When I was growing up, athletic prowess and performance was a major - probably THE major - key to popularity and peer acceptance. I was sorely lacking in prowess. Catching a ball and throwing it accurately were pretty rare achievements for me, though I tried hard and practiced fairly often. I was always one of the last ones picked when dividing up for teams.
My Dad recognized my lack of endowment in quite another way. He was concerned about my consistent bad grades in penmanship (do they still give grades in penmanship?). He suspected a hand-eye coordination problem and (when I was about 10) took me to a child psychologist in New York to be tested. The tests confirmed his suspicions; I scored low on coordination. The prescribed treatment was very practical -- PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE. So a handwriting tutor was hired for once-or-twice-a-week lessons, and I had an enforced practice regimen for a whole summer or longer. My handwriting became acceptable - never really good, but readable. It did nothing for my athletic skills - probably held me back, because I would have chosen to practice throwing and catching.
Athletics was not important to my dad. He had played some soccer and run some track as a young man, but didn't see it as relevant to adult life, at least not in a positive way. He only saw it as a route to potential injury. In fact he sometimes blamed soccer (hitting the ball with his head) for his own disabling arthritis. He forbade me to participate in tackle football, and I was fairly good as a lineman - especially on defence. Baseball and basketball were allowed, but in those ball handling and other coordination skills were paramount.
From 1941 to 1945 we lived in one of the early "Garden-Type" apartment communities - Interlaken Gardens in Eastchester (Westchester County) NY. The kids in the community, with support of some of the parents, formed a sports team - The Interlaken Imps - a predecessor of Little League. I played with the kids, but because I was a year younger than my school classmates (I had skipped a year, being put in second grade before really finishing first grade), so I was "too young" to be an official member of the IMPS - then when I got a year older, the age limit was pushed up a year. ^$*&*#@%&! Near the end of my time in Interlaken, I was finally able to wear the Maroon & White of the Imps. It was about that time, running around the high school track that I became aware that I had some potential in running - especially longer distances.
In 1945 we moved to Tucson, Arizona. I was entering the 9th grade. Somewhat smaller than my new classmates, I was taken for a new 7th grader when I arrived for the first day of school - how embarrasing!
My age group didn't play much tackle football in Tucson - the playing fields were mostly hard sandlot (colicci). So I got on a touch football team "Al Bueman's Little Photos" (our "sponsor" was a local photographer, Al Bueman, who paid for our jerseys) We didn't win, but it was fun being on a team and playing.
In High School, I participated in Intra-Mural, basketball, track, and volleyball. Our basketball team won the championship. It was a lesson in the value of teamwork. Our captain was an older fellow, a WWII veteran. He did a great job of making sure we were all part of the action -- no stars, no benchwarmers -- and we won every game. In intramural track I won a good many ribbons, including several firsts in the mile and half mile. My most memorable intramural race was the mile run in Fall term of my senior year. I lost count of the laps and put on my kick the last half of the third lap. Then I learned I had another lap to go. I think I took second, but I amazed myself that I was able to finish.
That year I was asked to come out for varsity track. I ran the half mile and was later shifted to the mile. Always pretty much the third best on our squad in my event, but our squad was the best in the state, and I managed to bring in enough points with seconds and thirds to earn my Letter -- great for my ego. I came in fifth in the state class A meet in the mile -- not good enough for points, but I knew I had done my best. My teammate Jimmy Burns won, and Demetrius Pacheco edged me out for fourth.
Our coach, "Doc" Van Horne, was a great motivator. He knew just how to get our best performances. He posted the performances of our competition, with comments and challenges that made us do everything to beat them. The most dramatic example was when we had a meet with a hot shot team from the West Coast. Doc posted all their winning times and distances and challenged us to do better. We were unbeaten up to that point, and we didn't want to give that up. The night of the meet arrived, and our Tucson "Badgers" put in their best performances. It was more than enough. We trounced the California guys. The secret was -- their performances were all at close to sea level. Tucson is at about 2000+ feet altitude. That is actually a huge difference. (I remember how easy it was to run when, in college, we went for a meet in Santa Barbara).
One competitor we never did beat was Wilford "Whizzer" White from Mesa (not to be confused with Byron "Whizzer" White - who starred in the NFL and went on to become a Supreme Court Justice). Wilford White also went into the NFL quite successfully, and his son Danny White followed in his footsteps, becoming the star quaterback of the Dallas Cowboys some years later. I think Wilford ran sprints and the quarter mile.
I remember that senior year with special pleasure, and making the team was a big part of it. Track is pretty much an individual sport, but we practiced as a team, and the team comraderie - fostered by Doc Van Horne - was an important part of our individual successes.
That year was also my best year scholastically. I don't know whether it was the more careful time management enforced by daily practices or the improved mental state generated by physical conditioning -- probably a combination of both.
In college I again went out for track - moving up to the Two-Mile event. I did well enough in meets to earn some points and get my freshman "numeral." Our coach was "Limey" Gibbings. Unlike Doc Van Horne, Limey did little actual coaching, and our workout schedules were pretty much on our own.
The next year, Limey was moved "upstairs," and a west coast fellow was hired as Track Coach. He recruited some talented West Coast athletes - the one I remember best was Russ Rumney who ran the half mile and mile. The new coach did little more actual coaching than Limey had done. I got to run in a few meets, but didn't earn a letter.
The next fall I was determined to get in shape to perform better. I was jogging with my friend Pancho Larriva (who ran a good half mile) on a cold, damp day. I stopped to make an urgent visit to the bathroom; soon after I got back out and resumed jogging I pulled up lame - something was badly damaged in my right knee. My college track career was completely ended.
At graduation-time, there was a reception for graduates and their parents. I was there with my father. Limey Gibbings was there and said to me: "Sidel, the best thing you did was when you decided to quit trying to run track." I sort of laughed it off at the time, but looking back I wish I had responded - "Not nearly as good as when you decided to quit trying to be a coach."
After college and military service my roommate got me out for my first ski trip and I enjoyed it immensely -- falling and all.
Later, when I lived in Washington, DC, a colleague/ski-partner (Mort Somer) suggested we try an introductory day of rock climbing, with the Mountaineering Group from the PATC (Potomac Appalachian Trail Club) which had been written up in a Sunday paper. We went and from my first climb up "the Beginner's Crack" at Carderock, I knew that was the sport for me. I kept on Rock Climbing to this very day (Spring Season, 2009). Though I never became really strong at it (my best climbing was in the 1990s, when I was in my 60s - I was pretty much a 5.7 leader), I always enjoyed it immensely.
During my early leading days, in 1963 I had one serious accident, a ~100-foot leader fall at Break-Neck Ridge on the east side of the Hudson River. I have come to realize that it was only because of the great presence and skill of my belayer, Dale Ordes, that I was eased to the ground and got out alive. I suffered a serious concussion when I somersaulted against the rock on the way down - knocking my inadequate helmet off on the first bounce - but Dale got me to a nearby hospital where I was well cared for.
As I moved into my 70's I found my skills and strength deteriorating noticably. I took a couple of falls on what I had once considered positively easy. I have "hung up" my lead rack except for switching leads with beginning leaders on the "Old Man's" or "Old Ladies'" routes. But I still love the feeling of moving on rocks, and I hope I can keep doing at least the easy climbs for a long time to come.