August 1, 2020

 

Our second month begins today.  No, we have not been here for two months, even though it feels that long.  This begins the second month as we came here in July.  I am fudging the numbers because it seems cooler to do so.  Hard to believe that almost three weeks have gone by.  I really miss my wife, my two great dogs, and everything else I have back in Tucson.  Things could be worse, but when you miss what it yours, it makes it a bit harder to face each day.  I must reiterate once again, I could never survive prison.

 

A couple of times, I almost checked the box on the NBA Health App that would put a mental health professional in touch with me.  I often struggle with leaving my wife alone at home while I travel doing what I do.  It wasn’t as bad when the children lived at home because she always had things to do, people to talk to, a more normal life.  But now sometimes I feel like I have abandoned her, and abandoned her during a pandemic.  It’s not like she can go out a see people and hang out prior to COVID.  Now, her options are quite limited and that scenario tugs at me every so often.  She tells me on the phone she didn’t sign up for this, and I realize, I hope, that it is only frustration.  The good news is Clay will be coming home this weekend so he can help with breaking the monotony.

 

It’s a Saturday, so I am not hitting the gym.  I take weekends off.  Don’t ask me why, I just do.  But no sooner was I getting ready to flip on the television and find out about the approaching tropical storm Isaias that I got a group text that we were playing whiffle ball now at Pandemic Park.  This was welcome news because I would rather do something outside than sit inside watching the boob tube.  And, I was not working again today so my schedule was wide open.

 

Seven of us showed up to play and that is never good.  You gotta have an even number so we just tossed the various balls around, took some batting practice, just killed some time hoping someone else would show up.  I noticed a woman watching us from a distance.  She wasn’t just watching, I could tell she wanted to play but she was not able to muster up the courage to ask.  She was dressed in running shorts and a tank top, decent running shoes, she looked athletic.  I yelled across the grass if she wanted to join us.  She sprinted over excited at the opportunity of getting some exercise.

 

She introduced herself as Sabrina and she had just gotten out of quarantine this morning.  Like we were during or first day of freedom, Sabrina glowed with that same exuberance.  She said, “I’ve been jonesing for a softball game all week.”  But whiffle ball will do.  There was no other choice.  We asked what her role in the bubble was and were told she was a chiropractor.  She was a last minute add to the bubble as NBA representatives realized that, although each team was equipped with its own trainer, there was a need for a chiropractor oftentimes, yet there were none.  They recruited her to come into our special environment and become one of us.  The customary seven day of isolation was required and today she is free.

 

We played a seven inning game sweating profusely throughout.  When the sun got blocked by the clouds, the temperature was bearable.  But when the sun shone directly upon us it was brutal.  Sabrina was a pretty decent addition to our activity as she made several impressive bare handed catches along with hitting a triple and a few singles. She couldn’t thank us enough for allowing her to participate in our little game and we let her know she was always welcome.  The more the merrier is what we thought.

 

That evening my thighs were on fire.  I had always taken pride in being in decent shape but those little sprints to first base during the ball game were not kind to my quads.  They felt like they were packed with lactic acid and sore as hell.  But, like any symptom after athletic activity it was a good soreness.  I have now classified whiffle ball as an athletic activity.  Please don’t tell anyone.  Now I am wishing Sabrina was a massage therapist and not a chiropractor.  None of the guys I played with were willing to rub down my thighs.  I couldn’t understand why! I milked that joke as long as I possibly could, asked everyone I knew if they would massage my thighs. Some jokes never get old.  This one did.