Not now, baby - daddy's a little sweaty

August 1999 - I was sure that I would die right there on the practice field. If you've ran sprints in triple-digit heat under shoulder pads and (what is infitely worse) a helmet then I've said enough. If you haven't then think Sweatin' to the Oldies on a skillet with your head stuck in a pot.

November 2000 - my lungs teetered on the verge of explosion and I could've sworn I was about to puke my heart up on the hardwood. I now truly understand why they call them "suicides" - I'll tell my grandchildren that I used to run them in under 30 seconds but seriously doubt my body will ever travel that fast again.

Nearly a decade later, twenty pounds heavier (and exceedingly lazier), my head hits the carpet, eyes close, and my suburban living room is gone. Gone is the carpet you've spilled countless sippy cups on, gone are the four walls bearing your crayola handiwork, gone is daddy to a place he hasn't been in quite a while.

Words can't adequately describe the place. We protect ourselves. We set limits on our physical activities to let us know when to stop. A little run shortens the breath and makes the side hurt a little. A big run does the same on a larger scale. Reach a certain point, and we're programmed to say "No! More activity is bad - I must stop!". And so we do. A good, ruthless coach pushes you to violate these limits about halfway through practice. The body protests, pulls back, screams - and at the pinnacle of its performance it finally reaches its true limit. There - right there - in the seconds following such a performance is a place. The body is gone. Weightless. The gym is gone. The coach is gone. And for a few seconds only, the mind goes to a place best described as spiritual while the body finds the strength to stand again.

The 2000 AISA State Runner-Up JCA Eagles would never let me live it down if I told them that Ring Around the Rosies sent me to that place. Granted, it was the tenth round of RATR (as I like to call it - I think it adds street cred). And, RATR did receive a little help from intense tummy flurberts and especially spinning around in circles. Still, the power forward in me is a little perturbed.

Now is not the time for shame, though. I've got to catch my breath quick because the two-year old girl is running circles around me. Literally.