Self-fulfilling prophecies

Do you think there are some names out there that just go with certain characteristics? I certainly think there are in some cases. We’ve all met Kyles who felt like walking Red Bull advertisements, Chads who lean a little too far into the Frat Boy vibe, and of course there are Karens who desperately want to speak to the manager.

But there are other names out there that are basically self-fulfilling prophecies too. One of these names is Grace. I know what you’re thinking. What’s wrong with the name Grace? It’s easy to spell, easy to pronounce, and it’s classy. What’s the problem?

As for the actual name, nothing is wrong. It’s classic, beautiful, and makes many moms out there happy. Heck, MY name is Mary Grace! I love the name for its aesthetics.

But I have a hypothesis.

My hypothesis (based on a scientifically insignificant pool of exactly 3 women named Grace) is that giving a girl that name dooms her to 2 possible outcomes. Either she will be effortlessly graceful and athletic, or she will have the grace of a pregnant moose on roller skates.

I will give you one 1 guess which category I fall into. (Hint: I don’t fall gracefully!)

That’s right. I’m a bull in a china shop.

I have no inborn grace. I am an excellent faller, and I frequently find bruises from where I have fallen into something and just don’t remember doing it.

I can’t dance, and usually I am doing well to walk and chew gum at the same time.

To say I’m clumsy is probably a major understatement. This is one of the reasons I do better in a sport that is based on competing with myself, as opposed to on a team. As a kid, I was always the one who caught a ball in the face, no matter which sport we were playing or where the ball came from. Once, my now-husband (then friend) kicked a kickball from less than 3 feet in front of me and somehow managed to get me in the face. He wasn’t trying to kick the ball above waist height, but that didn’t matter.

In our B.C. days (Before Children), we used to regularly go to hockey games, and we always sat by the glass so I wouldn’t catch a puck in the face. Even now, if we go to a baseball game, I duck if a foul ball comes toward me instead of trying to catch it.

I’m a clumsy runner too.

Usually, it isn’t a big deal. There just isn’t that much where I can really hurt myself while I’m running. I just have to pay attention to be sure I don’t trip or step off the sidewalk, and I’m usually fine. Baby the weak ankle, wear a brace if it’s acting up, and I’m usually in good shape. And pay attention to curbs and the edge of the sidewalk. But as long as I do all of that, I’m usually okay.

But not always.

Outdoor Running Drama

One evening, I went running in my neighborhood, as I usually did just before sundown. It was a pleasant fall evening, I was happy, and the run was going well. I decided to add a few tenths of a mile to my run by ducking down a side street and running along the sidewalk. Usually I stick to the main roads and main sidewalks, just in case I get a paranoid neighbor who decides I look suspicious for running on a cul-de-sac where I live, but this night, I threw caution to the wind. It was close to dinner time, so the street was quiet, and all the houses had their living rooms lit. It was too early for the streetlights to come on, and it was light enough that I could see anything that might be in my way. One would think anyway…

I didn’t notice the tree growing a little too close to the sidewalk, and I definitely didn’t notice that the tree roots had caused the sidewalk to buckle upward a little. Until I caught it with the toe of my shoe, I didn’t realize the sidewalk was anything but smooth and flat.

Before I even realized that I was falling, I found myself lying on the ground, knees, hands, and elbows skinned up. I shook my head, trying to figure out why I was on the ground and if all the various body parts were still attached, and I heard a quiet guffaw. I looked to my right, and of course some dude was standing in his garage laughing at me. I had just dramatically faceplanted on a street that wasn’t my own, and some guy in his garage was a witness to the whole thing.

Needless to say, I got up and ran the other way. I haven’t run down that street since. I decided Garage Man doesn’t need a repeat performance of my amazing display of grace.

Indoor Grace

Running outside has its fair share of unknowns, like rough pavement, rocks, and trip hazard tree roots and sidewalks. You’d think I would be in better shape inside on the treadmill, right? Ha.

Last December, I decided to try Couch25K (again). I was making great progress—I was running consistently all week, progressing through the program, and generally feeling good about myself. I was excited to continue running over the holidays, and I was even planning to take the boys on a Christmas Day running adventure. But I managed to outdo my usual klutziness.

The run started out like normal. I had my favorite pair of AirPods in, was happily jamming to the music (Pentatonix to get into the Christmas spirit, of course!), and generally feeling good. I grabbed my phone to skip to the next song, and naturally I dropped it onto the treadmill. I bent down to grab it as I tried to step around it, and I proceeded to fly off the treadmill. I don’t even know what all I banged up, but my hip, knee, ankle, and my elbow all turned purple over the next few days. All I wanted to do was sit and cry in the floor.

Luckily for me, I didn’t have any witnesses to that particular fall, other than my dog. (I give her plenty of extra treats to buy her silence though!)

I’m also lucky I didn’t get hurt. Treadmill falls can be bad! Wear the safety strap thing, kids!

Am I over-generalizing?

Probably. But let’s be honest: if your name was Grace and you were this un-graceful, and then you met other people named Grace who were just as clumsy, wouldn’t you wonder if it came with the name too? I suppose the name-trait link with Grace is just one of those mysteries we’ll never solve.