Engage Your Moxie

Shivery cold and soaked to the bone, I had been standing in the pouring, incessant rain all day at my son's track meet,   I could not remember a more miserable sporting event in all the years I'd been attending.  The rain poured steady all day, the wind whipping at times, cutting raw to the bone,  There was no reprieve.  Track meets even under the best of conditions are painful; they go on and on and on with no way of knowing when they'll end.  There is no time clock on a board, ticking away the seconds toward exodus.  You just suck it up and deal with it. And you do this because you love your kids and you want to support them.  You do what you have to do.  Fun does not always accompany "the games."    

It was pointless to sit down, my canvas chair having long since become soaked, and regardless, I had to keep pacing back and forth from one event to his next since they were scheduled at the same time. There was no way to know how long each flight would take.  And so I stood, and walked, and stood, my rain slicker (thankfully lined) and my umbrella my only sense of shelter,  I kept hoping for a break in the clouds -- that never came.  My socks and shoes were soaked, my jeans wet all the way up to my thighs where the rain water had absorbed and spread.  Dripping ringlets of hair-gone-wild falling and obscuring my vision, I couldn't brush them away since my hands were busy holding my umbrella, a folded, wet and useless blanket, and a carry bag of survival items -- water bottle, snacks, Kindle, camera.  

Finally the last event came to an end, and my son turned to me, squinting through the rain with a thumbs up signal.  We were done.  I could go get the car.  He was going to meet me at the rear entrance. 

The meet finally over, all I could think about was getting out of the pouring rain to my dry, warm car in the parking lot.  Our last event was in the discus field, the farthest area from the parking lot, and I dreaded having to trek all that distance in the pouring rain, loaded down and weary, through the masses of people.  There had to be a shorter way.

I glanced over toward the parking lot in the distance. "As the crow flies,” there appeared to be a shortcut winding down a cemented path over a sloping hill, snaking around a couple buildings.  I was sure I could work my way down and around and up that short hill leading to the parking lot.  In my desperation, this clearly made the most sense.  No one else was going that way for a reason (big clue), but I thought to myself, how hard can this be?  I'll figure out a way.   

So I began walking the snaking path, down the slope of the hill, making my way toward the buildings on the perimeter of the campus, marveling at this brilliant idea to cut my journey short in this dreadful weather.  Just keep going.  You're almost there.  And then I saw it, a padlocked chain link fence.  Looking in all directions, I saw no openings, nowhere to squeeze through.  I was effectively blocked from the asphalt road above, just a short distance ahead leading to the parking lot.  Pissed off and tired to the bone, I turned to look back, realizing that I had two options:  I can turn around and go back the way I came, making my trip twice as long as it would have been had I gone the way everyone else had gone, or I could climb the fence. 

I thought to myself:  So what do ya think, T?  You’re a strong woman.  How bad do you want over this fence? Just tell yourself -- I can do this -- and you’re home.   

Doubt starting to creep in, I looked back once more, at how far I’d already come.  Then I uttered aloud, “Fuck this.  I’m climbing the fence.”

I tossed my soaked umbrella, blanket and bag over the fence.  Grabbing high and hard, hands cold and wet and stinging, with a rush of moxie I pulled myself upward, managing to eventually get my leg over the top.  Yes.  I got this!  Hah!  And then clinching the top of the fence, pausing to balance, I hurled my other leg across and in one leap jumped backward down to the ground, landing protectively in a crouched position.  Getting up triumphantly, I wiped my hands on my slicker, grabbed my gear, and finished climbing the short distance up to the asphalt road.  My car was only a few more feet away.

Soaked and dreary umbrella-toting onlookers making their way down the road toward the parking lot had witnessed my feat.  A priceless hint of shock and amusement on their faces:  Where did SHE come from?  Did she just climb that fence?   

Hell yeah!

It was a gratifying way to end a dreadfully long and miserable day at a track meet.  Another life lesson: If you want something bad enough, you’ll engage your moxie.