I had a hard time getting out of bed this morning and it wasn’t because I was particularly tired.
I blame it on softball.
For the first time in nearly 20 years, I’m playing organized softball again. When a member of Urban Village Church first said she was going to organize a team to play in the Chicago Social League, I immediately knew I wanted to play. I played baseball throughout my childhood and was on my high-school’s team and even ventured to play a year in college (though it’s saying something that the highlight of that year was that I won the mile run for pitchers–not exactly something to put in my scrapbook).
When I moved to Evanston, our fraternity office (where I worked) had a team and I greatly enjoyed playing on that. I was in my early 20s and still could move around pretty well. But it’s years (decades!) later. I’m 44, the oldest one on the team, but I’m still stubborn enough to think I can play and I think I’ve done OK. Plus, it’s been great fun, running around, diving for balls, getting base hits. It’s the morning after the game that’s the challenge.
We play on Monday nights and when I woke up this past Tuesday, it felt like someone had taken a ball-peen hammer to my ribs during the night. I had never felt an ache like this before and I’m not sure what it is. Maybe a contusion of sorts when I dove and fell on a ball? Some sort of pulled muscle? I don’t know, but it hurts when I try to move around in bed or try to push up. Despite the discomfort, however, it’s kind of a badge of honor. I’m living into my slowly aging body and am coming to appreciate it while also pushing it to do things it perhaps would rather not be doing.