My right shoulder is communicating to me today in a surly, unspoken language. As best I can translate, it is saying, “you idiot, you didn’t stretch me enough before throwing the softball yesterday.”
So it goes. My right arm is tight. Plus, the nail on my right big toe is gone. Those are small sacrifices to make in exchange for playing softball in February, which I did yesterday in sun-drenched Irving Park.
A year ago at this time the ideas of hitting, fielding, or throwing a softball, or merely being outside, were as distant, for me, as setting foot on the moon.