Dead Last, Maybe, But Not Dead

What could possibly possess a 72-year-old devout non-athlete to take up shot put?

As a kid, I got along in school except for the GAMES! A game meant a ball hurtling towards my head out of nowhere. And Greek dodge, the version of dodgeball we played in Maryland, petrified me. I didn’t know that, in addition to my sluggish reflexes and absence of muscle, I lacked a key athletic gift: the ability to visually track a ball.

Me, age 3, wearing my Buster Browns

It didn’t help that my anxious parents discouraged any activity where I might get hurt (a peccadillo of older parents). Here’s a photo of my first athletic endeavor —¬ not so easy in those annoying Buster Browns.

My father snapped the photo as my mother yelled at him to get me off the fence. My mother was so affected by this event that, nearly 70 years later, I had to wake her from a nightmare because she was shouting for someone to get me off the fence.

Still, I wasn’t a complete flop when it came to physical activity. My parents appreciated dance, and when I was a teenager, they paid for my weekly tap and ballet lessons from a former Rockette. Our recitals were enthusiastic imitations of Radio City Music Hall in its heyday. What my parents and I didn’t understand was that once-a-week dance lessons do not create a dancer. We knew nothing of the discipline, hard work, and failures that it took to master an art.

I'm the one in the middle wearing too much makeup

I was also raised with the belief that I should be good at everything on the first try. My sister, who was 7 years ahead of me in school, appeared to live up to that standard. As a result, my parents taught me nothing about resilience, nothing about perseverance —¬ and a rich old age requires both.

Now I understand that no one in my family failed because no one in my family risked failing. Living without risk is a prison, and I’m breaking out. I want to put myself out there, have an experience, and not worry about success or failure.

I stumbled on the NJ Senior Olympics while trying to solve a health problem: the 40 pounds I gained last year. I watched videos of competing athletes. Some were amazing, and some were not too unlike yours truly. Should I? Would I dare? But… But… Okay, I’ll do it. I need something to get me off the couch and distract me from the vegan junk food lurking in the supermarket. This extra weight is making me physically miserable. But what event?

I thought about a day in my 10th grade P.E. class when we were each handed a shot put and told to throw it as far as possible. Let’s just say I was lucky that my shot didn’t land on my foot. The thought of being able to do something in my 70s that I couldn’t do when I was a teenager pleased me. I checked the competitive events at the NJ Senior Olympics, and lo and behold: SHOT PUT. And because of my age, I'll get to throw a lighter shot: 3kg (about 6.6 pounds).

I’ve had three sessions so far with my throws coach, Herb. My DH filmed my last session, and I was shocked when I played back the video. Who was that tubby old lady who walked so stiffly? Still, that tubby old lady landed her shot just a little farther each workout. That’s progress, and it’s harder to decay while making progress.

The next day, my throwing arm was sore. Isn’t that hilarious? I have a throwing arm!

Warren Blaney, considered to be the father of senior games, said, “Instead of looking back as they get older, Senior Olympians think about tomorrow. They think, ‘I’ll beat that guy next year.’”

Maybe I won’t beat that guy, but I’ll be living — even if I come in dead last!