A fighting machine...

As I sat, sidelined in a pleated skirt, through much of my high school career, I began to develop a story in the back of my mind about my lack of true athletic ability. (Not, of course, that cheerleaders aren't fierce competitive athletes.)

Surely, I thought, my mom stuck me in a skirt and pompoms because she was too afraid to let me try contact sports. Sadly, I knew this had something to do with a little problem the kids call 'hand-eye coordination.'

Not true.

Turns out, I was pushed headfirst into cheerleading for the sake of the other kids on the field.

I'm one aggressive athlete.

That's how, I suppose, a Thanksgiving-day football match turned into an attack on Carie Windham's defensive capabilities.

'Oh my God!,' Geoff screamed at one point. 'She poked me in the eye!'

'Holding, holding!' He protested as I triumphantly skipped away. 'She was holding my friggin' arm!'

'Let me show you what it's like to be guarded by Carie Windham,' said my friend Mike, who then proceeded to imitate what looked like a full frontal attack.

'Pansies,' I spit back .

'Stop complaining and suck it up!' I would scream.

It wasn't pretty.

After recovering from the fine spread of meats and cheeses in Derry, Ben and I hopped a bus down to Dublin for the annual Mitchell Thanksgiving feast. In the past, a Dublin family has hosted the lot. This year, however, our friend Melissa offered to take in the crowd. After a Thanksgiving feast that rivaled Martha Stewart's on Friday (I've never seen a turkey so golden or sweet potato casserole so delicious -- all cooked by a no-carb eating vegetarian.), we all went back to Melissa's campus for a friendly game of American football .

The teams were divided by geographic region -- North Carolina vs. the rest of them. (Me and Lily from NC State. Richard from UNC. We claimed Markus from UVa and Ryan, a past Mitchell that's still in Dublin grew up in Hickory.) The opposition consisted of Ben, Melissa, Geoff, Mike and Rennie, one of Melissa's flatmates from Greece.

My shining moment, I must say, had nothing to do with athletic ability. While the other team plotted strategy, we used our huddles to invent ridiculous ideas and to choreograph our victory dances. Our best idea put me in center stage. Literally.

After the ball was hiked, I took off toward Melissa, who guarded me for much of the game. I ran straight for her leg, tripped, and we both crashed to the ground in a tangled heap of arms, legs, and sweatpants.

'OWWWWWWWWW!' I screamed as I rolled across the ground. 'OH MY GOD' I rolled to a sitting position, clutching my 'throbbing' ankle and began to sob into my hands. I even thew in a few wheezes to feign hyperventilation.

The huddle started to form around.

'Is she OK?' someone asked.

'Oh my God, is it her asthma!?!?'

'Is she crying or laughing?

By this point, of course, I was laughing, though I concealed it well by covering my face in my hands, leaving just my shuddering shoulders exposed. Then, just as I heard the sound of a pass completion in the end zone, I jumped up on my bum foot.

'WOOOO!' I screamed. 'TOUCH DOWN!'

Needless to say, no one offered an Ocsar.

They did, however, give us the point.

We ended up tied, despite Ben's amazing interception ability and the standout performance of Rennie, who had never played before. I ended up covered in mud but quite proud that I hadn't made a total fool of myself. (OK, I did throw a perfect pass to the opposition during my quarterback debut... but, in my defense, I'd been out to 4 a.m. the night before in Dublin so I was hardly in peak physical or mental condition.)

When Ben accidentally slammed into Ryan's nose and we thought it was broken, we called it a game.