Battle scars

That looks about the size of a softball, right?

Next time maybe I'll catch it instead of let it bounce off my elbow.

Weekday warrior

I signed up to play softball for my town recreational league. We had practice for a few weeks and our second game last night.

I lovingly call ourselves the Bad News Bears. Many of the players on the team haven't really played before. Some, like me, haven't played competitively in years. But we all knew going into this that we were playing for fun and if we happened to win some games, then that was a bonus.

So far we've lost both our games. By at least 10 runs. Sigh.

The problem isn't that we're all awful. There are some good players on the team. One of the problems is that it takes some time for our hitting to come alive. Some of our errors in the field make me want to cringe. But the biggest problem of all is that we don't have a consistent pitcher.

Our league is slow pitch, which means the arc of the ball has to be between 6 and 12 feet off the ground. As opposed to fast pitch, the intent isn't to strike the batter out, but to get her to hit the ball somewhere that she doesn't want to.

Our pitchers have trouble reaching the plate or just can't make it hittable. And that walks in a lot of runs.

But what sucked the most about yesterday was that I pulled my lift quadricep on the first play of the game. I sprinted to get a foul ball from left field and I felt the pop. I finished the inning pounding my leg and trying to walk, but it was useless. Thankfully, nothing was hit to me the rest of the inning because I was done.

There was a sharp pain at the top of my thigh, right where it connects to my hip. I could walk with a limp, but the slightest movement could give me such a jolt that I had to fight crying out in pain. I sat the rest of the game on the bench with an ice pack on my leg, slowly leaking and drenching  my pants that eventually froze me out on a chilly evening. I didn't leave right away because I wanted to be a good and supportive team player. I also wanted to make sure that I'd be able to drive home. My car is stick and I needed my left leg to push in the clutch.

When I finally got home that night, I finally had to be a baby and cry out in pain when it hurt. Barry came over to kiss my face each time, confused as to what was wrong with me. I puttered around slowly and put a Tiger Balm patch on my leg for some much needed relief.

Laying in bed with an ice pack on my raised leg, I felt old and helpless. And I felt really far away from home.

Batter up

Happy, happy, joy, joy!

I just signed up for a recreational softball league and I am so excited. I haven't played in years. Damn, it's been almost ten years.

I miss the smell of the grass and taste of grit in my mouth after I slid into third base. I miss the sweat and the grass stain on my pants and the ice cream (in high school) or the beers (at work) the team would get after a game.

I miss the feeling of being part of a team. Cheering for someone up at bat or trying to psyche out the pitcher. Of the inside-out rally caps or the silly superstitions we had to follow in order to win a game.

I miss the singing on the bus on the way to games and dumping the water cooler over our coach when we won.

I miss how my thighs used to look when I was 17 years old. Crap.