Oh. Em. Gee.
I went on a field trip today. To the Chicago Bulls and White Sox Training Academy. With a bunch of kids in the absolute prime of their athletic lives.
Field trips are supposed to be educational. And I learned something all right. That I’m getting older. And out of shape. And will never be a professional athlete.
The truth hurts. But not as much as my burning thighs. Or the bloody lump on my knee. Or my current level of self-confidence.
I will spend my evening icing my knee. And soaking my sore arce in epsom salts. In a bathtub that my sore arce doesn’t even fit in.
I wasn’t even planning on participating in the activities. I was just trying to get a few steps in. But when the twenty-six-year-old heart throb almost young enough to be my own son asked if I wanted to join him, I said yes.
I was flattered that Gregg thought enough to ask me to accompany him in this suicide mission. And that one team was short a member. And that I was the only other human in the room.
He must have not seen the giant ring on my finger that screams I’m taken. Or the subtle wrinkles around my eyes that scream I’m nearly forty. Or my bulging midsection that screams I can’t do this type of activity. Gregg must have vision issues.
The first activity began with a Bear Crawl. Which is not nearly as fun as a Bear Claw.
And ended with me on the ground. Lying in a pool of shame. And sweat. Way too much sweat for that amount of exertion.
They say when you’re down there’s no place to go but up. They are mistaken. Things just got worse from there on out. And now I can’t use the stairs.
My legs are like jello. From the insane obstacle course I engaged in next. Turns out I make a better teacher than a wheelbarrow. Way better.
All I know for sure is that I taught these students a valuable lesson today. One that can’t be taught in the classroom. Stay freaking young.
***I would like to thank my co-workers for taking videos of me instead of participating. K, V, and Fudge. Couldn’t do this without you.