37 Years Young

Yesterday I officially became one year older.

I've finally reached the point where birthdays aren't a big deal anymore. We usually celebrate the occasion as a family (this year, we've gone to San Antonio to be with my wife's family) which usually means a big meal at the restaurant of my choice (tonight it was "Bobby J's" in Helotes, TX). I've definitely gotten to the place where I don't anticipate getting any older. As birthdays go, after passing the age threshholds of 30 and 35, the age of 37 is just another number. 40 still lies ahead.

I now understand what octegenarians have told me about how the body ages and the mind somehow stays the same. I still think like I did in my twenties. However, after returning to the softball diamond only a few weeks ago - after a 15-year hiatus - I have been repeatedly reminded of just how old I am. In four separate weeks on the diamond, I somehow found a way to pull or strain a different muscle. The latest injury was a pretty nasty hamstring pull that occurred while advancing from 1st to 3rd base. I'm still getting over that one.

Actually I've noticed that professional athletes that are my age are talking of retiring or have already done so. I'm sure these athletes have faced nagging injuries for years and now the affects of age make them more difficult to overcome. There are exceptions, to be sure. For instance, I watched Roger Clemens, the 43 year-old phenom, do it again just today. Somehow the living baseball legend managed to win another crucial game like so many others throughout his career. However, just across the field, Larry Walker, the 1997 MVP of Major League Baseball, continued his struggle through a season-long neck injury. He's 38 years-old and talking about retirement. Suddenly 38 doesn't look as old as it used to. As I recall, Roger Staubach was 38 years old when he hung up his cleats. So was Joe Montana. Michael Jordan was 35. I guess I'm in pretty good company.

I suppose it would be possible to play softball if I could remember to act my age during the course of a game. Like I mentioned before, the brain still thinks like it did in the old days. The body, on the other hand, seldom responds in kind. For instance, in the last game, the following scenarios presented themselves:

1. A hard ground ball is hit in my direction while playing first base.
"Slide to the right to get that ground ball!" I start moving, but the feet don't move like I want them to. I end up tripping and falling; allowing the ball to pass through the infield and somehow scraping my knee and elbow in the process. "How did you do that?" my daughter asks. I don't bother to explain.

2. I swing at the first pitch and hit the ball on the ground in the infield.
" Run it out!!!" I take off and feel that familiar sharp pain in the back of one or both of my legs.

3. I catch a deep fly ball. The runner at 3rd base is tagging up and running home.
"Come up firing and nail him at the plate." I take the steps and rear back. Suddenly I hear a faint voice in my head that says "Joel, this is going to hurt - BAD!" I let it go and it feels as if my hand is still holding on the ball and they are flying together toward the plate.

There were days when faced with such situations that my body could effectively respond to those mental impulses and was able to do the things I wanted to do. But, those days are no longer today. If I were a pro athlete, I would be contemplating giving it up, if I hadn't already. Pro athletes play for money. If they get hurt, they still get paid. I play for fun, or at least I'm supposed to. If I get hurt, playing is no longer fun.

Such are the considerations of guys my age. I'm 37, as of 7:14 PM yesterday.