If you're anywhere over the age of 25, there is a good chance you've been invited to join an adult coed softball team at some point. No doubt, the team you were invited to was started by a group of co-workers, or neighborhood friends, or maybe even some people at the gym you go to. For me, it was a group of friends who organized our weekly games the first time around. It's been a couple of years since that team disbanded, but now the opportunity is coming around again, and with it, the shadow of all sorts of conflicting emotions.
One of the first things I noticed about adult coed softball was how strange it was. To begin with, the teams had funny (but clever) names, like Inglorious Batters, Silver Bullets, Where My Pitches At, and Midnight Thrusters (before you get offended, know that this is a CrossFit reference and completely innocent...mostly). What's more, the rules were silly: four people in the outfield instead of the customary three; all batters start with a 1-1 count (1 ball and 1 strike); the required alternation between male and female batters in the lineup, and the penalty of an out if you so absent-mindedly forgot that you weren't allowed to tag home base when you came in to score a run.
When I signed up to play, I wasn't a complete stranger to the game. I played little league with the boys when I was a kid, and I even joined a softball team in eighth grade (we were The Cranberries). I remember one particular proud moment as a Cranberry, when I caught a fly ball that would have cost us the game; a triumph I later memorialized in all its glory for a high school paper. I always remembered the pride and sense of achievement I felt when I caught that ball and (so I believed) saved the day.
But it was apparent that any talent or skill I may have had as a kid had evaporated over the years, because the truth was that I wasn't very good at softball. I needed that third strike, and I resented the powers that be for snatching it from me every time I got up to the plate. Most of the time, I couldn't hit the ball to save my life, and if I did, by some stroke of dumb luck, manage to connect with that bright yellow sphere of cork and leather, with it's angry red stitching, I usually didn't make it to first base before being tagged out. And I quickly learned that in adult coed softball, this was frowned upon. These people wanted to win.
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So much so that they'd tell some of us girls not to swing (hoping that we'd be walked), or jump in front of us to save the day should we be unlucky enough to have a fly ball hit in our general direction. I couldn't really blame them for it; they believed that some of us were incapable of doing well, and I certainly hadn't given them any reason to think otherwise. The problem was that I started to believe it myself. I really enjoyed the game, and I wanted to improve, but I started to dread Monday nights, and imagined everyone's unhappy gaze trained on me each time I stepped up to bat. The only thing I was confident in was the conviction that everyone assumed I'd strike out. That frame of mind usually guaranteed my fate, and in short order, I'd be back on the bench, safely chewing sunflower seeds and feeling like a failure.
More than anything, the experience taught me just how important a healthy sense of confidence is in everything that we do, even a silly adult coed softball game. I started to recognize that if I just changed my frame of mind by telling myself I was going to hit this time, or catch that fly ball, I often did just that. Even if I didn't actually hit the ball, I felt much better about my efforts at bat, rather than feeling sick with self-doubt and self-loathing before I even took a swing. It's the whole idea that if you envision the outcome you want, you'll get it. On the rare occasions when I succeeded in giving myself a boost of confidence in softball, I did much better. My confidence (or lack thereof) in my own abilities was far more powerful than the impressions of those around me.
So, when I saw the flyer posted up at the gym, announcing that they were putting together an adult coed softball team (yes, the infamous Midnight Thrusters), my first thought was "How fun!" My second thought, accompanied by the shadow of remembered fear, doubt, and failure, was "I better not. They'll find out how crappy I am, and I won't like it." It's funny how we unconsciously protect ourselves from uncomfortable situations, long before we're actually in them.
But if I learned anything at all from my first experience, I should sign up for that team. I know what it takes to do better (besides some occasional practice), and once I let go of the fear, all that's left is the fun.
Do it Luis!!