You'd Think I'd Be Better At Climbing

Those of you who have had the pleasure of taking a kickboxing class with me, hahem, mylifeissonotironic, are well aware of the excessive length of my limbs, and my impressive lack of control over their motions in general.

I know. I'm almost 6 feet tall. Of course my limbs are long. I mean, my pediatrician marked my height in the 98th percentile every year. (I think this is where my unhealthy need to overachieve began. How can you fight nature?)

Regardless of height, my arms and legs sprouted well past proportionally correct. I knew this occurred in my early years, due to an elementary school memory of a class trip to the Lincoln Children's Zoo. In front of the cage housing the Bald Eagle, there was a life-size replica of the national emblem, showcasing his impressive wing span. Let's just say mine was awkwardly comparable. At the age of seven.

Again. Overachieving. Naturally.

Recently, I discovered a photo that made it very clear that these albatross arms have been with me from the very beginning:


This is my first birthday. First. As in one tiny year old. My mother is attempting to take one of those adorable pictures, where you place your delicate baby girl next to her first cake and it's all precious and adorable and pulls at heartstrings and will make all your friends comment on just how nuggetty and squeezable your infant is...

Sorry, mom.