There's No Crying in Baseball!

Things that were fun and easy at 20 become challenging and regrettable at 49.

Signing up for the church mixed softball league team seemed like a good idea at the time. Monday was my first practice with the team. I keep telling myself they need me because they have to field three female players on the roster for each game.

Coming from a family with seven brothers, I played a lot of softball in my day. I was one of the top two female players in grade six and could hit very strongly. I hit about as far now, but it doesn’t look as strong as an adult. I also can’t throw from home all the way back to the pitcher – is that sad or what? I did manage to throw from second to first in time for a double play, though, so I guess my arm warmed up.

However, now that it’s two days later, in spite of enjoying a nice long soak in the Jacuzzi Monday night, I’m discovering I have some “groan” muscles. It was a long, cold, sedentary winter.

As for my performance at practice: I didn’t stand out. That's okay. I can still hit, I can still catch and I can still fumble a hard ground ball with the best of them. Softball is an oxymoron when it meets your shins. And then an encouraging teammate just had to quip: "Some infielders use soccer shin guards."

Funny, I don’t even notice the bruising. I’m too busy popping ibuprofen for the muscle spasms.

What a great time! I’m looking forward to our game Thursday. If I can find a hydraulic lift to move me from the couch to the car.