Dear faithful Readers,

Since I'm so astonished the Daily Northwestern actually published it, here is the article in question and my subsequent Letter to the Editor. (Note: I did not create that really lame title.)

People meeting me for the first time, after remarking on my extraordinary beauty, frequently wonder why, out of all the possible sports in the world, I chose weightlifting. I really have no answer, so I usually pretend I didn't hear the question and quickly change the subject before the person realizes I devote most of my life to a sport that, for the most part, sucks. There are some advantages like, for example, fantastic bone density and fluency in kilos. Actually, those are all of the advantages.

The truth is that I do weightlifting because it's the only sport I can do. Team sports are obviously out since no one would want me on any team. So are combat sports like wrestling and fencing because I'm too much of a wimp. And I've never really liked the mindset of sports that have descending aims--swimming and cycling, for example--because there's an ultimate limit on the possible distance of your goals. That same concept rules out sports like gymnastics and figureskating, which have actually set ceilings on how well you can do. The only sports left are track's field events like throwing and jumping. It just so happens that I'm really not good at jumping or throwing, so I got stuck with the only option still open, which is lifting stuff.

I have to admit that it was a good arranged marriage; I've grown quite fond of the sport over the years. The best explanation of those warm fuzzies I get when I pick up the bar is that it's wonderful to be debt-free for a little while. It's exhausting to walk around trying to be worthy of everything's that been done for me. Just right now, for example, I'm in debt to Ashley for this blog, Freddie Mercury for the music I'm listening to, and Al Gore for the internet, not to mention my darling parents for the genes that made me so amazingly good-looking and...okay, basically everything. Anyway, my point at the end of all of this rambling is that for the couple seconds of the lift, there's nothing anyone can really do to help me, which means there's nothing I really owe anyone. Once I drop the bar, I go back to being in debt to Gichael Mattone for spending sleepless nights worrying about me and to the Wall Street Journal for providing such excellent reading material between sets.

So there you have it, folks--a couple of long-winded paragraphs that don't really answer any questions. I suppose the sport is like how people describe parenthood: frustrating and inconvenient and exhausting but remarkably rewarding, and I can't remember who I was before I began.

Winsomely yours,
Natalie

Because Catch-22 Should Really Be Required Reading for Everyone:
"Soon the only people attending were those who never asked questions, and the sessions were discontinued altogether, since Clevinger, the corporal and Colonel Korn agreed that it was neither possible nor necessary to educate people who never questioned anything."
(from Joseph Heller's Catch-22)