Yesterday my son called me before basketball practice. “I don’t think I can make it,” he moaned. “Everything hurts! I can’t even move my legs!”  Basketball season has just started and the coach has been working the guys hard. Drills. Suicides (he’s described them to me, but I can’t remember exactly what they are now — except for that they’re tedious and painful). And running up and down bleachers. Sim has come home for the past few nights groaning like an old man who has fallen with his walker and using two hands to lift his legs onto the couch where he remains until he’s finally able to drag himself up the stairs to bed.  But yesterday he’d had enough. “I can’t make it through practice if I can’t move!” he said.
“Well son,” I replied in my wise mother voice, “if you want to be a starter you gotta show up. Work through it.”  And so he did. When he dragged home last night I had dinner ready (meatloaf, smothered potatoes and broccoli — yes I earned Mommy points!) and a bottle of Gatorade. He ate dinner followed by a couple of Krispy Kreme donuts and was in bed before nine. End of story. Sort of…

This morning my alarm rang at 4:45 a.m. as it always does. I hit snooze, which I also frequently do. Then I hit it again. Then I sat up. Then I put on my walking clothes. Then I lay back down. My shoulders hurt. My neck felt like I had slept on it wrong. My eyes felt blurry. I could be premenstrual. I read a magazine. I decided my body was telling me to take it easy. This was a good day to just stay in bed until I felt better. As I was making a cup of tea to curl up with in my favorite curling up spot I suddenly had a flashback — to the day before. “You gotta show up,” I told my son. If you want something you have to work through it. Oh crap. Another opportunity to practice what I preach. Because I do want something. I want to be strong and healthy. I want to have fun on my first “race” (A 5k bridge run this weekend) in years. I want to be able to enjoy myself for years to come. So — I’ve got my sneakers  right next to my chair. When I drop the boys off at school, I’ll drive to one of my favorite courses, zip up my jacket, and put in a few miles. What I do is so much louder than what I say.

The artwork is “Ball four” from Art.com — great image. Wish I had done it!