At the age of 26, I am joining my first team. I have never played a team sport.
I routinely placed last in my primary school’s track and field day. In every event. I was picked close to last in gym class, spared last place only because I was friends with the sporty bunch. I have never really had the experience of being on a team at all, save for academic teams. That’s right- academic teams.
So when my partner asked if I would join a soccer baseball team made up of our colleagues and friends, I was understandably reluctant.
I emailed the captain, explaining that this could be my first team. I told her that I would join under two conditions:
1. That the entire team would support me if (read: when) I failed miserably, given that this was my first time on a team, and
2. That we would go for beers or ice cream or some sort of treat as a group, because this has always been the only appeal of team sports to me.
The captain happily agreed to my conditions, and we’ll be playing our first game soon.
I am disproportionately anxious of this situation, given that most 5-year-olds join teams as though it’s nothing. I have to remind myself that it is okay to be afraid, and that joining this team wouldn’t be brave if I wasn’t slightly (read: excessively) anxious.
I’ll keep you updated. Actually, if you hear nothing from me about this kickball experience, you can assume that it was freaking awful, and that the only part I enjoyed was the ice cream and beer. But that will be alright, too.