Hey, Sae

Floundering

After three months of avoiding the gym and asking a staffer to remind me what my locker combination is, I’m back. This is all very embarrassing enough.

What’s more embarrassing is my lack of athleticism. Like zero athleticism. I like to think that I look like the chicks in my Women’s Health magazine when I work out. Unfortunately, there are mirrors in every exercise room at the Y that confirm the opposite.

Why do my punches in kickboxing class look like I’m aimlessly waving my arms about? Like those giant human-shaped things at car dealerships flapping around in the wind.

Don’t even get me started about swimming. I imagine the grace and strength of Olympic swimmers. By the time I’m in the water, I can’t decide whether I should breathe, gulp down water or keep paddling. The Olympic swimmer instantly turns into desperation, floundering and trying to make it look deliberate and confident at the same time.

It’s a tough life folks. I thought I escaped it when I graduated from the playgrounds where I was the last to be picked for teams. Until I realized athleticism never stops being cool.

BUT, I’m sticking with it. For this week, anyway. Despite the sore muscles causing me to look like a baby giraffe learning to walk, I already feel so much stronger and happier. Worth it? I think so.

Apparently I used to enjoy writing for fun.

Not that writing for work isn’t fun. But I suspect writing for just me again would be healthy for my soul. And the memories are just fun. I would tell you to keep posted, but I’m afraid of commitment.

CD-Rom, but with a Sae

I have a love/hate relationship with my name. When I first meet people, they usually think it’s awesome/pretty/cool — and the question of its meaning always follows.

But it’s also an obstacle to everyday life. I hate ordering food and drinks where they ask you your name. It’s so not worth the effort. So I just say, Sarah. And we’re both happy with that.

And considering a big chunk of my job is calling/meeting people and talking to them, half my work day is spent repeating, spelling, explaining my name. My newsroom colleagues find it funny but also probably a bit annoying.

This is how a routine phone intro goes:

“Hi, this is Saerom from the Statesman. Can I speak to so-and-so?”

“Saerom? From the Statesman?”

“Yeah, Saerom.”

“S-A-E-R-O-M-as-in-Mary”

“Like CD-Rom, but with a Sae.”

I like e-mails because you sign your name, and then there’s no question on what it is. Even if they have no idea if I’m a woman or a man or how to pronounce it, it’s fine. They can just hit reply, copy and paste my signature, then move on.

Unless they decide to decide my gender for me then address me as “Mr. Yoo.” Or recently, I e-mailed a source who have been stubbornly getting my name wrong in every phone conversation. But I let it pass, until I e-mailed her and she responded by addressing me as “Fay.”

What the Fay, dude? I’m going to start making a list of names people make up for me out of laziness. I know I’m not the only one with a funky name so feel free to join in the fun and commiserate.