Sport plays a huge part in my life. I spend hours of my life watching it; whether that be on the television or on the side of a (usually) freezing cold rugby or football pitch. I spend even more hours listening to people in my family talk about it. I would like to say that I talk about it, but usually I am just listening and nodding in all the right places.
If you look through my washing basket, you would probably find a high percentage of it is sports kit; football tops, rugby tops, track suit bottoms, sport socks, shorts, PE kit that invariable needs washing every two weeks. If you walked through the hall way in my house, you will probably trip over several pairs of trainers, football boots and walking boots. That is just for the two younger boys. My husband has tons of sporty clothes too which he uses for training and exercise and my eldest son, even though he is not here all the time, always arrives with rugby kit or training kit that needs washing. I don’t think that I realised when I embarked this whole marriage and parenting malarkey that I would spend so much time dealing with sports clothes.
I am not really a sporty person. There I said it. I can’t really say it out loud in a house full of sport nuts. There is potentially a sporty person lurking somewhere in the depths, but if I’m honest, she hides herself very well. Last year, like so many people, I was totally inspired and moved by the Olympics. For a few weeks, I longed to be fitter and sportier, but then after a while the memory of all that sporting glory faded and the cold weather arrived along with a constant desire to sit down in the warm and hibernate.
That is not to say that I have never been sporty. I have dabbled every now and then. School sport was like torture to me, I was asthmatic and clumsy and never very good at anything we were doing. I always wished that I was better, but I didn’t really have the drive or confidence to really push myself to get better. Then just before I started university, I had a revelation. I went to a weekend rowing regatta with a friend and I totally fell in love with the idea of rowing. When I got to university, I signed up to a novice crew and my life changed from that day on.
I loved rowing. I was dedicated, I trained on land and water several times a week and even cycled several miles to go to early morning training sessions. I rowed for four years and it was only when I had O that I had to admit defeat as it was too tricky to train at that level with a little one in tow.
So although they might not think it, I do understand my family’s sporting obsession and I do think that sport of any kind is so important, that I tolerate L reading me the obscure sporting results from South America, my husband’s constant need to introduce yet another sport club into our lives and routine and those cold weekend mornings on the side of the pitch with a smile. I want my children to be active and to try and play as many sports as they can.
In the meantime though, I will stick to being chief kit washer, supporter and buyer of sports kit from shops like JD Sports until the inner sportswoman puts down her mug of tea and gets out of the chair.
This is a sponsored post but all references to sporting obsessions are completely true.