I've failed 100,000 times...

You know what I've never really been able to do that skinny people can do? A cartwheel. And it struck me the other day that I really wish I could do one. Oh, don't get me wrong, I've attempted many a cartwheel, much as I've attempted many a diet, but it just never quite clicks. I flip to the side, I fall before I can complete it. In short, I am way top heavy and gravity just doesn't agree with me there. It says, ehh, try again when you're fifty pounds lighter. But then I somehow end up 50lbs heavier and the years have passed me by and I've just quit trying as I know my limits.
Well maybe Easter, this time of resurrection and rebirth is an important time to start realizing this. Not just that I actually still do long to complete a cartwheel but that I long to do loads of other things that I have sort of given up on because of either my weight holding me back as a physical restriction, or an emotional one.
I was talking about this with a friend of mine the other day and I told him about how I was out with some friends who were playing catch with a football and someone went to throw it to me, and I instinctively said "no way!" and ran to the side of the hastily developing game of 500. At first I was mad I said, no way. What was I thinking? I like playing 500 as much as the next non-sports savvy gal. But the more I watched the girls and guys toss around the football and call to me to play, the more uncomfortable I became. I felt as if I were to go out there and mess up, as I probably might (as everyone was) I would look more stupid because of my weight. Yes, it's a sick mentality, but it was there, holding me back.
And I guess the floodgates have opened, because I vehemently said to me friend that I didn't want to be on the sidelines of life anymore. I really want to be in the game. I don't want to be afraid, and I don't want to give up because it's always been hard and will continue to be hard. I want to do this, not because being thin would somehow make me fit in. No, I have always marched to the beat of a slightly off-beat jazzy drummer, but I simply would love to know what it's all about.
I want to run and do cartwheel after cartwheel. And maybe because of the fact that it's always been a struggle and I've had to fail so many times to actually get there, I won't take it for granted as I'm sure many people do. How can you truly know how magical a cartwheel is if you've never gotten the dizzying chance to experience it from beginning to end?
I guess I am going to have to find out.