Goddamn it, I love softball.
I absolutely love this ridiculous game. It brings out all the worst qualities I love in myself. I'm very competitive, and I want to fight for every win, but I'm also a beginner player. I play to make the other team think I'm less.
I like to play catcher. I don't have a great arm or a lot of confidence, but I will put myself out there for my team. Catching pop flies is my favorite thing. Well, besides beating the infield. I play like a girl. I play like I'm pretty (which, if you weren't aware, I'm not), until I can run.
I ruined my knees in high school. Lacrosse and seven years of competitive riding did a lot more damage than I would have thought at the time. I can roll both femurs out of my hips at will. I can't run for long distances now, but I can run bases. It's my freedom now. I can barely make contact with the ball, but it's earned me new nicknames; gazelle, crazy legs. If the base coach says I can beat it, I will run like I can. Most of the time, I do.
Tonight I collided with a third baseman, and of course, rolled my leg. Awesome. Still, I saw him guarding the base. He wasn't going to stop me. I was going to fight it out.
I love the thrill. I love the accomplishment every time I feel I've improved. I love the sounds from the crowd every time I beat a play.
You throw, I'll run. Do you want to bet on the play?
What We Found in the Divorce: Part V — Time
3 years ago