On Tuesday, April 5th, I reprised my role as Caryn (Hartwick) Bell – softball player. “Back in the day” I remember spending a lot of time as the right fielder. By this I mean I stood in the back right section and hoped no one hit a ball my way. My skills did not involve much catching (fear of pain overrode my focus) and my throwing was only good enough to get the ball going in the right direction. I could hit the ball a fair amount of the time and got on base often enough. These skinny arms have never been known for their muscle (although hefting a 23.5 pound 9 month old has helped). Our church recently started an adult co-ed softball league and I was encouraged to come join the “fun” team. After much personal debate I arrived at The Fields with my own fan club in tow (aka The Bell Boys).
While I must admit that I never hit the ball in my three times at bat that first night, my boys did get to see me run the bases twice and even catch the ball twice (yes, during the game). My three year old seemed somewhat in awe to see his own mommy on the field. At one point during the game he was so excited to talk to me through the chain link fence about a girl who caught a cricket in her hands. Yes, I can tell that I inspired him.
As I sit here reflecting on my “athleticism” I am popping ibuprofen and icing my aching muscles. This is certainly not what I remember from my high school days. Maybe it is because that was so long ago and I've just forgotten. Or maybe it is because it was so long ago……and well, my body isn’t 17 any more. But regardless, this Mommy grabbed her hubby’s baseball glove, her old yoga pants and a random t-shirt to go have fun. Even if it was occasionally at my own expense. My goal for next week: hit the freakin’ ball. Just once. For old times sake.
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