Words aren’t adequate to describe the level of soreness that I still feel, an entire week later. I tore things, shifted things, ripped things, dislocated things. It was a mess.
This past week was either the end of an era or the beginning of a new one, depending on your point of view. I joined a softball team. But not your everyday-after-work softball team — I joined a club team comprised of “active” men and women in their 40s, 50s and, yes, 60s.
Finally, a team game I can play in, feel good about, and look like a young all-star.
It’s like the old saying, “If you want to look thin, hang out with large people.” Well, if you want to feel good with arthritis, play softball with people 45 years older than you.
The problem became pretty apparent, however, that after being sidelined for all of these years, I totally over-did it. Words aren’t adequate to describe the level of soreness that I still feel, an entire week later. I tore things, shifted things, ripped things, dislocated things. It was a mess. The 63-year-old third baseman made me feel like a moron — he said, “You better stretch kiddo,” and I said, “I did, I did.”
Well, I didn’t. And I’m feeling it today. Pretty annoying. But, despite the pain, it felt great to be out there. Kind of corny, of course, but I’m still looking forward to our next game.
And, for the record, we lost 15-1.