Humble Pie

I’ve been an athlete most of my life. My sport is softball, and I started playing the game later than some – that came as a freshman in high school.  But with two older brothers, I always wanted to be where they were – outdoors and being active.  As a little girl I loved to play Three Flies Up in the neighborhood with the boys, which is where my love for the feel of a baseball mitt began.  Ah, to hear the ball smack into the web of the glove was heavenly.  Hand-eye sports were my specialty…endurance sports, not so much. So in high school I played volleyball, softball and basketball.  I quickly realized that basketball involved quite a bit of running, so after one season of running up and down the court huffing and puffing, I told people that basketball “wasn’t my thing.”

As an adult, I settled in with softball as my best form of therapy, and I’m grateful for the lessons the game has taught me.  I wasn’t half-bad at it, and it was a great way to keep fit, work off the stresses of life, and since I wanted to be the best I could be at it I made the commitment to better myself at my sport.  I also figured out that I couldn’t excel at this sport without the balance of recognizing the one who gave me my talents.  That pride thing can get the best of me, so wisdom told me I needed to always be plugged in to that source to keep my head level. 

That meant that every time I stepped onto the field or up to the plate I whispered a prayer asking God to help me to play to the best of my ability, but more importantly to glorify Him on the field.  Somehow I got better at the game, and although I will always struggle with pride I was able to keep my head level and I formed some amazing relationships with gals who remain my friends to this day.  I’ve been able to talk about my faith and where I get my strength from on and off the field.  So as Chico Escuelo once said….”<softball> has been bery bery good to me!”

When I was in my twenties and playing short-stop on a competitive B level women’s softball team, I remember watching a gal who was 40 playing softball and I said to myself “wow…I hope I can continue playing softball until I’m 40″.  Forty seemed so far away.  I had both of my kids, and bounced back stronger and worked harder, and my team went to Nationals.

Then when I turned 40 there was no way I was ready to give it up, so I restated my goal as “if I’m able, I want to keep playing softball until I’m 50″.  My nickname during those years was Hoover – my C division coach said it was because I sucked every ball up that came near me.  Ha.  Again, 50 seemed so far away.

When I turned 50 and transitioned to third base and started playing coed ball, it seemed so absurd to me that I would give up such a huge part of my life…something that I was still good at – something that, granted…validated me.  Like I said, pride always seems to seep in, and truth be told…softball also made me feel like I could pretend I was still young.  I could dismiss the aches and pains I felt, and fool myself into believing that I was still a contender on the field in our D rec division.  I could keep up with the young gals (for the most part) and surprised myself at how I could still stay in the game.

Life is all about lessons.  And about finding grace in the lesson.  Flash forward to a few years ago and the first time a ball (hit by a dude) whizzed by my head before my body even reacted.  Uh oh.  Reality check.  Maybe its time I move to first base.  Sigh.  Aging can sometimes catch you off guard as you realize you have to say goodbye to things you use to do and it’s all a part of the fun and exciting things I’m learning to process as I age. And it’s a form of grief.