Getting Older...

After another Saturday at the Longhorns game (the fifth one this month), I was talking to Tommy on the phone about the drunk guy who usually sits behind us (We like him, and he showed up after a three week absence), when Tommy asked if I was still up for golf on Sunday afternoon. I said "Yeah, I'll meet you at three," then said "Night," and hung up. I then stood up from my new IKEA chair in the loft. My knee buckled. I gingerly sauntered over to the stairs, and as I reached for the rail, my sore shoulder recoiled in protest. My feet were blistered. My stiff legs balked at me all the way down the stairs, and when I finally crashed on my bed, two thoughts crossed my mind:

1) So this is what it feels like to be old.

2) What the hell happened to me?

Let me briefly answered the second question, day-by-day.

Tuesday - I put in a solid hour on the Bowflex while watching Mad Money, primarily working the upper body. It was my first time to lift weight in months.

One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three...
Uh, Mr. Burgundy? Helen said that you needed to see me.
Oh, Miss Corningstone. I wasn't expecting company. Just doing my workout. Tuesday's arms and back...

Wednesday - After a full day of work, I met Tommy over at Hancock for nine holes. Hancock Golf Course resides just off Red River between 38th and 41st Streets. It was the original Austin Golf Club once upon a time, and has a rich history, but now serves as a great place to squeeze in a few cheap holes after work. Tommy and I walk and carry our bags as we play, so we are usually pretty winded after we play. I parred two of the last three holes and was strolling up the hill to the parking lot when I saw it...

A basketball court, basking in the glow of electric lumination set against the relief of the fading light of day, precipitating this exchange...

Me: Hey Tom...
Tommy: You want to play?
Me: I've got a ball in the car...

And that was that. Tommy and I probably played ball everyday after school between 4th and 11th grades. Even with both of us pushing 30, our game looked like almost every other one we played. Tommy jumped out three-nothing going to the bucket, and I was winded. I started hitting jump shots to even it up, and when I hit my rhythm, I ended up with a 12-6 victory that I didn't remotely deserve.

Ohh, it's the deep burn. Oh, it's so deep.

Thursday, I went to Salt Lick with my basketball buddies to celebrate a birthday and did no exercise. That brings us to...

Friday - The HSL "Guys blow stuff up" retreat was cancelled due to Burn Ban, so instead we opened up the Red River gym and played Dodgeball. Over the course of three hours, we played 17 games of something called Prisoner-ball, where those who were hit by the ball went to "prison" at the other team's end of the court, and you freed them by throwing them a ball. I was delighted to find that I didn't have a problem hanging with the college kids - I can still dodge, and had a live and accurate arm to zing the ball with. I also got into a yelling match with an obnoxious guy on the other team, and took him to task for not shaking my hand at the end of a game (This is an immutable law for men playing sports - no matter what happens on the court, whether it be yelling or coming to blows, you make your peace at the end. If you don't do so, you're not a man.) I lobbed at least 50 balls the length of the court, and played until my team won the requisite ten games. I hit the hay at 1:30 with plans for a run in the morning...

Saturday - ...Until I found a silver-dollar size blister on each foot. I elected for another hour on the Bowflex instead.

Oh, I can barely lift my right arm 'cause I did so many. I don't know if you heard me counting. I did over a thousand...

I went to the game, talked to Tommy, and went to bed. This morning, I woke up and couldn't move my shoulder. I had every intention of cancelling on golf when I called Tommy after church, until I had this exchange with him on the phone:

Me: Tom, I can't move my shoulder. I don't think I can play today...
Tommy: Uh...
Me: No, screw it. I'm playing. See you at 3:30..

A persuasive one, that Tommy. Honestly, I didn't need much coaxing. I rubbed in some Icy-Hot, hit a few balls, and employed a half swing on my way to a decent 46 on nine holes, all while walking on my blisters. I sat with Tommy overlooking the course at the end, completely spent. I wouldn't have it any other way. Bad back? Blisters? Sore shoulder? Just something else for this Texan to boast about later. I'm getting older, but I'm far from being done...