track meet

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It was a really crappy day yesterday and the pictures I took turned out lousy, but my older son stood with others in the cold wet rain and threw first the shot put and then the discus.

Everyone was rained on -- a cold, persistent, solid rain that created puddles everywhere. There was no escape and complaining was redundant -- everyone was stuck in the same shit.

The events I came to watch were separated by several hours. Later my son would say things were poorly organized. Whatever the case, I got there at noon and we didn't leave until after six.

There were places that needed to be walked to and walking is not my strong suit any more. By the end of the day, I was whipped and my son had done very well. It was worth being whipped to enjoy his enjoyment. I slept for 10 hours last night, a thing I haven't done in 30 or 40 years. Getting old is not for sissies. I felt lucky to wake up this morning with a body that didn't hurt as much as when I went to sleep ... and it was my son who had been doing the pointed exercising.

Everywhere, there were people in uniforms representing their schools. They looked healthy and, for the most part, fit. But even the tubbies looked content. There is something satisfying, when you are a certain age, about simply doing something instead of being stuck trying to figure things out. There is no philosophy or psychology or religion or righteousness in doing ... that shit is too expensive and too diverting and too mistaken. Running the race or throwing shot put or discus is right-now and all-there. Nothing is dubious or mixed or sending conflicting signals. And a nanosecond of "this" is worth a hundred years of the other stuff. It's enough to make an understandable excuse for the American adulation of sports... an adulation that can leave people floundering helplessly later in life. Or maybe not.

It was a good day. I got wrecked and my son did well and ... it was a good day.
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