Being Rocky Balboa and the cool factor

My arm hurts. A LOT. Just sitting here typing feels like some freaky little animal is gnawing away it obsessively. Stop typing then, you stupid masochistic woman, some of you might be saying to yourselves (luckily in the privacy of your home/office where you're reading this or you would have gotten a kick in the knee Jet Lee-style), but typing this post is the only thing keeping me from taking a few painkillers with a shot of the Goose. They say you should eat plenty of bananas because of the potassium in this fruit for sore muscles, but I've eaten so many already I'm afraid I'm going to start looking like a monkey soon. A monkey with one hell of a hangover and sore arm, that is. Something that seems to help is laying a hot bath, but I had to get out after an hour because I started looking like this:

I didn't even make a trip to the Torture Chamber – also known as The Gym – to deserve this. I merely threw a ball. Very hard, I might add. And none of this would've happened if I just acted my age and not tried to be all cool in front of a bunch of 14 year old girls.

Netball practice started again yesterday and one of the girls had a brace around her arm to support her wrist and was complaining about her partner throwing the ball too hard. So I told her to stop whining – not really, although I seriously wanted to and give her a crack while I was at it – and sit that one out as I would partner up with her friend. That was mistake number one.

Her friend has the nickname Not So Gentle Giant because she is the tallest girl on the team and has this confused look on her face – the one Will Farrell was born with – which her opponents mistakenly interpret as "bad ass from jail" because she really does look older than 14. I don't mind that face; it has won many a match for us so far.

Not So Gentle Giant has a strong arm. Think Hulk meets Iron Man meets The Departed (Leonardo DiCaprio looks pretty pissed off in that movie the whole time) and you pretty much get the picture. I'm 25 now; a 14 year old girl does not scare me. Thinking that was mistake number two.

I emphasized the purpose of this exercise before we started: strong shoulder passes to strengthen the muscles and which can also be used during a game as the girls aren't allowed to throw what we call the "loopy" pass during a practice or a match. Afterwards I was thinking it was one of those times I just should've thought up another bloody exercise.

So my "partner" and started throwing the ball at each other. The girl with the brace says to me in absolute awe after a minute or so:

"Wow, Miss, you're really fit!"

She shouldn't have said that and listening to a teenager who is impressed on a daily basis by a boy who can touch his nose with his tongue, was mistake number three. It reminded me of a guy trying to impress a girl and tries to show off by downing a glass of beer. She is "very" impressed and says to him:

"Wow! I can never do that! You are totally awesome!"

He then feels obliged to improve on his first effort as to not let her see that he is in fact a weakling whom hates beer and thus tries to swallow it as fast as he can the second time around and the third and the fifteenth time until he drops down dead from alcohol poisoning. I've seen it happen so many times before; not the dropping dead part, but the "I need to prove myself" part. I was that bloody fool now.

The exercise we were busy with requires a hundred balls to be thrown: the first forty about 5 feet apart from each other, the next twenty about 7 feet, the next twenty 10 feet and then again ten from 7 feet and ten from 5 feet. By ball number twenty two I was exhausted, but I couldn't quit and risk looking like that "weakling" in front of these girls. Especially with the glances I saw them sneak my way and the amazement in their eyes.

"Coach, did you work out this holiday without us?"

"Miss, where did you learn to pass like that?"
This comment just shows you the attention span of a 14 year old girl as I've even played on the court with them just a month ago, let alone passed a ball or ten to them.

"Miss, will I be able to pass like you someday?"

No pressure after one of them said that, right? I started hearing Eye of the Tiger and wondering why teenagers can't have this much admiration for their parents. Maybe there's a lesson to be learnt from this, Mom and Dad: if you want your child's unlimited adoration just throw a ball f*cking hard at one of them 100 times.

I was starting to sweat and I hate sweating. Men are different. There is something about a sweaty man that is strangely appealing and very sexy to me.

Like the fabulous Cannavaro, a proud product of Italy

and not-at-all-creepy uncle Bill from Peter Pan Leather Land.

When women sweat, other women look at them with a look on their faces saying: "Eew! Haven't you ever heard of anti-perspirant?" I can't help I have sweat glands and don't sit on my ass all day only using them when a hot guy walks past. Judgemental Bitch.

The girls were slacking because they were tired (and hell knows, so was I!), but we were at 75 and not finished yet.

"If I see another loopy, you are all running the rugby field three times!"

I tried to say it very quick as to not let them hear me sound out of breath. Actually I was just looking for an excuse to take a break because I could supervise them just fine from the tap next to the rugby stadium.

By this time my arm felt like someone injected it with fire, but I pursed my lips and thought if the 105 year old Sylvester Stallone could run those steps in Rocky #431 I sure as hell can catch and throw a number five netball ball a few times.

Thing is: Sylvester Stallone didn't run all those steps thanks to cutting and editing and I should've known better as to try and impress gullible, but nevertheless-appreciative-of-my-skills-afterwards-14 year olds. Our next practice is on Thursday again: the 100 ball exercise will not be on the programme again any time soon.

The moral of this story: no one is f*cking Rocky.