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The One Where I Revisit My Youth & Join A Netball Team

Fat Mum Slim /

One afternoon I was dropping one of Lacey’s friend home from a play-date, I was told that I was joining a netball team. “I am?” I asked, not sure if I was ready, willing or able… but I do what I’m told and I joined a netball team.

It was as quick as that.

You see, I give in to peer pressure easily. Someone tells me I’m on a netball team, I guess I am. Someone tells me to have a wine, I have a wine. And if someone tells me to have a piece of luscious chocolate cake, well who am I to argue?

So, I was part of a netball team.

I’ve played in the past. Won a few grand finals in my time… and to be honest, I say a few, but I can’t really remember exactly how many or if it’s even more than one. I used to have trophies but I lost them somewhere with all the moves in my 20s. I last played netball in my 20s with friends in a social comp, where we got to where whatever we wanted {except strictly no singlets because apparently “underarms are offensive” – I don’t get it either}.

Times have changed, my friends. Saturday netball comp is no longer those skirts with all the pleats that are a complete pain to iron, they now have lycra dresses. When I said yes to playing netball, I forgot about the dresses.

This year I’m saying yes to good stuff, putting my health first, and no to not-so- good stuff, so I threw caution {and my thighs} to the wind, and accepted that I would be wearing lycra. I still don’t have my dress yet, but most of them only cover your underpants, so I’m scarrrrred.

On Saturday I turned up to netball, and the anxiety levels were sky rocketing. All I could think was, “What the heck am I doing? What have I got myself into?”

I got on the court, and said to my opponent, jokingly, “Look we haven’t played for around 10 to 20 years, so maybe take it easy on us.”

She didn’t think I was remotely funny. On my first intercept I sprained my finger, which is always a great way to kick off the season. I didn’t think that was funny.

I tried to make small talk with my opponent, of course only when I wasn’t struggling to breathe in between centre passes. I looked at her, while I was totally puffed out, and asked, “Is my face red?”

She looked at me and simply said, “No.” I think she may have even rolled her eyes.

Those netballers are a tough crowd, I tell you.

A few moments later she told me that she was all of 16 years old, and that she also plays rep netball. We were all playing against teenagers who had boundless energy and had no time for old ladies with weird conversational skills.

So I quit talking, and accepted that we were generations apart.

The team didn’t take it easy on us, and we got totally thrashed with a final score of 57-3 {I scored one of those 3 goals, so yay to me!}. One game down, thirteen more to go.

Pray for me. ?