THE ONLY KIND OF TOSS FOR ME: A WORD TOSS

Physical aptitude and coordination are not my fortes. It was usually my lot to play the archetypal role of Last One Picked in elementary school P.E. It didn’t help matters that I grew up clumsy and inept with a star basketball brother who ended up playing in the Big Ten. Even later in life, during my courtship with Bryan, true love didn’t refine my klutziness. Poor Bry championed numerous black eyes and bruises in failed attempts at playing catch and Frisbee with me.

The worst tale of athletic failure occurred in high school when I joined the track team. In blue and gold Lake Forest High School sweats, I hoped for at least a small piece of sportsman glory. Long distance running sounded romantic and exhilarating: wind in my hair, trees blurring by, talks with friends. Maybe I’ve discovered the one sport that doesn’t involve Olympic strains of athleticism, I remember thinking. On the first day of practice, the team took a long and arduous run along Lake Michigan. It was beautiful, oxygenating, invigorating! On the way back to Lake Forest High School, I got a stitch in my side, fell behind the pack; and got lost somewhere among ivy-held, three-story, lake-front mansions on a tangled Lake Forest residential road. That was the end of track and really the existence sports in my life.

Early in our friendship, though, my dear friend, Cheri – who has the stamina and speed of a mustang – imprudently asked me to join her on one of her runs. With renewed hope and excitement I accepted the offer. (She promised to navigate.) Adorned in Spandex and a flaming red headband, sneaker laces tied tight I could hear the theme song from Chariots of Fire blaring in my head. In the glory of the moment Eric Liddle, with his curly Scottish accen, seemed to whisper in my ear, “God made me and He made me fast! When I run . . . I feel His glory.” I thought about quoting the movie to Cher. A flash of athletic history caused me to reconsider. I kept my mouth shout, the line to myself.

Cheri stretched. I tried to mimic her moves, at least until she twisted her body into some kind of human pretzel. Standing up from the pretzel she flicked auburn hair into a ponytail and said, “Let’s go. You go ahead and set the pace, Sal.”

Two blocks later I was feeling it. We were in a rhythm! The air was fresh. The sun was bright. We were alive and rocketing down the road. This was the fastest pace I’d ever imagined running. With Cheri, I knew I could stretch myself, go for it, ‘just do it’! I tried to ignore the pounding words of my Nikes, You won’t have the stamina to make it to the next driveway, Girl. I kept going despite the way padded soles riveted worries up my legs and directly into my lungs. We were trucking along fast and free, young and strong!

“Is this your pace?” Cher asked looking at me with a crinkled brow.

I swung my arms with strength and voracity. Winded, but trying to speak through heavy breathing, I replied, “Yes . . . this is it! Are you . . . feeling . . . it?!”

No response.

Three miles or so later, as we 'raced' onto Cheri’s driveway, I wiped my brow, “Great run, Cher!”

She half-smiled, “Yeah . . . great run.”

“Why aren’t you sweating?” I asked, panting, dripping, bent over, hands on my knees.

For the next twenty years of friendship, Cheri never asked me to join her for another aerobic foray. Though I’d had a great time, I had a sneaking suspicion that even at top exertion, my strides were too small, my pace puny for Mustang Girl. Recently, safe in the cushion of our life-long friendship, Cher let me know that my suspicious were spot on. I was a torturously frustrating, dare I say an agonizing, ‘running’ partner.

These days, I take lots of slow, sallying (I guess, in light of all of this, the name Sally particularly fits me) walks on my own. Along the way, I pick up fall leaves, interesting rocks, goose feathers, even wayward turtles for my kids to keep as transient pets. The closest I come to sharing anything even sporty sounding with family or friends is engaging in a WORD TOSS. I like words. If I have a choice between throwing around words or a Frisbee, nine times out of ten words will win.

Following are some words Cheri and I tossed for a book we co-authored titled, Walk with Me: Two Friends on a Spiritual Journey Together

write
write
write
write


FRIENDSHIP WORD TOSS

Cheri: Friendship.
Sally: Forgiveness.

Cheri: Love.
Sally: You’re stealing mine! Sharing.

Cheri: Hands.
Sally: Touch.

Cheri: Feeling.
Sally: Heart.

Cheri: Kindness.
Sally: Celebration.

Cheri: Festival.
Sally: Of Light.

Shared laughter!

Cheri: Incarnation.
Sally: God in us . . . to each other.

Cheri: Immanuel.
Sally: Gift.

Cheri: Furoshiki.
Sally: Present . . . not present as in gift, present with.

Cheri: And I say present, gift.
Sally: Birthdays.

Cheri: Traditions.
Sally: Celebrating our children.

Cheri: Ben.
Sally: Jen.

Cheri: A. D.
Sally: Ryker.

Cheri: Toddler
Sally: Learning to walk.

Cheri: Baby.
Sally: Birthing.

Cheri: O.K., I think we’re done.
Sally: Oh no! We’re just beginning!

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