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Dear Breakup Girl,

Really? You were "lousy at sports?" How did you improve? By the way, this is totally a relationship question because I'm attracted to athletic, outdoorsy guys, but I'm a physical coward.

-- Scaredy-Cat

Dear Scaredy-Cat,

Well, see, I thought I was lousy at sports. Corny but key distinction (one that may work for you, too). My second steps were on ice skates, but that's cause in Boston, it's transportation. I was on the track team in sixth grade, but we trained on pavement and lost our one meet. I was the girls' archery champion at Camp Thoreau, but that was archery. I could climb any tree, any time, but that's still not in the Olympics. I rode horses, but that's because they were boys with extra legs. Oh, and I wanted a basketball hoop in the driveway, but Breakup Dad said no. (For Breakup Mom and me, blaming him for this lapse is a relay event.) So somehow, these did not count; I did them all, but I was not an "athlete."

Part of the problem was that I was raised in a less-than-athletic family. A-student Breakup Mom got a C in tennis; Breakup Dad lettered in band. (My grandmother, however, was an excellent athlete. She rode a bike after 80; she could put her foot behind her head before yoga. Recessive gene?) Yes, I was encouraged to ride my bike and run around and play outside, but early morning soccer games and the like were just not part of our culture. Sure, I took swimming lessons, but as far as Breakup Mom was concerned, that wasn't athletics, that was drowning prevention.

Next rut: cool but preppy Breakup High,, where, as I've said before, everyone "just knew" how to play lacrosse the way everyone "just knew" all the company numbers in Fame. I retreated even farther into my non-athlete shell ... until L.L. Bean came along. (Note: we got together in my coward days. There's hope.) Suddenly my weekends were filled with skiing and mountain biking and sailing and pond hockey; our friends always joked that they could always hear us coming because our nylony sport apparel went "shhht, shhht" when we walked.

What did/does/will it take? A mentor, maybe. A paradigm shift on wheels, if you will. Someone to say, "You could play hockey -- and here are some skates I picked up for you." Someone to say "Intermediate, schmintermediate! I'll show you how to ski moguls." Someone to give you a leg up. Someone whose influence is strong enough -- or who taps into something strong enough -- that it's still there when s/he's gone. And that's why -- especially if you've read my skiing column -- this is a relationship answer.

So first of all, don't assume Mr. Patagonia wouldn't seek you out first. And don't assume there's not already an athlete in you waiting to rock-climb her way out. Are you scared of, like, walking? So start with light day-hiking. Join a gym; get a trainer (don't assume you're not The Kind of Person who does), see what you're good at (that's how I became a Real weightlifter). Find non-bungee-jumping ways to try on your skin and move your joints in a way you don't even recognize. BG will lead the cheer for you any day (cheerleaders are athletes, you know).

Love,
Breakup Girl

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