As the years click by, even if I don’t psychologically feel older, my body takes great pleasure in reminding me of my age every now and then. Take last week, for example. Natasha had dubbed 2005 the year of “less talk, more action,” so in keeping with that mantra, she finally started the bowling league she’s been talking about for the past year and a half. She said we all need to get more involved in team sports this year.

I’ve got to admit – I never really considered bowling to be much of a physical sport. Any sport where you can wear jeans and someone else’s shoes, chain smoke, and drink pitchers of beer just never seemed like what I might call strenuous exercise.

But let me quote my body on that subject: “HA!”

After only two games of bowling, I woke up unable to clench my fist, walking with a severe limp, and nearly crippled by lower back pain. Now, a week later, I still find it painful to type these words. It’s quite possible I’ve done permanent nerve damage, and I didn’t even break 100. The problem, however, is that now that we’re in a league, I can’t quit and let my teammates down. We just placed our orders for shirts with our names embroidered on them. Team Cobra Kai needs me!

I’m not exactly sure why we decided on that name, but it might be because I kept yelling “Sweep the leg, Johnny!” whenever the people next to us would get up to bowl. I like my bowling like I like my table tennis: full contact. Some would say that’s unsportsmanlike, but I say, if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. You know, because it’s hot in a kitchen. So if you’re sensitive to heat, you’d probably be more comfortable in the living room, or maybe in the den. Would you like me to get you some iced tea?

Anyway.

Some co-workers of mine asked me if I wanted to join them in the “Hustle up the Hancock” event this past Saturday. For the non-Chicagoans, that’s a charity event where you actually pay money to walk up ninety-four flights of stairs to the top of the Hancock Building, but you get free breakfast and a t-shirt if you finish.

I told them that I would love to, had I not already planned on my own charitable event for Saturday – “Hustle up the L stop” – where I walk up one flight of stairs, get on a train, and go to Belmont Avenue to have breakfast and buy t-shirts with Natasha.

When did my body start to give out on me like this? I can’t really mark the exact point in time. I wasn’t always this way. When I was nine, I had the best arm on the softball team. At least I think that’s why they always put me out in left field. And I was on Junior Varsity basketball in middle school, too. Sure, I had to share a jersey with a girl who had scoliosis, but it was all for the greater good of the team. At least I got to wear the jersey during the first half of the game. (That might actually be funny if it weren’t true.)

So I guess somewhere between the ages of 13 and 33, I neglected my inner athlete, which led me to my current squishy state. But I’ve got to admit, getting older does have its perks. Yes, my body may be falling apart. It’s possible that the sound of my hip cracking actually made my cats jump the other night. And I may have to have an 8-lb bowling ball specially drilled out for my huge arthritic knuckles. But one of the most rewarding things about getting older is that no matter how many gutter balls I make, or how low my score may be, I now make enough money to never, ever have to share a jersey again.

Filed under: On Aging on March 2nd, 2005