Sunday, August 20, 2006
We Are the Whirled
My whole body is so sore and stiff I don't know if I'll be able to bend it to get into bed. Although I can't say it with complete certainty, I'm fairly certain my condition has something to do with the rather contentious game of whirlyball I was involved in yesterday. For those of you who don't know, whirlyball basically involves traveling around a court in a bumper car and trying to throw a wiffle ball through a hoop with a long plastic scoop. When the players are inexperienced or drunk (or both), however, it essentially boils down to repeatedly slamming into each other's cars at high speed. So yesterday I got hit more times than a parked car on Billy Joel's street and ended up with a huge purple bruise on my left thigh that slightly resembles Jimmy Carter. It was all worth it, though, for our final score of zero to zero.
I took a long hot bath tonight to try to alleviate some of the suffering, but I'm still walking like Michael Jackson in Thriller (although without the jaunty jacket) and taking more painkillers than season-three-of-Friends scary-thin Matthew Perry. I tried to go downstairs earlier and I had to give up halfway down. Then getting back up hurt even worse, to the point that I thought I might have to set up a base camp somewhere in the middle. Now I'm back and I've somehow managed to sit, but I think I may have to sleep here tonight. I guess it's the price you pay to be a world class athlete.
My whole body is so sore and stiff I don't know if I'll be able to bend it to get into bed. Although I can't say it with complete certainty, I'm fairly certain my condition has something to do with the rather contentious game of whirlyball I was involved in yesterday. For those of you who don't know, whirlyball basically involves traveling around a court in a bumper car and trying to throw a wiffle ball through a hoop with a long plastic scoop. When the players are inexperienced or drunk (or both), however, it essentially boils down to repeatedly slamming into each other's cars at high speed. So yesterday I got hit more times than a parked car on Billy Joel's street and ended up with a huge purple bruise on my left thigh that slightly resembles Jimmy Carter. It was all worth it, though, for our final score of zero to zero.
I took a long hot bath tonight to try to alleviate some of the suffering, but I'm still walking like Michael Jackson in Thriller (although without the jaunty jacket) and taking more painkillers than season-three-of-Friends scary-thin Matthew Perry. I tried to go downstairs earlier and I had to give up halfway down. Then getting back up hurt even worse, to the point that I thought I might have to set up a base camp somewhere in the middle. Now I'm back and I've somehow managed to sit, but I think I may have to sleep here tonight. I guess it's the price you pay to be a world class athlete.
