Softball league
Having coffee...thinking about getting old...the loud creaking sound coming from my knees this morning as I sat down with my coffee reminded me of one of the first times I realized I was getting older.
In my mid-thirties, I thought it would be a good idea to join a softball league. Sounds good right? Non-athletic, thirty-something, out-of-shape...sure! What could go wrong.
Well, let me tell you...
So there was this general practice session. I went.
When it was my turn to bat, I walked up to the plate, flung the bat over my shoulder, and adopted my best "I am serious about this" pose.
Here comes the pitch.
I keep my eye on the ball...and...I connect! Very solid hit to center field.
I am quite pleased with myself...so I start to run to first base.
Here is where things went wrong.
I had not run in many years. Many...many...years.
So, I start to "run" to first base.
It seems that the top half of my body and the bottom half of my body had completely different plans for this sprint to first base.
The top half of my body was excited and ready and was thinking "let's get there FAST!"
The bottom half of my body was confused and was thinking "huh?"
I made it a couple of yards before the conflict between the two halves of my body got out of control. And by "out of control" I mean OHWHATINGAYHELLISHAPPENINGOHSHIT!
My top half got WAY out in front of my bottom half...my bottom half didn't notice.
I hit the ground hard...and proceeded to tumble head-over-feet...literally...like in a cartoon.
I remember thinking "Well, this is going to be bad."
When everything stopped, I was lying with my head on first base, my feet pointing toward second base, and my left arm twisted behind my back - where my left wrist was twisted oddly and starting to swell. In addition, my shirt was well above the man boobs and wedged tightly under my armpits. My shorts had slide down to a dangerously low level of "high everybody, have you met my friend Will!"
Somehow I had managed to slide in both directions - lifting my shirt and pulling down my shorts. Figure that one out physics experts! Maybe centrifugal force? I was spinning so fast that it was pulling my clothes off? Or, maybe my clothes were so embarrassed they had decided to flee the scene?
I just stayed put for a moment...trying to do an inventory of my body parts. But, all I could really think was "Wow...those stars should not be out during the day time! But they sure are pretty!"
When I finally raised myself up - that is right, raised MYSELF up because no one came to help me - I noticed that everyone else was lying on the ground too. Because they were laughing. Hysterical laughter had taken over the field. Full grown adults had lost control of their own bodies and were writhing on the ground with laughter.
I laughed too. It is something you learn to do when you are a person like me. If you get mad or cry or try to walk away, the laughter only gets louder and then the mocking starts. If you laugh, it takes the piss out of the bullies. Now listen...none of these people were bullies, they were lovely people who just witnessed a body betray itself. But at this point my brain was operating on very base instincts...so I laughed too.
I finally got myself to an upright position. Pulled my shirt down...pulled my shorts up...answered a few inquiries as to my well being with "Oh, I'm fine." Took my spot on first base and waited for the next person to bat. It took awhile...the laughter rolled through the field several times.
I finished the practice that day.
The next day...I couldn't move. There were colors on my body that I had never seen before. And my left wrist - yeah, it was broken.
So there it is...one of the first moments I realized that I was getting old...and that I was not taking very good care of myself. I was never really into athletics...although I enjoyed running in my youth. I am a very good volleyball player. And once upon a time I could throw a perfect pike jump and do a backflip. Not...any...more...
I learned several valuable lessons about aging that day on that softball field. The most important may be that I should check in with my body before I start running to first base.
I was in a show recently where the director gave me an option to take a tumble during a scene.
I had a very serious conversation with my body parts. It was cordial, collaborative, and polite. We decided against the tumble...we decided on a slow, melt-into-the-ground approach. It worked...no broken bones and no bruising. And audiences always love watching an old queer fall down...
Just sayin'
