Sporty shorties, Aussie Aussie Aussie (Oy! Oy! Oy!)

[Tabouli]

Drieux (I think: taken from a veritable roc's nest of quoted quotes):
>  As for short folks, the best (or from my perspective,
  worst!) fencer I ever faced was about 4'9" or so; she
  had next to *zero* target for me to find. <

Kathryn:
> And I'm 5'3", I can only imagine how fast your opponent must have been. I'm talking about foil here since they won't let us girls fight sabre, or they wouldn't when I was fencing<

Short sportspeople of the world, stand up on your tippy-toes and be counted!  (hopefully the rest of the world will be able to find us this way).  At a shade under 5'2" (Tabouli sighs for that last quarter of an inch she never quite managed), I can testify that being short can be a lamentable thing in one's sporting life.  Though useless with projectiles of all kinds (shuttlecocks, tennis balls, shotputs, paper aeroplanes, skipping stones, you name 'em), I'm quite flexible and nippy, enough so to be placed in the bottom (4th) division in sprinting, hurdles and long jump in interhouse athletics at my large secondary school (another sigh for past glories).  However.

The hurdles came up to my veritable armpits.  This is surely unfair.  While *other* girls were barely breaking stride to get over them, I was practically running a 100m race combined with the high jump.  Couldn't they have lowered them just a tad, to make it fair??  As for the long jump, I think I deserved some bonus inches, given that I am not only short, my legs are proportionately short as well, meaning I had jump up the difference in leg length further that my lanky rivals just to begin with!

Huh.

Then, in my mid twenties, I took up karate, on the grounds that it (a) involves no projectiles, and (b) is suited to a small, flexible, short-legged Asian body type, and (c) is exercise which actually has a useful purpose (unlike the gym, which I just do not understand).  At first all was well - I enjoyed it greatly, experienced a dramatic improvement in my fitness and coordination, and felt more confident about having a fighting chance of getting away if someone attacked me physically.  However, as I rose through the ranks to brown belt, combat practice, never my favorite bit, started getting positively scary.  Yep, being small again.

Pitted against taller, younger, male opponents, as I often was, I had to work three times as hard at dodging and getting in to punch or kick, because their arms and legs were probably a foot longer than mine!  You get bruises on your arms and legs from blocking anyway, but by green belt I was starting to get thumped in the stomach and shins and taking blows which *really hurt*, and I began to quail every time combat practice (kumite) was mentioned.  Knowing that people have ended up in hospital after black belt gradings (and having witnessed the combat part of this, I can well believe it), I got more and more nervous as I rose to 3rd kyu (two gradings away from black belt), and finally, amid exhaustion from working and studying full-time *and* dealing with hideous family problems in 2000, I quit altogether.

Admittedly, the dangers of the grading process and combat practice *should* have been controlled by the karate club, but other than reminders not to hit anyone too hard or in the groin or head, they didn't police us much.  Another good reason to quit.  Sadly, since leaving work and no longer cycling there each day (and sitting at home writing novels, training programs and HPFGU posts!) I'm getting unfit and flabby (those summer clothes are tight this year!), so I'm looking into taking up tae kwondo instead, where they seem to be much more organised and careful...

Drieux:
> IIRC the commentary from that race, there was the
probability of a re-skate of the finals, but the
judges looked at the tape and saw what we did:  The
Aussie slipping through to take first; Ohno sprawling
across the line followed by the Canadian doing much
the same. Thus, the medals are won, if not the way
we-- not to mention the racers!-- wanted them to be.<

(Tabouli clears her throat loudly, and unfurls a large Australian flag).  Not the way *we* wanted them to be?  What do you mean *we*, eh?)

Oy! Oy! Oy!

Tabouli.


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