Every time I go grocery shopping, I get a receipt and a coupon for Sports Authority®. They both go in the shredder. Mostly because my body is not shredded or ripped, so I shred the paper instead.
I don’t feel comfortable enough to enter a sporting goods store. I had quite an experience when I went to a competitor–Dick’s–to get a supply of gift cards for one of my superiors last holiday season. The trek to the checkout aisle was like a hiking expedition and obstacle course wrapped up in one. I had to duck under canoes, avoid the groping sleeves of heavy duty outerwear and wriggle through bins of official sport gear just to buy stuff which fit into a bag the size of a CD case. I probably burned 200 calories without touching a single piece of fitness gear.
Such things as gift card runs fall under related administrative assistant duties. Maybe, subliminally, somebody was also trying to tell me something, because stepping through the automated sliding doors of a sporting goods store when you are obviously out of shape (and out of your element) is like an alien’s first moments outside the mother ship on our planet. Take me to your litter, as I’m about to collapse from sensory overload. If there is an activity to do, it’s in your face in a sports store, so for those of us who are physically inept, it’s like a vacation in Hell: you wouldn’t normally want to go there, but it’s an experience you won’t likely forget if it’s not your thing in the first place.
Throughout my school years the physical education crowd tried their darndest to get me to climb a rope, swing on uneven parallel bars, dunk a basket or thwack a golf ball, It never happened. Since I set my feet outside the boundaries of high school for the final time, not once have I needed to climb a rope, swing on uneven parallel bars or aim for anything beyond the living room wastebasket (and I miss that on many occasions). As for golf, I stick to miniature. But darn it, the supermarkets and Sports Authority® are determined to get me into their store.
Maybe it’s something I’m buying, like the occasional bag of chips. It certainly couldn’t be my Greek yogurt, as that’s supposed to be good for you. “Gee, this customer is buying those chips again, so let’s try to scare some of that excess fat off her by luring her into Sports Authority® with twenty percent off anything but a gift card.”
I respect the people who can do sports. They make up for those of us who can’t. They also deal with injuries better than most people. They shake it off and bounce back. I bruised myself the other week in my own kitchen, but if I wanted to look cool I could always lie and say I got hit by a mini golf ball.
Anyway, there is no way I am going to take up a sport at this stage in my life. Unless it involves competitive potato chip eating.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog 
Sports Authorita
Posted at 1:35 am by kayewer, on August 10, 2014
Every time I go grocery shopping, I get a receipt and a coupon for Sports Authority®. They both go in the shredder. Mostly because my body is not shredded or ripped, so I shred the paper instead.
I don’t feel comfortable enough to enter a sporting goods store. I had quite an experience when I went to a competitor–Dick’s–to get a supply of gift cards for one of my superiors last holiday season. The trek to the checkout aisle was like a hiking expedition and obstacle course wrapped up in one. I had to duck under canoes, avoid the groping sleeves of heavy duty outerwear and wriggle through bins of official sport gear just to buy stuff which fit into a bag the size of a CD case. I probably burned 200 calories without touching a single piece of fitness gear.
Such things as gift card runs fall under related administrative assistant duties. Maybe, subliminally, somebody was also trying to tell me something, because stepping through the automated sliding doors of a sporting goods store when you are obviously out of shape (and out of your element) is like an alien’s first moments outside the mother ship on our planet. Take me to your litter, as I’m about to collapse from sensory overload. If there is an activity to do, it’s in your face in a sports store, so for those of us who are physically inept, it’s like a vacation in Hell: you wouldn’t normally want to go there, but it’s an experience you won’t likely forget if it’s not your thing in the first place.
Throughout my school years the physical education crowd tried their darndest to get me to climb a rope, swing on uneven parallel bars, dunk a basket or thwack a golf ball, It never happened. Since I set my feet outside the boundaries of high school for the final time, not once have I needed to climb a rope, swing on uneven parallel bars or aim for anything beyond the living room wastebasket (and I miss that on many occasions). As for golf, I stick to miniature. But darn it, the supermarkets and Sports Authority® are determined to get me into their store.
Maybe it’s something I’m buying, like the occasional bag of chips. It certainly couldn’t be my Greek yogurt, as that’s supposed to be good for you. “Gee, this customer is buying those chips again, so let’s try to scare some of that excess fat off her by luring her into Sports Authority® with twenty percent off anything but a gift card.”
I respect the people who can do sports. They make up for those of us who can’t. They also deal with injuries better than most people. They shake it off and bounce back. I bruised myself the other week in my own kitchen, but if I wanted to look cool I could always lie and say I got hit by a mini golf ball.
Anyway, there is no way I am going to take up a sport at this stage in my life. Unless it involves competitive potato chip eating.
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Author: kayewer