the great outdoors
I blame my roommate for my somewhat ruddier complexion. She does a lot of outdoor things. I tag along, because that's what I do. I rarely turn down invitations to do anything. I like being invited. The past two Wednesdays, after work, I've spent the early evening hours at the neighborhood park watching my roommate play in her recreational soccer league. I sit in the shade, on a grassy knoll in between the soccer and softball fields and alternate between watching the two different sports as the women run around and get sweaty. It's not a bad gig. They're not very competitive and they don't care about winning and losing, so it's nice and relaxing. I give lazy claps and cheer them on in a quiet manner. Afterwards, we head over to a bar, and I knock back a few rum and cokes and talk about the game.
This evening, the team ran into what seemed to be a squad of hired professionals. These women were young and fast, and I was tired just watching them. My roommate's team got trounced, but they didn't seem to care. It looked like a lot of fun. I missed being as active as I was when I was younger. But then I remembered the last time I played basketball, a half-court game in the parking lot of my old apartment complex. Unlike the women on my roommate's team, I am, for better or worse, extremely competitive. Unfortunately, my body can't keep up with my will to win, and I often end up hurting myself or looking really foolish. During the basketball game I mentioned, a brick rattled off the rim and bounced on the asphalt rather far from me, but I was still the one closest to the ball. I ran after it in the blazing summer sun. I'd been playing hard for about 15 minutes, which isn't really a long time, but I wasn't used to the exertion. I darted after that ball like it meant my life or a league championship. I don't remember the exact moment it happened, but I do remember running as hard as I could, and at some point, I lost control of my legs entirely. They lost their rigidity and decided to give up. They didn't bother to tell my torso, though, because it continued to push forward, even as I toppled to the ground. I reached out for the ball, but got two arms full of parking lot instead.
It wasn't one of my finer moments, but I stayed in the game even though my arms, legs and chest were scraped and ringing, because I had somethings to prove--that I'm stubborn and far from athletic.
This evening, the team ran into what seemed to be a squad of hired professionals. These women were young and fast, and I was tired just watching them. My roommate's team got trounced, but they didn't seem to care. It looked like a lot of fun. I missed being as active as I was when I was younger. But then I remembered the last time I played basketball, a half-court game in the parking lot of my old apartment complex. Unlike the women on my roommate's team, I am, for better or worse, extremely competitive. Unfortunately, my body can't keep up with my will to win, and I often end up hurting myself or looking really foolish. During the basketball game I mentioned, a brick rattled off the rim and bounced on the asphalt rather far from me, but I was still the one closest to the ball. I ran after it in the blazing summer sun. I'd been playing hard for about 15 minutes, which isn't really a long time, but I wasn't used to the exertion. I darted after that ball like it meant my life or a league championship. I don't remember the exact moment it happened, but I do remember running as hard as I could, and at some point, I lost control of my legs entirely. They lost their rigidity and decided to give up. They didn't bother to tell my torso, though, because it continued to push forward, even as I toppled to the ground. I reached out for the ball, but got two arms full of parking lot instead.
It wasn't one of my finer moments, but I stayed in the game even though my arms, legs and chest were scraped and ringing, because I had somethings to prove--that I'm stubborn and far from athletic.
1 comment:
Sounds like a great afternoon :)
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