Saturday, May 10, 2008
Now Entering Court A . . .
My dear father-in-law, Ken, had a simple question for me a week ago . . . How would you like to play racquetball with me next weekend? He might as well have asked how I would like to pick which of my toes would be cut off, dipped in sugar and then fed to me. "Sounds like FUN," I exclaimed . . . worried.
Here is what I knew about racquetball before this morning. Two people. Little ball. Four big, tall walls (one of which is almost always glass so those walking by can stop, gawk, laugh and mock). Rackets. SWEAT. Then Jeff Bridges completely naked in "The Door in the Floor".
I decided that my limited knowledge COMBINED with the fact that I trust Dad and I know he's trying to get in shape and that he's a great guy who seems to be competitive enough to have fun but not enough that he would force me to a premature heart attack.
I made us a reservation for a court. Laughed when the guy told me we would have the court for an hour (I wanted to ask him what the other 55 minutes was for) and made plans to meet Dad at the YMCA on Saturday for some sports followed by lunch. I drove to the Y mainly just focusing on lunch.
But something weird happened. I LOVED it. I mean really, really enjoyed it. Even the sweating and the racing heart and the struggle for breath (we played for 30 minutes, for the record). About three minutes in to the play I figured this was something I would happily make part of my excercise routine.
We're going to play again this coming weekend - hoping to last 35 minutes and then we are going to lunch again.
A little physical activity, time with my father-in-law and some yummy grub after?! Nearly perfect.
Thanks for asking for playing a part in getting me moving, Dad.