OiRuby’s Weblog

I felt that my humbling softball experience last night, was a sign to get back in shape. I began by pumping up my physio ball, a workout in itself. I now understand why parents have the faraway look of all joy in life being sucked out of them when they are left with the task of blowing up water wings.

Then I proceeded to do the Ab-Focus DVD. The entire DVD is a complete smoke and mirrors productions hiding what is basically an hour of sit-ups and crunches. The catch is they have you perched in bizarre positions trying to balance the stoopid ball so that you don’t realize that you are doing crunches. Even though I was smart enough to see through their sneaky tactics, the DVD still prevailed. I am literally sore to the core. I predict that breathing will become increasingly difficult in the next few hours.

For the last two years a good friend of mine has been asking me to sub for her softball team, and each time I’ve had prior commitments that have let me gracefully avoid getting trapped in the storage closet trying to locate and dig out the old mit, so I could once again round bases. But with a season of kickball under my belt, I was finally willing to offer myself on the sub alter of recreational softball last night when she called in need of a spare player so they wouldn’t have to forfeit their first game of the season.

Now, I was a actually pretty good softball player throughout my childhood and teen years. In fact I spent several years on the all-star roster of the Canyon View Little League as the first-string catcher. I was short, but also quick, tough and highly skilled at psyching out the batters. Put me in full catcher gear and just try to get past me, just try. But now, too many years later to count…I’m still short and chatty–but not so quick and tough.

I hope these girls didn’t think they were getting a ringer, I just spent the entire game trying to avoid utter humilation. At my first at bat, I quickly found that a slowpitch looks nothing like a fastpitch–and that the strike zone is a mysterious black pad behind the plate–huh? I even have to admit to clawing after a passed ball like a crab who had never used it’s claw before…a few times. But the ultimate humbling moment of the night was simply returning the ball to the pitcher–me, a girl who could once make a line-drive throw to 2nd base from a squat at home plate–let the ball bounce in front of the pitcher….repeatedly. I guess my glory days of softball are in the past and kickball is more my speed…but I am forseeing a batting cage field trip in search of a little redemption soon…