It would seem the sporting life is not for me.
This has been something that I have long suspected but which was finally confirmed to me last night... at a church gathering.
Allow me to explain.
Holy Bowlers
Long term readers of this blog (you poor things) will be aware that I'm not exactly big on religion (see here or here for more of my thoughts on that) and may also be aware that my sainted wife, Tina, very much is, and in a very definite way, being a soldier in the Salvation Army.
It was this particular organisation that put on the bowling night I attended yesterday eve.
Not that I was fully aware of my attendance from the start, you understand. Tina is an enthusiastic soul, and had signed me up without my fore-knowledge or, you know, actual agreement. This has happened occasionally before and has led to my attendance at such diverse events as a beetle drive, a talent show, and a pantomime which bore a startling resemblance to a nativity play, but was definitely a panto... definitely. It truly is a giddy, non-stop, look ma no hands, rollercoaster of a life in the Sally Army.
So, I can't really say I was all that surprised at our expected attendance, nor can I say that I was particularly displeased. Life has been... interesting, at the seated perspective household of late, and an evening of light hearted socialising and competition would be a welcome distraction. Thus it was, that we got our glad rags on and headed to the local bowling alley.
Getting There
It was of course a Saturday night, so the alley was busy. This meant that I had to indulge in one of my least favourite activities, namely dodging through the throng of people gathered for their weekend's entertainment. As several families were in attendance this included the additional hazard of children of various ages all of whom seemed to be incapable of spotting a wheelchair user until a few inches away at which point I would be almost universally greeted with a blank, uncomprehending stare that would quickly drop to my feet and remain there until the little poppet in question remembered themselves and recommenced their mad dash to wherever the fire was.
This obstacle safely navigated I found myself at the lane I was to bowl at. Here I encountered an additional hurdle.
The benches that allow bowlers to sit whilst awaiting their turn had an angled portion towards their end. This narrowed the gap between them to such a degree that it was impossible to get my 'chair in between and so gain access to the lane itself. At this point I was beginning to question whether this activity, or in fact this establishment, was actually designed for me (see What Goes On Stag for another shining example off this phenomenon).
Thankfully the end lane allowed access and, after a few additional 'excuse me'-s I found my way to the bowling ball delivery thingy on our nominated lane.
Now here's the bit I'm sure has been intriguing at least some of you, dear readers. how on earth does a wheelchair user bowl? Well it goes something like this.
Weebles Wobble...
Firstly, having chosen a ball, as per usual. I wheel up to the start of the lane. At this point I do have the option of using the ramp/chute thing that they have for small children, but of course I don't. No, that would be far too easy and, in my mind, akin to cheating. I can't bowl from my chair as, with the position this would leave me in, I'd either have to bowl from two foot behind the line or actually be sat on the bowling lane itself. So, what does that leave us?
Well in my case, it leaves standing up.
I am capable of doing this, with a little support, although I'm not the steadiest stand-er you have ever seen (think drunk and dizzy and you're not far off) but pride, stubborness and perhaps a little stupidity means I pretty much have to give it a go. So, with one hand on my chair (or the aforementioned chute-y thing) I am able to get a ball somewhere near the other end of the lane, most of the time without falling over. What I'm less successful with is knocking down any pins.
via GIPHY
The Long And The Short Of It
As well as my stability issues, I'm also gifted with a left leg that is significantly shorter than its partner. This is partially corrected by a frankensteinian build up on the sole of the corresponding boot but it still leaves a marked discrepancy of over an inch, meaning I'm more comfortable and stable with my right leg being in front of my left. Unfortunately, this seems to lead to me bowling across myself and the pins to remain remarkably upright. It is possible to correct this, it's also possible to over-correct it but even if this is avoided it's still less than ideal. I managed a semi-respectable 91 last night, a feat only marred by Tina getting 95 (and gloating mercilessly), the gutter barriers being raised, and the fact that my 7 year old niece breached a hundred.
There's a fine line to be trod between my natural independence and pathological need to do things the hard way, and my somewhat unhealthy competitive streak. At the moment the former is just about winning out. A hundred seems, well, sort of reachable now, having got so close, as does beating the Mrs but I'll be damned if I resort to using that ramp thing.
It's a blow to the ego but if I'm going down I'm going down fighting fair.
Until next time...
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