In May, a classmate said “hey, you wanna play kickball?” I said “Sure! Sounds like fun!” Oh fuck me running. It was a nightmare of heat and pain that first month. I am woefully fat and out of shape. 200 something pounds of person should not go from couch to running laps and hopping over little cones (I totally have a 2-inch vertical). This team (part of the AWKA), was what is known as a “good team”. Meaning, they know how to play (real rules, not playground big bouncy ball rules), they are moderately fit (seriously, the girl who got me involved looks like a fucking gazelle when she runs), and are in it to win. I…was a boat anchor. Oh I tried my hardest in those sweltering 105 degree days. I eventually got faster, I could make it a whole lap and a half around the playing field (or a full down and back across the grassy, dog shit mined grassy field) without having to break into a walk. I was not afraid of the ball, I could kick a little better (bunting. bunting rocks), and sprinting from home to first made them wonder where I had been hiding all of that hustle. But when it really came down to it, I was not at their level. No worries, though. The coach helped me find a team at the more beginner level.

This team had a couple of somewhat experienced players, some former soccer players, some former/current softball players. This was more my speed. I was still catching balls, still hustling, still bunting. We lost our first 3 games. The first two should have had the mercy rule invoked. 17-1, 18-5. On hot, still, nasty days. But we quickly learned. Because the 3rd game came along. We still lost but it was 4-1. We’d figured out how to hold ’em. Then, one day it all clicked. We all started kicking better, hustling muuuuch more, and catching pop flys. 4th game? We won. A shut out. 6-0. Then this past week, against a team we’d already played (who beat us), we won again: 8-4. The transformation is amazing.

Now that I’ve said all that, and beat my own chest about, let me get to the real reason for this post: injuries. If you go to an adult (not li’l miss) kickball game, you will see a common theme: braces. Not for your teeth, but for the knees. Knee braces, ankle wraps, fingers taped, full compression arm wraps. Yeah. We’re older and broken. My house smelled of BenGay for the first couple of months. After every practice it was shower, apply ice, then BenGay or Icy Hot before bed. I jammed my middle finger of my left hand so many times now (as recently as last night, actually!) that I have just come to accept that I will never be able to wear my ring ever again. My ankles (never at the same time) decide to just become “loose” and give no support. My knee will just tweak itself. I don’t even have to turn odd. Just “creak” and I’m in a brace that night. I’ve been smacked in the tits so many times now, that I almost don’t even notice. If I don’t kick properly I hit my shins repeatedly (shin guards!) leading to bruises. If I don’t stretch my shins (don’t ask) they burn. All during practice/the game, that night, that next day or just until it decides to stop. It. Fucking. Hurts. I pulled my quad. Well, pull isn’t quite right. I took off for first base and felt a “snap”. Then came the pain. You will learn to stretch properly (I obviously haven’t). I’ve also been hit by base runners (arm bruised) and smacked in the face by the ball (sore spot on my nose for a couple of weeks).

I’m a bundle full of pain and hurty, but it’s the best exercise I’ve had in a long while.

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