said I was canceling the volleyball tournament so that I could lie around my pool all day, remember?”

“I remember the part about the volleyball tournament, but not the BBQ.”

“Oh. Well I’m pretty sure I told you. It’s not a BBQ, but come over around two.”

“Alright,” she shrugged and adjusted the glasses. “These are crooked. Or maybe I just have a crooked head.”

“Naw, they’re crooked.”

That’s the thing about Kat. She’s got her idiosyncrasies and can sometimes come across as unimpressed, but she’s pretty easy going once you get to know her.

The tickets to the 9:45 show were sold out, but we managed to buy some for the 10:15, then headed over to Rosie McGees to solve the world’s problems over a beer. When Jenn joined us at 9:15, we were pretty psyched to see some Depp/Bloom action. Heading back over to the theatre, I had mixed feelings. All around me were under aged teenagers; the boys in clothes they could swim in and the girls with skirts shorter than my belt. We were definitely senior citizens in the crowd, but I think that deep down I was just as excited as them. Going to a much anticipated movie on opening night has always been one of my most favourite things to do. The excitement of being among the first to see a particular movie just can’t be matched. Pirates was no exception: when the credits came on and applause rang out in the stadium, goose bumps crept up my arms. It was a fantastic movie with a surprising twist: no radio station or loudmouthed friend can ever take that moment from me.

After we cleared out of the theatre, Kat and I bid adieu to Jenn and decided to head over to Ian’s to say hi before heading off to bed. My feet still hurt, after all.

The next morning I woke up bright and early to head to Brampton for 9:30. Letting myself into my house 45 minutes later was almost enough to guarantee a headache.

“Hello?” rang Pat’s voice from the kitchen

“Hi…morning…”

“Is that my daughter?”

“Hi dad….”

“Want some breakfast?”

“Sure, thanks…”

“Egg sandwich okay?”

“Coffee?”

After we ate (and fueled up on strong coffee), Dad and I hopped into the Mustang he had surprised Pat with for her birthday in May, and made our way over to Milton Toyota to visit Eli and what I hoped would be my new car. Unfortunately, as soon as I got in for the test drive, things started going horribly wrong.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the inside of a Yaris, but it’s cute. The little compartments are cute, the fact that the console and dials are in the middle is cute, the windows are cute, and the seats are cute. Everything is cute. Everything that is, except the fabric. The best way I can describe it is a light grey mesh with a light blue under padding. In other words: blue polka dots.

When Dad and I returned inside, I asked Eli about alternative fabrics.

“That’s the only one.”

“What about the RS?”

“That’s different. It’s like a grey on grey.”

“Can I see it?”

“Well here’s the one for the coup.”

“Can I see an RS model?”

“We don’t have one.”

“Can I see a picture?”

“Sure, hold on.” Eli clicked open the Toyota website. “See, here… oh. That’s not it either.”

“I don’t mind the grey, but those blue polka dots…”

“They’re actually little Ms or Ws or something, you have to look closely.”

“I don’t want to look closely, it’s ugly. Don’t you have a fabric swatch or something?”

“No… hey Joel,” a cute salesman with dark black hair and matching eyes stopped outside Eli’s door.

“Can you describe the interior of the Yaris RS? The difference in fabrics for the models?”

Joel looked at me.

“The inside of the CE is ugly,” I explained.

“Oh, the polka dots?”

I cocked my head towards Eli. “No, the upside down Ms.”

“Thanks Joel.” Eli turned back to us. “I think we may have one in for service, hold on.”

As Eli jumped up and went to investigate, my dad leaned in towards me. “I think that when he comes back we should make a graceful exit.”

“Agreed.”

As we were leaving, Eli pulled me aside.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“I don’t know, I guess it depends on my afternoon. I plan on drinking, and definitely not driving. Maybe Kat will want to come.”

“Yeah, invite Kat,” he lowered his voice and gave me the I-want-to-spend-time-with-you-how-can-you-say-no-to-me look. “Come…”  

“Call me, I’ll see. Have a great day.”

A Dodge, Ford and Saturn dealership, two brochures on back order, and seven missing keys later, I decided to give it up. My watch read 1:30, and I knew that Dad and Pat were meeting with some friends at two. Besides, all I had wanted to do was sit by my pool.

The afternoon flew by in a wonderful haze of sun and Coors Light. I cracked open a beer as soon as I got home, and text messaged some people to come by. My brother Kyle had some friends over too, so it was a good, sunny afternoon full of swimming, soccer, and chilling on the deck. Considering we had all been set to play in a beach volleyball tournament, I was happy I opted for the relaxing alternative.

Around 5:30 Eli called and asked again if Kat and I were coming on the boat, and also offered to make us dinner. I looked at Kat. “I brought my stuff,” she shrugged. And so it was decided.

We arrived in Oakville around 8:30, where Eli and his friends had already congregated. Eli was working furiously at the stove, and the steam wafting through the townhouse was emitting a delicious smell. He served us each a plate of creamy pink pasta, with cheese, olives and slices of prosciutto sticking out every which way. My stomach lurched. Lately, when I’m really hungry and I look at food, I’m not able to stomach it. It happened the entire weekend country camping. I would cook us up a storm, but then when I sat down to enjoy the fruits of my labour, my stomach went on strike. I looked at Kat. “I can’t eat!” I whispered frantically.

She looked at the plate and pursed her lips. “Well..” She shrugged her shoulders.

“I know… and it smells so good. He went to all this effort…” I stabbed a piece of pasta with my fork and brought it gingerly to my mouth. As soon as I swallowed I felt like puking.

“Shit…”

Kat went to town on her dish, and by the time everyone else was served, she was almost done.

“Do you want to switch plates with me?”
She considered me. “Yeah, ok.” She grabbed my plate and continued eating.

Two seconds later Eli came over to me. “Are you done already?”

“Yeah, it was really good, thanks!”

I felt like such a jerk. Thank God no one noticed.

After dinner and an espresso from a fancy machine, six of us piled into two cars and headed over to the Bronte Marina off of Lakeshore. Although Eli’s boat was new to him, he had bought it from his father, and I had been on it three or four times previously. We sat comfortably, although the air was a lot cooler on the water. As we sped towards Ontario Place, bumping and bouncing on the lake, we saw the fireworks in the distance. I hugged myself as tightly as I could as cold drops of water splashed upwards and my hair whipped around my face. I could barely see the colourful sky in the distance. When we stopped the boat 25 minutes later, the fireworks had stopped too. With nothing else to do, we turned back, slightly cooler and definitely worn out.

Kat and I ditched our fellow boaters at the marina and headed to Tim Horton’s for a hot beverage before returning to Mississauga. As Kat pulled into my driveway, I rummaged for my keys. “I need to sleep until at least ten tomorrow.”

“Well what time are we heading downtown to watch the soccer game?”

“I don’t know. Jenn wants to go early. Call me, or I’m sure she will.”

I stumbled inside, washed my face, brushed my teeth and crawled into bed. I crawled right back out and changed into my pajamas, then flopped on my mattress, exhausted.

2:17 a.m. Incoming text message: Jenn Cell.

- No go for Little Italy t/m. ppl r lining up @730-8 @bars. Maybe Woodbridge? I’ll call you.

I rolled over.

2:35 a.m. Incoming text message: Eli Cell.

- Hope you had a good time tonight…thanks for coming!!!

I swore and rolled over again.

11:00 a.m. Incoming text message: Jenn Cell.

- U up?

Now I am, I thought, and called her back so that we could have an in-depth conversation about where we were going to watch the World Cup final. Fifteen minutes later we decided on Boston Pizza, and I reluctantly left my bed to grab a shower.

Jenn pulled into my driveway at 12:15, and we raced to grab Kat. I called Matt and Chad on the way, and text messaged Laura and Katie to see if they were watching the game anywhere.

When we got to the bar, we settled on patio seats, next to a middle-aged couple rooting for France. After Jenn and the husband had established an intense rivalry, and after the wife and I shared some key eye-rolling moments at the stupidity of the communist sport that is soccer, we ordered some pizza and a pitcher of beer.

Incoming text message: Katie Cell

- What time is our game tonight?

I stared at my phone. Game?

“Kat,” I said, flipping my phone shut and resting my chin on my fist. “Do we have a game tonight?”

“Uhhhh. Yeah. Actually, I think we do.”

“Dammit… I completely forgot. This beer’s a good idea then, huh?”

Kat laughed. “I forgot too. That sucks.”

“Yeah… actually now that I think about it, I’m pitching.”

I decided the best solution to my problem was to keep drinking. After all, many of the notable players in the MLB are those with beer bellies.

Matt and Chad joined us after the kickoff, or whatever you call it when the game starts. At one point, Matt nodded to my right foot.

“So should I ask how you did that?”

I looked at my welted toe.

“Well, I had to match this one, I said, pointed to my other foot. One word: shoes.”

“Shoes did that?”

“Yeah, but they looked good.”

After a glorious Italian victory, we drove back to Brampton so I could get my car, and decided to spontaneously pick up some pokoras and samosas, and watch a movie before the game. Kat sat in the back and pretended not to know Jenn and I, as we stuck our heads out of the windows and honked and hollered at every Italian flag we saw the entire way there.

“Horns are made for safety reasons,” she scolded, grinning and looking out of the window.

Three samosas, a horrible movie (The Date Movie, it was a rental Kyle had picked up that was lying around) and a misplaced uniform later, I found myself with a full stomach at the ball diamond in Mississauga, sincerely wishing that I was in bed.

I didn’t pitch a bad game, but by the time I went up to have my last at bat, my arms felt so heavy I couldn’t take a proper swing, and I promptly stuck out to end the game. So much for my MLB beer belly theory. I was so exhausted that I didn’t even stay for the post-game chat and drink by Trish’s car.

I got home around 11 o’clock and went right to bed. All in all it was a fantastic weekend full of many different things, but I’m glad to be back to a regular schedule. This blog took me three days to write, and I think it’s time that I went to sleep. Tomorrow is the start of a brand new weekend, and from the looks of what I hope to do, next week’s blog may take just a bit longer.