Kickball and Getting Old

My husband Chris and I are officially members of a kickball league. Really! Jerseys, game schedules, umpires and all. I thought it would be fun, and a way to meet some people from the Frederick area. I'm sure it will be.

But after two practices and with our first game tonight, we're also finding that all of a sudden, we're not 18 anymore!

Now don't get me wrong. We're very blessed, and that's for sure. But I think everyone has that moment where they realize they won't always be in their twenties. And as I turned 29 in July, and Chris approaches the same fate in October, we're definitely face to face with this.

What really brought this home is kickball.

Last week, our team (of mostly inexperienced players who last played kickball in second grade and had no idea there was such a thing as a regulation kickball) gathered for our first practice. We had a good time, though it was already evidence that knee and hip injuries would affect our team. But even our practice took it's toll.

Let's just say that I bought our first even heating pad after that. And the good news is Chris' back is now pretty much better...for now. We spent the week bemoaning getting old. Wondering when it was that our bodies couldn't instantly recover from a beating, and being sure we were the only ones!

Sadly, but perhaps not surprisingly, as our team gathered for practice again this past Tuesday, we found that at least half the team had been struck by something. One guy had his fingers taped (I could've guessed that...he made one catch we'd all winced at). Others were sore. Others, well, we were a regular bunch of walking wounded. And those that weren't already injured mostly pulled something during THAT practice. My leg is still tweaked, and one woman pulled her groin so bad she just stood in the outfield for the rest of practice hoping that ball would come directly to her.

It's pretty funny, really, and everyone is a good sport. Our team just wants to have fun, so we'll make the best of it.

But it really got me thinking about (at least my perception of) how I used to be able to bounce back so much easier. Take more chances. Not be worried a sprint to grab a kickball would affect my walking for the next week!

I also realized, though, that this increased chance of injury also probably helps protect us from doing stupid things. Now there's a fine line between making wise choices and just not ever taking any risks, but there's also a (perhaps not even so fine) line between doing dumb stuff just because and making thoughtful decisions.

There has been a direct correlation, in our house at least, between our need to keep Tums stocked and our thinking twice about what snack to have at 10 pm. I drive slow at night, because I darn well know the deer like to stand in the road. Even, as I learned with the help of a guard rail and at the cost of totaling my car, on 340. Grown up still have to wake up for work, so shows on late are just better when DVRed. Dishes don't clean themselves.

We could all list the lessons we've learned over the years. Many of them are ones we've learned the hard way. And you know, as time goes by, you just realize that with some things, there's just no reason to take a risk ("Is it expired?" In our house, if you have to ask and an answer is not easy, then the answer is YES).

So...perhaps the very thing I thought would get us active and meeting people and staying young is also the same thing that has most powerfully reminded us that we're getting older. That's okay though. We are. And we know enough to play hard enough to be proud of our effort, but not find pride in limping around the office because we ran head-on into the short-stop. We'll leave that to the younger folks. And we'll remember to bring water, a first aid kit, and perhaps even some Bengay and ice to tonight's game...:-)