Saturday, June 21, 2008

The day isn't complete, but this seems like a good time to sit and write a bit. Still being way behind on sleep, an active day may not have been in the cards, but it sure has turned out that way.

After I woke (or rather, after I was awakened by a too-brief call from lovely Ann Marie, then got up and fed the cats, then thought of going back to sleep, then decided against it), I was taken with the idea of biking over to the ARC and trying out its various workout facilities. The last time I went to the gym (back in 2002, which was also when I first took up running) was one of my all-time peaks in looking and feeling fit and strong. I'd had an earlier peak with a couple different home gyms, but in recent years, in my little no-space-wasted domicile, I've had to rely on little dumbbells, which haven't produced the same motivation or effects.

So, on the bike for 3 miles and then in to explore the ARC. I spent about an hour moving between the various workout machines and a few free weights, and at first it was kind of like the feeling I've had in pottery class--feeling very pathetic but better off for it. But as I went along, I felt a sense of that old, good struggle and satisfaction creeping in. For the most part, I was doing a bit more weight and reps than I expected, and it was nice to be worked so thoroughly.

After the weights, I ran for about half a mile on their little track. A 1/6-mile loop gets pretty repetitive pretty quickly, but it was a good break. From the track, you can see down into the pool area; I saw a few young parents with their babies moving gently through the wading area, and my heart melted a bit with the idea of being a parent, and thoughts of who I'd like to do that with.

Then, on a whim, I went over to the basketball courts. It's literally been years since I've even held a basketball; in fact, I don't even remember when it was (maybe Tris would remember?). Maybe it was just getting sucked in to the NBA playoffs & finals this last month or so (which culminated in watching the final game on a tiny TV with terrible reception in Ohio, with AM and Margaret gleefully mocking it--and, I grudgingly admit, deservedly so--and me trying to follow the action through the snow), but I just felt like doing a bit of shooting.

At first, rust was everywhere--I kept misjudging distance and threw up a lot of swish attempts that turned into air balls. But then I settled down a bit, breathed, focused, and things started clicking. Now, I doubt my attempts at prowess turned any heads there (except for the occasional glance at me running down a random missed shot in all directions), but after a little while I was feeling happy, engaged, and good. I found my memories and movements from years ago--playing around with Tris on the courts at New Haven North Elementary, even being back in 6th grade and forming a deadly duo with a classmate at summer enrichment; he was the inside threat and I the crack outside shooter--soaking back in, like a sealed-up door to part of myself that was being pried open, and a little piece of my neglected potential flowed out. I even discovered new things, like a wholly unintended little last-second delay move happening when I went up close to shoot layups--like I was faking out invisible blockers without even intending to. (Not that I made all of those layups, of course, but it was amusing to find myself somehow doing a little juke move unconsciously!)

After about an hour of that, a couple guys approached me about joining an impromptu game they were trying to get going. Four on four--teamed with me were a large, thick black fellow; a smaller but super-buff black fellow, who I'd seen earlier working out in the weights area with his girlfriend; and a skinny little 13-year-old white kid, all sandy hair and freckles and no fear at all.

From no ball at all for years to a pickup game my first time back on the court--Ann Marie would laugh knowingly at this, and in fact she and Margaret and I were talking about this very topic the other night--I can sit back in my cave and think through everything I want to, but nothing makes things happen like just being out there in it.

(A note to the gentle reader: I don't intend for such observations to seem like new discoveries, or lectures to you. You know it. Everyone knows it. But for all my supposed smarts, I'm slow and thick-headed with it comes to some pretty fundamental lessons. AM could give you hours of examples, but it would be bad for her blood pressure to do so.)

It was a lot of fun. I was average; I made a few great shots and a few great, quick steals, I defended well overall and got a few rebounds, and I also missed some real clunker shots, had a couple passes stolen, and got burned a few times by the other team with fake passes and letting down my guard. But it was simply nice to be in that moment and responding to it.

I'm uncomfortable when moments like that come up; at first I felt like resisting the offer of joining a game. I'm uncomfortable at the potter's wheel. I feel strange and awkward when around a group of strangers. I'm hesitant and uncertain and under-confident in my worth.

But it always feels good when I beat that and slip out of its grasp. When I strike up a brief conversation with the guy at the ARC's bike rack who had a really neat looking recumbent bike, and he tells me how he realized there's a defect with the bike that had convinced him that the wheels not lining up was normal, and he compensated for that for a few hundred miles. Little things. I have no idea how they add up, or to what, or if they even do at all. But they make me feel like I'm actually alive and not just thinking about being alive. They make me want to go back and be with the people I love and share things with them. It's a nice feeling--being exposed to that randomness of the world around me is both stimulating and makes me want to share and deepen my connection with those important people in my life.

It makes me feel like I'm waking up after a long sleep. I just have to keep waking.

After that, it was off to the dog park with the two big, black goony dogs I'm looking after. They're such great, sweet dogs, which is a measure of how great and thoughtful their owners are. And that allows the dogs to run and play and be happy without stress on me or them. Somehow, these little outings I'm currently taking with these two have made me feel more like owning a dog than I have in ages. They're wonderful creatures, and they do have a way of making you feel better, and feel like a better person than you are. Nothing against my two surly cats, but it's just another good, engaged feeling.

And more small moments. While I was walking along the dirt & grass trail with them, a butterfly (which I haven't yet identified, but will update this when I do) landed on my wrist and, to my amazement, seemed to be drinking the sweat off my arm. It sat there quite calmly and unmoving as I walked along, its wings beating very gently every now and then, dragging its long proboscis back and forth across my skin, like a paintbrush or mop. It seemed to be quite enjoying itself for a few minutes (or so it seemed to my thoroughly-amateur-lepidopterist eye) before finally winging off. It was a strange and lovely moment, and I felt grateful for it.