I woke up late the day I nearly died

Man, it's been eleven hours since that soccer match, and I'm still exhausted.

Of course, I hadn't played soccer since I was half my current age, so maybe I can be forgiven for lying on a park bench, trying not to barf, after only five minutes of soccer. 

This wasn't originally on my itinerary.  My original plan for my day off was to sleep, wake up, do dishes, wash my work clothes, and go out to dinner and a movie with the Girlfriend.  Late Thursday night, as the Girlfriend and I were in bed sleeping and reading respectively, the phone rang.  It was my friend Paul, whom I hadn't seen since his mother's wake nearly a year ago.  We chatted it up for awhile, and then he asked if I wanted to go to lunch.  Sure, I said.  And oh, by the way, our old friend Matt was back in America for a couple days.  Sounds great, I said.  And it did.  Matt was Paul's successor as editor-in-chief of Montage, a lit-mag Paul and I co-founded nearly (holy shit!) a decade ago, and since he graduated from Illinois had gotten married, moved to Finland, and currently divides his time writing for music publications and teaching English at a local college.  He flies back to America once a year or so, so this was a great opportunity to see the old freak.

Around 1pm, the three of us were eating at a faux-Irish bar near the Museum of Contemporary Art.  (How faux?  Try Thai BBQ wraps.  Now that's faux.)  I filled myself with a cheeseburger, fries, and a gin and tonic, not expecting to do anything more exerting than walking to the CTA station. 

Paul had to return to work, so Matt and I walked him back to the hospital where he works, and I decided to tag along with Matt.  He was going to meet up with an old high school friend of his at Grant Park where they were kicking around a soccer ball, and I thought that would be fun.  It was a fairly long walk, and by the time we found his friend, I was already a bit winded.   So it only made sense that I, bloated from lunch and winded, should join in a game of soccer. 

This didn't exactly work out as planned.  Jason, his three friends, Matt, and I immediately split up and played three-on-three soccer, without my taking a bit of a rest, or even stretching.  Within five minutes of running around like a 90-year old Pele (come to think of it, he might be 90 by now), I had to stop.  I hobbled over to the water fountain, gasping for breath, drank deeply, and decided it would be a good idea to lay down on a nearby bench for about 15 minutes until the desire to ralph my heavy lunch had passed, or the world stopped twirling, whatever came first.  It was decided I would make a fine goalie.  And it turned out I did.  Although I hadn't played soccer since I was half my current age, I blocked a lot of shots, and we won the game.  All in all, I had a fun time, and if I ever decide to play soccer again in 82-degree weather, 150 feet from a Lake Shore Drive traffic jam, wearing blue jeans, I would definitely eat a garden salad beforehand.

It was past 3pm when we split up for the day.  I decided I'd go pick up The Girlfriend, whose shift ends at 4pm, and kindly inform her that not only did I not clean the kitchen or do laundry, but that I was too exhausted to take in a dinner and a movie.  She was very forgiving about this, ensuring me that boys sometimes need to make fools of themselves so they can still claim to be boys, and we headed for home.

Postscript: on the bus home, the Girlfriend and I were standing near the back door when I looked around, and who should be behind me but the great Jima, blog-demigod of empty-handed.com and Gapers Block MVP.  This was slightly awkward for me because he was neatly dressed from work, while I, covered in dried sweat, looked like I should be arguing with oxygen molecules at a bus stop.  Despite this, we all enjoyed a good chat, and it turns out that we live literally a block away from each other.  Hopefully we'll all get together and shoot the breeze.  Hopefully I'll be able to move my legs again without weeping.

Comments

[eighmie]

What a drag it is getting old
"Kids are different today,"
I hear ev'ry mother say
Mother needs something today to calm her down
And though she's not really ill
There's a little yellow pill
She goes running for the shelter of a mother's little helper
And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day

"Things are different today,"
I hear ev'ry mother say
Cooking fresh food for a husband's just a drag
So she buys an instant cake and she burns her frozen steak
And goes running for the shelter of a mother's little helper
And two help her on her way, get her through her busy day

Doctor please, some more of these
Outside the door, she took four more
What a drag it is getting old

"Men just aren't the same today"
I hear ev'ry mother say
They just don't appreciate that you get tired
They're so hard to satisfy, You can tranquilize your mind
So go running for the shelter of a mother's little helper
And four help you through the night, help to minimize your plight

Doctor please, some more of these
Outside the door, she took four more
What a drag it is getting old

"Life's just much too hard today,"
I hear ev'ry mother say
The pusuit of happiness just seems a bore
And if you take more of those, you will get an overdose
No more running for the shelter of a mother's little helper
They just helped you on your way, through your busy dying day

[eighmie]

sorry about above.

Isn't it always that way with jima always. I found him once at a walgreens when I was late to work and my car wouldn't start and I decided to get a pick me up before I got on the bus and there he was...

Today I tried to use a Hippity-Hop, cause My kids wanted to see how it worked. Sitting on it no problem, bouncing with knees that pop when up pressure, impossible, icing the bump on my head when I rolled off the damn thing into the kitchen table priceless.....

[Stephanie]

You should book a few sessions with Kevin as your personal trainer. You'll be in shape in no time after chasing him through the park, zoo, or whatever.

We take a park class once a week that is entitled "Singing, Swinging Toddlers" (or something like that). It's basically songs, dancing, and finger/hand games for an hour. By the end of the moms are usually sweaty and out of breathe while the kids are still zooming around the room like they just chugged a gallon of Kool-Aid.

[Myke]

A similar event is what got me started running - the year after I departed from good ol' BU, I was playing basketball with some co-workers. After 15 minutes I thought I would die. I reasoned that someone my age should be able to exercise for more than 15 minutes without dying. I further reasoned that someone my age should be able to run a marathon. It was a slippery slope.