Fighting it...

I think a lot about age these days.  At 37 I’m in that gray area (I refuse to say middle age) where I’m no longer a young guy, but I’m not old.  Sure, the kids at the mall (or wherever they hang out) may disagree with that statement, but still, I’m not old.    

 

I’m also not quite sure where all the time went, it seems like yesterday that I was in my twenties and doing things that would make older me scowl and shake my head on my morning commute.

I still have my health, but as I found out over the weekend, these days there are some limits. 

I was invited to play in a charity basketball tournament.  Four games in two days, doesn’t sound like much. Our first game would be at 10 Am on Saturday, I arrived at the gym alert and chipper.  Bouncing through lay-up drills like a kid.

After the first game (we won!), I felt good and ready to do it again. After the second (we won again!), I was still okay, but breathing heavily and sucking down water.  On the way home that evening, age set in.  Old people thoughts entered my mind.  I thought about stopping for some Bengay or Icy Hot, and was contemplating the upside of using a walker.  I took a shower and changed into pajamas and then looked at the clock.  5:30. Wow.

With a grunt, I scooped the little guy into my arms and watched the much younger college kids on television for the rest of the evening, wincing every time I stood up and my back ached or an ankle popped.

The next day, I took two aspirin, as my ankles were still hurting and my back was a bit stiff, and I’m sure my wife was tired of me whining.  Back at the gym, we won the semifinal game in dramatic fashion on a last second shot.  The championship game wasn’t for three hours, so I limped around the house in an effort to stay loose, and even managed to take the dogs for their run because well, I’m an idiot.

Our luck ran out in the championship game, as we lost in an overtime thriller--at least for the 6 people in attendance--but I left it all out on the floor, and it wasn’t until Tuesday that I fully recovered.

I fell into the car, drove home, and once again was in my pajamas before the sun went down.  No shame.

Maybe it’s stubbornness, but I will continue to fight off age for the rest of my days, running up hills and skipping stairs while I'm able to do so. And for all of the soreness and limping, as we posed for our second place trophy pictures I was asked if I was playing next year.

Of course I am.