If you ran up to my cube this morning and yelled “OMG – the building is on fire! Run!” I would say “dude, can you carry me? I played softball last night.” (By this point, you would be distracted, wondering why I have a microphone in my cube, and we would probably both die from smoke inhalation.)

I don’t normally play softball because if you surveyed 100 limping or broken-ankled men about how they were injured, the number two answer would be “sliding in to second base in a softball game,” which wouldn’t even fit on the board, so it would look more like “slide second/softball.” (By the way – the number one answer, which no one guessed, would be “step off edge driveway.”)

But, Carrie’s co-workers have a team, and they needed some fill-ins, so I thought “what the heck, it’s only an hour long game. What could go wrong?” That is usually a phrase that comes just before major back surgery or funerals, but actually nothing went “wrong,” per se. I played catcher, which means I squatted, bent-kneed, behind home plate for the better part of an hour. I learned later that in this league, the catcher is not really supposed to “catch” the ball, but instead they are supposed to let it drop on a strip of green indoor-outdoor carpet that looked as if it had seen more than its share of golf club heads. But, I caught the balls, and the umpire was OK with that.

Also, we were up to bat a lot (the score was 11-10, so 21 runs in an hour – which is a ton I think) and I hit a lot, which means I ran around the bases a lot. Also, we had a girl that could not run, so I ran for her too. And, I wasn’t satisfied with singles, so I took second base a couple of times when I probably should not have, further stressing my knees (from the jarring and running and general not sitting on the couch). Combine this with the time I slid through the gravel on my knees (also at second base – I spent the rest of the game picking gravel out of the blood flowing down my shin) and you have a good idea of why I am unable to move this morning.

I had a friend about ten years ago that worked at a John Elway automobile dealership. He told us once that ever Monday morning John would pull up to his “#7” parking spot, and then spend the next fifteen minutes trying to drag his sore and tired ass out of the car. First the left leg – slowly – then the right leg – ugh, that hurts. Not that I am comparing playing softball to getting beat on by gigantic men in full pads whose sole purpose is to destroy my mental and physical being, but that’s sort of how I feel today.

I thought, after doing a week of yoga on Wii fit, that I was in better shape than this. The Wii kept saying “Great job, you have Great balance,” in its sexy voice, so I guess I started believing it.” I should be able to run around like a kid for an hour and still be OK, right? I mean, I’m only 36 31. Sigh.

Still, even though I am sore, nothing is broken, so I think that is positive. And, good news, last night my neighbor asked me if I wanted to play in a neighborhood league starting in August. It’s only $50, so I think I am in. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

Have a great Friday.