Catherine Nicolette
IT WAS MANY MOONS AGO when I learned the life lesson that just wishing for something doesn't always mean it will happen. As a child my greatest dream was to be an athlete. I didn't factor in my petite frame or the level of my ability. I felt that practice would make perfect, and so year after year I would enrol in the Convent Sports Day and take part in the events.
As time wore on, my heroines on the track became more muscled and fleet of foot. As they excelled, I slowed. It wasn't for want of trying. During break times I used to toil around the race track, try to high jump (bringing down the pole every time) or attempt a hurdle. In the meantime, the athletically talented among our group used to chatter while eating their sandwiches and drinking their energy juices with a nonchalance which I envied.
Trundler
After a few years I became the slowest in the pack, and would quite happily trundle in last in every race. I'd puff and pant, and hope that maybe next year I would speed up with all the practice I was putting in. After all, I reckoned, if you wanted something hard enough, eventually you would get it.
After three years of watching me come last in the heats and the events, a class companion called me aside.
"Nikki," she said to me, "I hate to tell you this, but have you noticed anything about the races . . .?"
She paused hesitantly. I was genuinely puzzled. "Like what?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "My friends and I can't help noticing . . . well, your placement in the races."
Realisation dawned. "Oh," I exclaimed. "My coming last, you mean!"
"Yes, yes," she said, relieved. "I know you must feel humiliated about it."
"Not at all," I replied expansively, with all the bonhomie I inherited from the Tramore side of Dad's family, "someone's got to come last. Anyhow, it won't be forever. Next year, if I keep on practising, I might come third, or even second."
"Nikki, someone has to tell you this," my school companion insisted. "It's never going to happen. Ever.
Not next year. Or the year after that. You just haven't got the ability. And to tell you the truth, it has become embarrassing. We all cringe for you every time you come on the racetrack, knowing what's going to happen.
Do yourself a favour and please stop enrolling for all the heats. You're not only embarrassing yourself, you're embarrassing us."
I went away very thoughtful. True, I had come last in all the heats that day. Also in the shotput, the javelin, the high jump (mind you, I had got over the once without knocking the pole off). Maybe she had a point.
Sports Day
Another year rolled around. And along came Sports Day again. The nun in charge came around cheerily with a sports cap parked on top of her veil and a pen over her ear. "Ah Nicolette," she said, "Down for all the events again this year?" I eyed her thoughtfully. "Yes, indeed, Sister," I replied, and she took the pen and marked my name on her list.
The day dawned bright and beautiful. I arrived at the track in my baggy blue shorts and sports shirt. As I took my place I saw my school companions sitting on the grandstand at the side of the track. I did my stretches as I warmed up for the heat. The girls looked in utter disbelief as they saw me take my place. As the starting gun fired, I flung myself into the fray and gave it all I had. It was the best time I had ever made - and I came in (with style and class) last. I found myself absolutely unable to get over the hurdles, so every time I came to one, I simply made a detour around the left side of it. The cheering dwindled with each ensuing detoured hurdle.
By the time I finished there was absolute silence from the crowd.
As I retired from the fray, the Sister was there to give me my bottle of water and pieces of orange to suck.
"Stout effort, Nicolette, stout effort" said the nun kindly, "Better luck next year, eh."
"Ah no, Sister," I said. "I don't really think I'm cut out to be an athlete. I might try something else instead."
"Oh what a pity," she said; "It's been so lovely having you. You have such enthusiasm," and as I looked at her kindly face I saw she really meant it.
Welkom tekkies
Ah well, I thought philosophically as I left the track. Maybe I'd never be a star athlete, but I could be a brilliant archeologist. Or a top model. Or a world famous surgeon. Why, the sky was the limit.
So I hung up my Welkom tekkies and my dreams of Olympic stardom.
I took up crochet instead.
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