Relative Something

The results are in, and in my opinion, my performance at yesterday morning’s soccer [futsal] game was a mixture of success and failure. But that is a good thing. It would have been a surprise if it turned out to be just a smashing success. What would that be like, anyway; that I could play just fine with no pain? No, that would fool me into thinking I could go back to my old routine, and all indications point to that being a counterproductive plan of action.

I definitely felt some impairment due to the discomfort of my degenerative disc disease. However, that made it easier to remain very conscious of my situation and helped me to purposefully control my stride. I think I did a pretty good job of running with a very smooth gate, light on my feet, as opposed to the usual pounding I am prone to do. If that made me slower, I was compensating for it a bit by making early decisions about where I was going to go. I headed back into a defensive position much quicker than I would have previously.

That is actually a very smart mindset for me to get into, because now that I think of it, the clomping back to help on defense that I used to do, most often involved me chasing an opponent from behind, too late to do any good.

Although I believe it was entirely serendipitous, one of the successes I enjoyed was scoring goals! I’m generally not a very prolific goal scorer, but I had 4 really good goals that came from being fed beautiful passes when I was positioned on the far side of the net. It provided a nice reward and a feeling that I contributed something positive for having shown up. I think it would be a stretch to say that the attempt to soften my effort for this indoor game was responsible for the uncharacteristic increase in scoring prowess, but the goals sure served to sweeten the morning’s effort for me.

One of the failures of my attempt to play at a slower pace, with less physical impact, was turning the ball over when I had plenty of time to make a decision and execute a play. I just didn’t have my usual touch. Several times, the ball just got lost in my feet. One time, I actually swung to kick, and missed the ball. I was trying to shift my weight and keep my eyes up, and by the time I kicked, the ball had moved. Two times in particular, my turnover led to an immediate goal by the other team.

Another time, I misplayed an attempt to block a shot and it deflected off me, directly into our net. I wondered aloud if that was “a Hays,” because it led to the 5th and winning goal for the opponents, but players assured me it fell outside of the ‘own goal’ act associated with that label. I offered an opinion that it might deserve to be a sub-category.

It was a morning of mixed results, which I am taking as a promising outcome, overall.

Here we are again, with the clocks adjusted ahead, moving dusk beyond the dinner hour. That means darkness is delayed long enough that chores can be prolonged later into the evening. Oh, joy.

I spent the weekend removing wallpaper from 2 bathrooms. I am really glad that is done. Now I am struggling to figure out how to choreograph the next phases of drywall repair and painting. Ideally, the furniture should be moved to a neutral location, but we haven’t got a room that doesn’t need work. I have no idea where I am going to end up sleeping.

I will likely have to ask the crews doing the work to break the job up and just do portions at a time. That would allow me to empty some rooms by putting everything into a different room that will be done later.

On the surface, that may not seem like too big a deal, but I am here all by myself, and moving furniture alone is an onerous task, especially with degenerating discs in my spine.

It is less than a year now since I suffered the first symptoms of pain from degenerative disc disease, for which “the first line of treatment is usually to avoid aggravating the condition. Modifying activities to preclude lifting of heavy objects and playing sports that require rotating the back (e.g. golf, basketball or football) can be a good first step.” (from Lumbar Degenerative Disc Disease Treatments by Peter F Ullrich, Jr., MD)

On the subject of not playing sports that involve rotating the back (or pounding up and down the hardwood gym floor), I was considering canceling my membership to the sports club where we play our three-times-a-week morning futsal games, and just quitting cold turkey. I had already reduced my attendance to Mondays and Fridays, but since my most recent flare-up, haven’t played for 3-weeks, and I will have plenty of work to do on preparing the house for showings, and will ultimately be moving to a more rural area that will likely pull me away from the games anyway. It seems to me, quitting now would be a logical thing to do.

But… maybe I have played too many years with these guys to just disappear. Something is keeping me from taking that step that would guarantee the conclusion of my participation. Part of me is wondering about the possibility that I might experiment with altering my level of play to become more conscious of how I move during action. I could practice being light on my feet, and deliberate in my attempts. I will be a bit slower, and probably less effective. I’ll finally start acting my age out there. If I learn to play more prudently, I may be able to prolong my opportunities to mingle with a great collection of friends who share my love of soccer.

That is, until we move out to live with horses.

I watched the NFL Vikings last night in their final preseason game, and this thought occurred to me: I would really like to have 5 huge guys blocking out the hazards that threaten to tackle my progress at work every day.

My father's hat

The National Football League games have changed so much since the days of my youth that I now find them almost unwatchable. But over and over I am drawn to try. American football reminds me of my father. The Minnesota Vikings remind me of my father. There is an amazing bond there. I watch the games.

At a very impressionable age, I became captivated by my home-town team and the Viking athletes that played the games. That fascination rooted deep in my entire being. It brings me little pleasure to see what the sport has become today, but I can’t shake the memories of the fascination. It feels like a part of my soul.

Full disclosure: I fretted. Regardless what I posted yesterday, the intensity was a bit too much for me. Yes, indeed, I fretted. The red card, the penalty shot. The second penalty shot. Pretty much the entire 2 overtime periods. But my admonition to stay engaged and never give up because you never know what might happen, was more prophetic than I could ever have imagined. How long could anyone expect to hold out? After the full 30-minutes of extra time has passed? Into the last seconds of the added time to the overtime period? It is the stuff of fantasy. The latest goal in the history of the Women’s World Cup. Granted, it took the penalty kick shootout to seal the deal, but it was the tying goal that deserves all the attention possible. Absolutely picture perfect. Everything about it. Watch it. Please. Even if you have seen it, it deserves to be seen again and again. Congratulations Megan, Abby, and the rest of your team.

Meanwhile, the following is a case of not being able to avert my eyes from a train wreck. As absolutely awful as this is, I have stared at this multiple times and I still cannot believe it. I suppose, to those who are not familiar with bike racing, this must seem a totally expected situation; seeing cars, racing bikes, and motorcycles all squeezed onto roads together. Honestly, it is probably more remarkable that this doesn’t happen more often than it does. But, really, this was just so outrageous on so many levels. Avert your eyes, if you can.

So, hang in there today, you just don’t know what might happen next. Oh, and try not to fret.

With little in the way of fanfare, yesterday marked my return to the game of soccer. I have not been cleared to play on the wood floor at the health club yet, but my physical therapist told me to give it a test outdoors on the grass. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was whining about my exercise choice being reduced to walking? What a difference a day can make.

The game went pretty well. I enjoyed more success than I expected. The back felt fine throughout. More importantly, the release of endorphins and the moral support of teammates does wonders for my psyche. Ian has it so right, with his comments here Saturday, regarding negative framing. I have spent more years cultivating a depressed mental foundation than years seeking optimal health. It can be a challenge for me.

If you know about bearings and raceways, there is a flaw when the raceway gets ‘scored’. The raceway is supposed to be completely smooth, but with wear, or as a result of being over-tightened and maybe suffering a dramatic impact, an indent can form. Instead of the bearing freely rolling in the raceway, there will be a divot that the ball bearing will naturally settle into.

I have a well-honed divot in my mental state where my whole being –mind, body, and soul– comfortably settles if left unchecked. All the knowledge I have gained about myself in the years since identifying my depression has yet to completely remove that ‘divot’. I practice methods of keeping myself moving and am able to recognize the signs and symptoms when I am falling back into that low spot. My thoughts and words are powerful tools to direct my outcome. Having a regular dose of exercise-induced endorphins and the added bonus of positive interactions with other people, doesn’t hurt my cause, either.

It is all part of the ongoing maintenance package that is my reality. In all honesty, even writing here serves as one of the exercises I employ. When I am finding it difficult to write and create, it offers a clue for me to assess my status. When I write about my experience with depression, it helps me to process it. If, perchance, it happens to help inform and inspire others, that is a wonderful added bonus.

Thanks for reading.

What a treat it is to be able to enjoy great sport competition, even when my team isn’t involved. The NCAA hockey tournament is being played locally and broadcast nationally. I’m feelin’ it. Maybe the energy from the recent basketball tournament is carrying over for me. I didn’t have a team to root for in that event, yet enjoyed watching that competition.

Saturday will be the championship game between Michigan and University of Minnesota Duluth. My natural inclination is to cheer on the Minnesota representative, but I’ve just watched that Michigan team upset North Dakota, and their effort made quite an impression on me. I guess I can be happy with either team’s success. That is an added benefit to not having a team involved for which I feel a strong allegiance. I’ve got nothing to lose.

May the better team win. And may the game be dramatically interesting right to the end. That’s all that us neutral fans really want. Especially since the basketball final game was mostly an ugly one, in terms of level of play. I’m hoping for a full game of great hockey Saturday, befitting a championship final.

It’ll be my last hurrah to winter sports. Then it will be time to finally get myself out on my bicycle. Apparently it is springtime out there.

I am stuck in the middle. I try not to be that guy that won’t ever go see a doctor, yet I hesitate to go in for every little cough or bruise. The most difficult thing about trying to be moderate about seeking professional treatment, is that you never really know whether you are making the right decision. I spend a fair bit of mental energy questioning my logic about when to make a visit to the doctor.

If I have full range of motion, and there isn’t a lot of swelling or discoloration, what is my risk? A little ice, rest, a support brace, …healing should follow, yes? It is a waste of both my time and the clinic’s time for me to go in and have them tell me to go home and put ice on it. Whatever it is I did to my hand a few weeks ago, the healing is sure taking a looong time to happen.

People have asked me if I’ve seen a doctor. “No.”

Okay, I made that first decision with relative ease. The problem comes with each successive day that passes. I guess I don’t know at what point a nagging injury deserves to be seen by a professional. Especially when it doesn’t appear to get worse. The problem is that it also doesn’t seem to be getting better. I’m stuck in the middle!

What really bums me out is that I know that college and professional athletes would have been automatically diagnosed at the first instant they noticed a problem. They would be seen by a doctor, whether they wanted to or not. No guess work for them.

I’m stuck in the middle. I wanna be that athlete that gets immediate attention from a professional, and I don’t want to go in for every little cough or bruise.

A sports peeve: One oft-used sports phrase is that an athlete is prized for his/her ability to “see the floor/field/ice”.

How can that NOT be a skill that every player who advances to college or professional team sports competition is exceptional at!? It’s a team sport, after all. How can they not already know where the play is going, where the teammates are moving from/to.

I can see how some players have specialized skills and can be a great defender, an outstanding shooter/scorer, a great ball handler, or be exceptionally fast, but why wouldn’t all players be able to see the play develop and have a sense where to go next?

Do professional coaches really have to deal with athletes that don’t see the play?

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There is an aspect of a hockey game, and to a similar degree, a soccer match, that is a very large part of “seeing the play.” It is an important thing for the players to grasp, and for fans to recognize. It can be described as action that doesn’t happen.

One way it is detectable is when a player chooses to retreat into his defensive zone. That option to retreat is in place of several options that a player doesn’t choose. Being able to see all the options that the smart player didn’t take, makes watching a game a lot more interesting.

There is also an aspect of this occurring in the offensive zone. There are a good number of times that a player won’t take a shot due to the risk of the puck getting knocked back out and play turning into an odd-man rush for the opposing team.

An uniformed spectator is not able to interpret the things that are not happening, which are mixed in with the obvious visible activity that is playing out.

I can see how fans might not have a highly tuned ability to see the play, but I don’t understand how any player at a high level of competition in team sports could ever lack that sports sense. Well, except for the guys that get hired just because they are good in fights.

Regardless the best laid schemes of mice and men, each moment passes away into a void that holds the essence of everything that transpires. Even as we examine the collective memories of everyone who has them, from every possible angle, the reality of what was, is morphing in an uncontrollable mix with what is. Stopping is not really an option, since a moment exists in conjunction with immediate moments on either side of it, before and after. It is actually too hard to contemplate, even as we live it, each and every second.

If something is too hard to think about, we have a very simple solution. We don’t bother thinking about it. We talk about the weather, or the local sports team. In my town, the talk is all about the local NFL franchise, The Minnesota Vikings, and their current melodrama that came about as a result of the weather. We’ve got a two-for-one going on here!

At the day-job yesterday, I learned that some people feel embarrassed by the national and even international attention being paid to the collapsing roof on the team’s sports stadium. One individual reported feeling forlorn that the situation reflects badly on the people here. We have a domed stadium to be able to play despite the weather, yet the weather has the better of us anyway, ripping a few gaping holes in the fabric cover. The hosts of evening television talk shows are making jokes about the situation in their monologues.

Another aspect of the story is that the football team isn’t enjoying much success this year, far under-performing the expectations that existed at the start of the season. It provides plenty of fodder for tying together the theme of the failing team and the failing stadium roof. They are made for each other.

It is the 50th year of existence for the Minnesota Vikings of the National Football League. As we celebrate the star players who performed their magic for us over the years, it also catches our attention that we have repeatedly failed to accomplish the ultimate goal of winning a championship Superbowl trophy. Yesterday, one of the local columnists wrote about the top 5 flops in team history.

It occurred to me that if a person were to closely identify with the team that represents their home state, and that team became known for their repeated failings, it could imprint that person’s self-image. It hits close to home for me. I was star-struck by the athletes on that team when I was young. My moods swung up and down with their successes and failures. I have never confidently believed in ultimately succeeding at anything. I have an underlying sense that whatever it is, I will most likely see things end up in a flop.

It developed over a period of time at a young age. It is a hard thing to eventually unlearn. Over time, I have gained new insight to why other folks seem to have an uncanny ability to believe they will succeed, regardless the odds. Either they are not from around here, or they never paid any attention to local sports growing up.

Take a look at the years the University of Minnesota Gophers enjoyed success in the Big Ten conference.

I wonder how much of a reflection that is of the players that coincidentally attend the institution at the same time.

If a player was just average, yet happened to make the team in his Sophomore year back in 1909, he’d be able to enjoy a pretty good college football experience. If a player was exceptionally great, but arrived at the U during the many decades when the Gophers have failed to challenge for a spot at the top of the conference, that greatness doesn’t appear to carry enough sway.

Cyndie and I were generously invited to join her parents for this year’s home opener against the University of South Dakota, but it turned out to be a stinker for the home team. They were out-smarted and out-played by a team from a smaller school in a lower division. Next week the Gophers host the Trojans of the University of Southern California, making us the BIG underdog. I wonder how it feels to be a player on the football team this year.

I don’t think the average player has a lot to look forward to, and if there are any exceptionally great players hiding on the team, I’m going to guess that their greatness won’t be enough to bring a championship to the program.