Things We Do for Love

My parents (and other family members) have spent an absurd amount of time at random sporting events. They have fed huge numbers of people with out-sized appetites for the past 20 years. Seriously, they deserve a hand.

You see, I was think about this as my parents set out food in the torrential, freezing rain that came down steadily throughout the early morning hours of my regatta on Saturday. Somehow all of the sports my sister and I chose involved getting up at the crack of dawn for the main purpose of being extremely uncomfortable outdoors for a few hours.

I think maybe we can blame my Dad's side of the family for this one. After all, I distinctly remember the first time I realized I truly did not share my family's passion for downhill skiing. I was probably about 10 years old, dressed like a marshmallow and hobbling to the lodge carrying the absurd amount of heavy and awkward equipment. Gawky 10 year old Abby thought to herself, "My bed was so warm...I can't feel my nose...or my hands...it's still kind of dark out...this is heavy...who finds this fun?"

I just did not get it. Then, sitting in the pouring rain yesterday morning without feeling in my hands or toes, soaked through several layers of clothing, I got it.

We do stupid, stupid things for love.

Sports are weird. You experience pain and frustration and fear and way more discomfort than you would if you just stayed at home and took up crafting. Or video games. Or something. But doing that stupid thing in the rain or the snow at the crack of dawn is what living is.

I would just like to thank my family for putting up with the crazy and getting up with me, feeding my teammates and me, and showing up to cheer me on. It means everything. You guys had to get soaked too and travel all that way just so you could watch my boat go by for a few seconds and huddle with me under a tent for a few minutes. You rock.

But, of course, we do stupid, stupid things for love.