CAPTION: We tend to exercise in shadow.
It's that time of year here when the weather makes it possible to keep trim and fit with outside activities. And that is a good excuse for me to pull another one of those Life in The Middle Lane stories out of the morgue and run it up the flagpole. Let's see if anyone salutes.
This is a story meant for men in their 40's and 50's. And by that I mean they are the ones who may benefit from the text. The rest of you will find yourself saying, "OOOH, do I know that guy." And you'll laugh, politely I hope. That's because there was a day when I was a card carrying member of:
Athlete’s Anonymous
Part 1
By Paul Reinertson
1982
There are few more pathetic among the millions of men facing mid-life changes than those who once called themselves athletes.
Here is the scenario. The kids are now beyond the little league age. The vicarious thrill of watching a game on TV is losing its luster. It’s a lot harder to get the guys together to talk about that catch in the back of the end zone in ’60. But what doesn’t go away? It’s that nagging thought, “I’ll bet I can still do it. I just need a few days to get in shape.”
This will not be an easy journalistic expose. For one, I must count myself among this pathetic lot. And there is a chance that when this gets out? People are going to be after me. But I look at it this way. I can die by the sword trying to convince my friends in the huddle the elastic left our jockstraps ages ago. Or I can die in a pickup game in an alley somewhere.
We are not easy to spot. The guy who gets up every morning at five am, puts on his Nike jogging suit and rhythmically jogs five miles with the dog? Not us!
I’m sure you’ve seen him, as you open the door to get the paper, just as the sun is coming up? The dog collapses on the front porch. The jogger, not a drop of sweat on him, longingly looks over his shoulder, wondering, “should I do one more mile.” He stretches his fatfree body and lightly beats his chest. He is clearly not one of us. We’re still in bed dreaming about that class of ’60 touchdown.
You know the guy out on the tennis court with graying temples, gracefully stroking the tennis ball? His serve isn’t blistering, but the top spin makes it non returnable. His shot choices are classy. The ball is always in play. He is pacing himself. Not us! Tennis has never been our game.
Out on the golf course the guy whose drives off the tee always land in the middle of the fairway? The one who lightly curses his fate when the ball is a few inches off his planned lie? Nope! Not us! He talks of that totally embarrassing moment three years ago when he had to three put? He does not match our profile.
You are up on the chairlift and look down on the trim middle aged skier carving these graceful turns commensurate with his age. He has a smile on his face, stopping frequently just to breathe in the crisp air, and admire the sylvan environs. He is the guy who stops by when you are lying on the snow spread eagle unable to right yourself.
“Can I help you?”
He is a very irritating guy, and we do not want him to hang out with us.
So who are we then? Well tune in tomorrow and get some graphic illustrations of the profile of a good candidate for Athlete’s Anonymous.
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