Confessions of a Bad Bowler

Nothing makes you to stop taking yourself seriously like hearing a woman in her mid 70s blurt out that you look like Adam Lambert. With my designer lambskin jacket (bought before my venture into veganism) and perfectly sculpted hair, this senior observer was not only correct, but also surprisingly with it for someone her age.

It was easy to see that I looked out of place as I ordered a pair of size 8 bowling shoes. I planned to spend my afternoon at the learning how to become a less embarrassing bowler. This was a frightening venture for yours truly. I'm awful at anything that requires coordination, and if there's an undertone of competition involved, forget it: I function like a cow on rollerskates. Needless to say, I was sweating with panic, long before I had earned the right to.

But jumping into was going to change all that. I was to be bowling one "string" of duckpin bowling with some team members who could show me the ropes. Think of a string as a round of something. When all is said and done, a winner is determined by which team has the highest score.

Sounds simple right? Not when you're paralyzed by the fear of looking awkward and sinking my fellow players' chances of winning. This was a huge deal to them, and I didn't want to disappoint. Plus, being out-anything'd by people three times your age is never a good way to start your day.

I made my way down to the lanes among a crowd of older athletes. I was assigned as the third member of Team 9, consisting of two remarkably focused, über-seasoned gals. 

Enter Irene and Maria. Irene is a no-nonsense, get-down-t0-business type who won't shy away from telling you what she thinks. Maria is more introverted and reserves her geriatric fire for the lanes. Both ladies made me feel like family, and by the time our string started, I was half expecting to receive cheek pinching and offers for milkshakes and cookies.

But don't let their age-related charm fool you, these chicas mean serious business. Irene wasn't shy about informing me about areas where she thought I needed to improve.

"Stop saying you're bad before you even start," she said. "Have a little faith in yourself. Just go for it. Get that camera away from me!"

Maria, meanwhile, is like the human incarnate of Zeus. Her victories are plentiful and effortless, and you can tell she's used to winning. I had to follow Maria, which only compounded my feelings of inadequacy and anticipated failure.

Finally it was my turn. Edging toward the inlaid dots, I tried to remember brash reality check handed to me by Irene and let the ball loose. I actually hit something! As good a place as any to start.

That's when the screaming mob began to let me have it: "DEADWOOD, DEADWOOD! CLEAR THE DEADWOOD!"

I  know I'm terrible at anything that involves keeping score (Yatzee and hopscotch come to mind), but were these ladies really calling me deadwood? Had I landed on the receiving end of a cross-generational epidemic of bowler bullying? 

Luckily for my dignity, deadwood is simply a pin that remains on the lane after it's been knocked down. Unlike bowling with bigger balls (it's OK to laugh, God knows I did), duckpin bowling requires that you press a button to remove the deadwood in between each of your six attempts.

As the game began to go underway, I realized that I was a quicker study than I had previously thought.

"You're being too hard on yourself," said Irene. "Look at 'em! We're beating 'em by six points, and we're gonna keep it that way!"

Irene the General was right. I spent so much time worrying about looking foolish and letting my team down, I had forgotten that I was there to grow and improve. And with Maria and Irene's help, I was able to just that.

I scored 75 points, Maria scored 91 (no surprise there), and Irene scored a respectable 65 which, according to her, "was a real shame."

We ended up beating the other team in our string, but with the demographic bowling that day, there wasn't any keg stands or "In your face!" comments being thrown around.

As I unlaced my red and black shoes, I felt a surge of accomplishment. Having ventured outside of my comfort zone, I helped Team 9 sail to victory and learned a lot about myself in the process. I felt like a million bucks.

As I hugged Irene and Maria goodbye, I heard a raspy voice behind me shout: "Bye, Adam Lambert!"

Humility, it's a beautiful thing.