An Owly Observation

For the longest time I thought the intro song to CSI went something like “Ooooo Wally---Ooo Ooo. Ooo ooo.”

What a day when I learned it was actually “Who are you—who who? Who who?”

That made so much more sense.

So lately I’ve had that line in my head. Who are you?

Last spring I suffered a bit of an injury. Enough of one that I invested a lot of money into getting better and actually stopped playing sports. I think 1986 may have been the last time I went this long without playing sports.

Recently I had an appointment where the doctor told me she believed I would need a surgery to get back to activity and that since it was such a specialized surgery I would need to wait a couple of years to get it.

It rocked my foundation a little bit. Who am I if not an athlete? That’s basically been the centre of my universe for as long as I can remember.

In high school when it came down to choosing between seminary and early morning practices I made the easy choice---morning practices. Confession: I slightly regret that because I feel like I missed out not attending seminary. Alas, sports were my priority. And have been all along I suppose.

As a kid I collected hockey cards—off Kraft Dinner and Jell-O boxes even. I watched the Blue Jays win the World Series. Twice. I rollerbladed around my garage, hockey stick in hand as I listened to the heartache of Game 7 during the Canucks ’94 run to the Stanley Cup. I fell in love with field hockey and dribbled around my living room night after night. I shot hundreds of baskets every day on my younger siblings’ Fisherprice basketball hoop. I’m sure if I asked my mom, she’d say my first word was “win”. Because I love to win and love even more the pursuit of becoming a winner.

When my grandma said I needed to stop watching Sportcentre and start focusing on getting a real job I made a job in sports my focus. And then it happened. The stars aligned and sports remained the centre of my universe.

Then in an innocent basketball game, in a local women’s league, I took a hard foul courtesy of a couple of ‘ladies’ and knew something was wrong the second I tried to stand up. For the first time in a long time I couldn’t play through it. Not like the broken toes, shin splints and countless aches and pains I’d shrugged off so many times.

So four months later it’s still lingering and I get this new possibility. No sports for two years? Now what?

Could I forge a new identity after 28 years of the same old, same old?

 Are sports my identity anyways? Are we identified by what we love? Who we love? How we love?

Am I a writer, guitar player, drummer, camper, and occasional Nintendo player? Or a wife, daughter, sister, aunt, friend? Am I loyal, ambitious, tenacious, stubborn, fair and creative?

What makes us who we are? What changes who we are?

I may not be an athlete right now and may have to reel it in moving forward but I’ll find new ways and new things to define my identity. For now, I am in limbo. At least that’s a start.