I’ve received a few comments from followers (yeah, that one guy) who think I’ve grown so dark lately that the light-hearted spirit that inspired me to write my book is long gone. Well, let’s put that to the test.
True, it’s been a rough year and a half. So I’ve decided to sit down, without subject matter, without an idea in my head or notes of any kind, and see if I can remember how to be humorous. Here goes.
In no particular order…
Okay, it’s been 32 minutes since I typed the words, “In no particular order…” so I might be in trouble here.
This past Monday I took 5 year old grandson Milo to the Trampoline Park. It was late in the day so there were hardly any other people there. As a matter of fact, within a few minutes we were the only ones there. Milo seemed bored jumping on his own so Pop asked if he wanted company. Wait, I said what? WHAT? Before I could take it back, he stopped jumping, grabbed me by the hand and began walking me back to the front counter where I could pay, remove my shoes, and get my special jumping socks. I’m not saying the actual words but inside, “dumbass” is repeating over and over again inside my head.
Six minutes later I’m walking onto a trampoline for the first time in, oh, 35 years, easily. Okay, I’m 57, still overweight, but somehow I still consider myself to be in fairly decent shape (as compared to what, a walrus?) Hey, I’m the only one of my friends still playing pickup basketball (more on that later).
So I start out slowly. A few low impact jumps. Going okay, both ankles still intact. What I immediately recognize is that trampolines today are somehow super spring loaded, and the heavier you are, surprise, the farther up you seem to go. Now, I’m about 16 inches off the surface, in midair, mumbling to myself, “This is not going to end well”. I realize the next feeling that arises…I’m going to throw up. My stomach, it seems, hasn’t experienced this type of movement since The Scrambler in 1996. The ravioli I had for lunch is not helping me. It’s creeping slowly upwards, now at about my throat.
I stop for a moment and talk myself down from vomiting (you remember what that was like at 18, trying to convince yourself you WILL NOT upchuck). Somehow it works and I follow Milo over to, “The Surfboard”. I swear this contraption was designed by one of the old nuns at St. Donatos. It is, what appears to be an actual surfboard, connect by 12 bungee cords, three at each corner, suspended over a sea of foam squares. The point is to somehow climb atop it and stand on it, sort of like, surfing, without trying to fall off. All the while its like Michael J Fox is holding one end of it and Muhammad Ali holding the other end). Sorry, too soon?
Now Milo was unable to even stand up on the board. Pop, on the other hand, made it onto the board and stood fully erect…for 1.5 seconds, before tumbling down into the well of foam blocks. Take that young whipper snappers! I was feeling pretty damn full of myself…until I tried to make my way out of the foam pit. I would describe it as watching a newly born giraffe trying to stand on a marble floor covered with cooking oil. At that moment the lack of other customers brought great comfort to me. Any video footage at that moment would have gone viral.
Milo was already off to the next jumping area. It took me about 7 minutes to maneuver the three feet out of the foam pit, feet first mind you. Climbing onto a solid surface I experienced only what I can imagine the astronauts felt when they stepped onto dry land after coming back from 5 days in space. But I had little time to celebrate. Before I knew it I was jumping up and down again, hearing the noise in my knees clearer that that of the music playing over the loud speaker. Two minutes later I lied to Milo about the amount of time we had remaining and off we went, headed for home. He asked for ice cream as we left and I tried hard not to stare at it as we drove off.
So, that’s off the bucket list. Right behind bungee jumping. Which is sort of what I was doing anyway, so, that counts. Counts for skydiving too I think. And cliff diving too, so the trip to Mexico, that’s off.
Two hours later I was playing full court basketball and my knees literally spoke words to me…”What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I heard it, clearly. First the left knee. Then the right, “You better block off 30 days next month for the surgery and the physical therapy”. Needless to say, it is Thursday and my daily 2-1/2 mile walk has yet to happen this week. Should I mention that at basketball I still had on my trampoline socks. Somehow I convinced myself they would actually make me jump a bit higher at basketball. So, it’s not just the body going but the mind as well. Well, no sense my body leaving on its own.
No, I wasn’t trying to prove anything. Wait, was I? None of us likes getting older. For the most part I am okay with it. Every time I see a 16 year old walking around with their face in their phone I am so glad I don’t have to go through that again. But the physical part of growing older is a drag. Like having to stretch for 15 minutes to exercise for 12 minutes. The fact that, “Ice and heat” are you two best friends. Ice, heat…ice, heat…
The worst part is knowing that one day, when you walk off of the basketball court, it could be the last time you ever step onto the court. Sure, I’ll always have golf. And walking. And…well, that’s about it, really.
When Milo is 10, I’ll be 62. So as he grows bigger and stronger, I’ll be shrinking and getting weaker. Seems like an uphill battle.
Trapped in a Happy Life 