SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Praying For Patience

So, I was in a bit of a foul mood yesterday. I won't get into the why or what of it, just that I had a little word with God before I went to gym asking him to help me when I start to feel frustrated and want to misbehave like I'm prone to do on most days when I visit the YMCA.

As usual, I prepare at home by combining Naproxin and Ibuprophin and be sure to eat to avoid nausea. I have a little caffeine, sometimes an energy drink. Though, that's not always effective.

I've sat in front of the computer or tv all morning and let the drugs help with the stiffness before I stretch. I had four hours of sleep, about one less than I usually get and about three less than I normally need to help my body recover (from what I do not know, but must be getting old ... I'm in denial about that). I dress in my tank top and shorts and pull on a t-shirt and sweats so I'll be ready to go when I walk into the building. Like I'm ever ready. But I will play without warming up if the chance presents itself.

I gather together a gym bag, realizing I forgot to grab a Powerade from the basement fridge as I'm walking out, but certain that I have one still in my bag from the last day at the Y (which I would later not find until after our games were done ... forced to drink water!) and pile into the truck.

Was that a run on sentence? What's my hurry?

This is what it's like each day preparing for my punishment. Some days, I don't want to go and wait and wait and wait until finally I have to scramble and get everything together before remembering some stuff I forgot or will have to do later before I fire up the truck. I put on loud music, preferrably Razor 94.7 which plays the hardest rock. I'm lucky if I find a tune I like to motivate me. I usually find a commercial break (if I'm really running later, because it's no longer drive time) and have to tune into some oldies station and find ELO or EW&F, if I'm lucky. I might get a tired old Fleetwood Mac hit but never tire of the Bee Gees. Thankfully, I still have Sirius radio until April and crank "Warrior's Call" by Volbeat and pound the steering wheel as I drive. No not really. I don't remember any good songs coming on. But I sometimes get a good song to fire me up, as I drown out the lyrics with my horrible rendition.

Then, after weaving through construction and cutting a few people off before getting to the exit, I arrive at the gym.

Today, I sit and pull off my new winter boots and fleece-lined jacket. Pull off my tee and sweats and sit on the bench at the back of the gym and proceed with the ritual of preparation. I put on the smelly high tops I wore ouside all summer with their mud stains. My wife won't let me bring them in the house because they smell like 'cat pee'. Google what causes your feet to make smells like that and learn more about me and my diet.

I fish around in my bag for my patellar straps. You think I would put them in a zipper compartment, so they're easier to find. But, I've gotten into the habit of dumping everything in and go though the hand towels, back up sneakers, bandanas, half-drunk sport drink bottles, mp3 player with headphones, goggles and more to locate what I need inside the black cavern. The bag has a hidden compartment from a side pocket that goes all the way under the bag. The zipper had broken and the compartment was pulled out and twisted and apparently hiding my last powerade. I still don't find that for another two hours. That's how much torture I was in for.

Right in these moments of preparation, I was thinking I wished I had kept paper and pen in here too, because I could write about my odd preparations. I pull on my patellar straps and proceed to fold a bandana in half and then roll it into a flat cigar shape to wrap around my forehead and tie in back. I pull out my googles, stained with drips of the last struggle's sweat and wipe that off with my tank. I finish by wrapping my head with the headphones attached to my mp3 and proceed to find songs that suit my current mood: Somber. I fire up and then I cool down with some Patty Loveless.

Yeah, I'm stretching...a little. Bend over and touch my toes with ease, mostly because of my long torso to short legs ratio that makes it easy. Not that I'm really that limber because I could grunt with every effort to bend at the waist. I forgot my good ball today  --  the old ball. Since I have a new one that sounds like a giant racquetball when I pound it into the harder portions of the gym floor, I don't get the full appreciation of handling a good basketball. It's smaller than the regulation size it says it's supposed to be, so I can palm it and it's a little sticky making it harder to release cleanly when I shoot. But, I'm not going to complain, though I'm clearly frustrated and not getting into my usual groove. So I stop.

"Thank you God for this opportunity to play. That I might be here and just have the ability to do this," I remind myself. Sometimes I whisper the words soft so no one could hear, but usually say it mentally in my head.  I have these brief moments with my maker quite frequently (at the gym), though I sometimes get out of the habit. I need to remind myself that it is a privilege (even though with the family plan it nearly costs $60 a month) and I must honor Him before putting myself before all others. I was going to be patient today and I was going to mind my behavior. Little did I know how much he was going to test me.

More later...