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Montrose Voice, No. 159, November 11, 1983
File 012
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Montrose Voice, No. 159, November 11, 1983 - File 012. 1983-11-11. University of Houston Libraries. University of Houston Digital Library. Web. March 1, 2021. https://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/montrose/item/25/show/11.

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

(1983-11-11). Montrose Voice, No. 159, November 11, 1983 - File 012. Montrose Voice. University of Houston Libraries. Retrieved from https://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/montrose/item/25/show/11

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

Montrose Voice, No. 159, November 11, 1983 - File 012, 1983-11-11, Montrose Voice, University of Houston Libraries, accessed March 1, 2021, https://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/montrose/item/25/show/11.

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

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Title Montrose Voice, No. 159, November 11, 1983
Contributor
  • McClurg, Henry
Publisher Community Publishing Company
Date November 11, 1983
Language English
Subject
  • LGBTQ community
  • LGBTQ people
  • Gay liberation movement
Place
  • Houston, Texas
Genre
  • newspapers
Type
  • Text
Identifier OCLC: 22329406
Collection
  • University of Houston Libraries Special Collections
  • LGBT Research Collection
  • Montrose Voice
Rights In Copyright
Note This item was digitized from materials loaned by the Gulf Coast Archive and Museum (GCAM).
Item Description
Title File 012
Transcript Nov. 11,1983 / Montrose voice 11 Sweat Socks: One Woman's Story Commentary By Sharon McDonald When it comes to sports, I have always been cordial but distant. As a child, the full extent of my athletic repetoire was the repeated climbing of a single tree in which I would sit for hours daydreaming of an even less active childhood. I thought that once I grew up, I would be free of the daily pressures to run, jump, slide, hit and catch. Call me naive, but I looked forward to my adult years as a fruitful time for affairs of the intellect. Back then, women were allowed, no encouraged, to let their muscles atrophy in peace. But right around the time I would have begun living out my happy destiny as a sedentary grown-up, I fell in with an energetic group of women who called themselves by a strange new name: feminists. At first I thought their philosophy meant more choices for everybody: I could be either a chemist or a karate champion. What I didn't know was that the karate You're Reading the MONTROSE VOICE One of America's Major Gay Community Newspapers champion didn't have to study chemistry, but the chemist would have to take up some arduous sport to stay in the feminist ballgame. Only the language had changed since childhood. Yesterday's "Get your nose out of that book," has become today's "Get in touch with your body." This is a paradox of modern feminism that I find difficult to understand: nobody tells Rosie Casals to write a book, why do they tell me to play tennis? It's important at this point to explain that I don't dislike sports just because I'm no good at them, although that certainly helps. But simple ineptitude is a mere embarrassment that's easily forgotten. What's not easily forgotten is a lifetime of sprains, Btrains, cuts, scrapes, bruises, lacerations, concussions and temporary embarrassments. I dislike sports because I hurt myself doing them, sometimes quite badly. I can fall and chip a bone on any type of surface you've got, from grass to concrete. The only time I can catch a ball that's hurtling straight at my unique and fragile face is when it knocks my last two fingers backwards three inches farther than they were ever meant to go. I think it's about time for feminists to face the fact that some women were just not meant to totter four inches off the ground on blades, wheels, a foor-long slab of wood or anything else. Women whom I would otherwise consider caring friends have tried to get me out there into the danger zone. "Look at you! You call yourself a dyke? Look at that arm. Where'B the muscle?" "It's in my fingers. I type 90 words a ..." "You've got to start thinking about your health!" "I am. I'm staying inside where it's safe." "You don't know what you're missing." "Yes I do. Pain." It doesn't help that Louise is on the side of the athletes in this. One balmy evening when she and I were in the first glow of new found love, she chanced to ask what sports I enjoyed. When I said none, that lovely period of idealized romance passed forever into history. Some people are so judgmental. Louise's childhoood had been a whirlwind journey from championship this to championship that. From a modest beginning at prizewinning marbles, she went on to conquer her neighborhood at baseball, ping pong, basketball, skating and so on. She once remarked to me what an easy transition it had been to go from GAA (Girl's Athletic Association) to GAA (Gay Activists Alliance) without even changing T-shirts. As if our relationship wasn't tenuous enough, Louise decided that we needed to jog together every night. I reminded her that I considered achieving normal posture an athletic event. She could not be moved. I said I'd think about it. True to my nature, I approached this subject first from an academic angle. I read all the books about jogging, and it was there that I learned about cramps, strains, faintness of breath and "overdoing it." I stopped reading. Next, I went shopping. After pricing jogging shoes, I came home with the aforementioned faintness of breath. This was soon followed by faintness of heart. The more I though about it, the stupider it seemed. Being an urban dweller, certain physical pursuits like karate or running do make senBe to me. But jogging has no such intrinsic, pragmatic value. Whatself- repecting mugger responds to, "Back off, buddy, I'm a jogger"? Not does jogging provide you with an escape maneuver; it just doesn't work to jog away from an attacker. This is in sharp contrast to the more versatile sport of running, which can be utilized either to run from an attacker or to run to attack someone. Jogging, on the other hand, produces only two concrete results: stronger calf muscles and better wind, both of which are good for only one thing—more jogging. I presented my findings to Louise, but you can't tell her anything. So, with our frail relationship hanging in the balance, I purchased the proper shoes, baggy shorts and sweat socks and revised my will. I was ready. Louise glanced up from the television, lit another cigarette and said, "Not tonight, hon, let's start tomorrow." The next night she was meeting a friend for dinner and suggested we wait one more day. The following day she came home from work exhausted. "How about tomorrow night, sweetie?" she groaned. By now, all I can say is it's a wonder I've retained my sweet disposition and tolerant, loving, giving, accepting attitude through all this. If in the name of feminism or health or God knows what else my lover and friends advocate chasing a ball around, or want to browbeat others into doing the same, I'd be the last one to say it's not an excellent use of time. I mean, if they want to move their conversation to the level of debating the absorption capacities of different brands of sweat socks, I'd never suggest it was a step down. Some people might say these women have become sweaty, ill-clad, panting bores, but not me. Goodness, if I let a little thing like watching my friends beome competitive over-achievers turn me into an unsupportive name-caller, well, what would that say about friendship? As for Louise and I, we have made a peace of sorts by discovering a physical activity we can do together. Although it is more private than a jog around the local park, I will say that it has satisfied both our wants by providing exercise, sweat and exhaustion without requiring a trip to the emergency room. Until something better comes along, this will do just fine. McDonald, who lives in Los Angeles, is co-winner of the 1983 Certificate of Merit for Outstanding Work in Feature Writing from the Gay Press Association. Her column appears here and in other gay newspapers. HIGH RISE LIVING IS AFFORDABLE! The EXECUTIVE HOUSE al 230 West Alabama is having its Fall Move-In Special. For this month our prices have dropped: Unfurnished Efficiency Apartments $375 Unfurnished One Bedroom Apartments $475 EXECUTIVE HOUSE offers: • Paid Utilities • Security Building * Dry Sauna • Covered Parking Garage • Sun Deck • Gymnasium • Swimming Pool • Free Cable Television • Laundry Facilities EXECUTIVE HOUSE is 2 blocks from Main Street, 3 blocks from Westheimer and 4 blocks from Montrose. We are close to everything in the Montrose area. Call 529-8707 for appointment Proudly Presenting Our Newest Musical Comedy tl»l> H>IM»«> Cabaret/ Theatre SHOWTIMES Thursday—8:30pm Friday—8:30 & 11pm Saturday—8:30 & 11pm Sunday—8:30pm Doors Open 7pm Happy Hour till 8:30pm 2700 ALBANY—Open 7pm-2am—528-3611 (adjacent to Officer's-Glub)
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