Age-induced fear

We started softball season this week, and I had a moment where I thought "Damn, is this what it means to get old?"

It wasn't that I was sore the next day or that I couldn't do what I was able to do last year. It fact, it wasn't anything physical at all. Instead, it was all mental.

You see, playing coed softball you get these guys trying to recapture their glory days of high school baseball. They step to the plate and crush the ball. And, occasionally, they'll crush it right back at the pitcher aka me.

I've had close calls before. Jen was there for several of them. Line drives right at my head. Ones that I was just able to get a glove on before being decapitated. I've had guys intentionally try to hit back up the middle when their team was losing. I've taken linedrives off my thigh, whiz between my legs and knock my cap off.

This year, however, it felt different.

Going into the first game of the year, I was worried about getting injured. Hell, I was scared. That was new. That was unexpected.

At first, I thought turning 40 triggered some new "Be careful" mode. Then, I wondered if I wasn't subliminally worried about getting hurt while Jen was pregnant. I couldn't figure it out. So I did what every guy does in that situation, I told myself to quit being a baby and go for it. I can protect myself if another rocket comes at me.

Through three games over two nights, no line drives yet. Only two more months to go.