skip to Main Content

Mr. Parkour (AKA my son) has been on a bit of a fitness jag this week and, because I’m the kind of guy who wants to support healthy habits, my poor, aging body has been pretty sore. Tuesday night, for example, I was sitting in my comfy chair, sipping a cup of tea and reading the newspaper when he arrived home from work raring to go to the gym. This was about 8:30, a time of evening when I’m just beginning to happily slide down the slippery slope toward bedtime. But, I rose up from my reverie and, with MP and My Lovely Wife in tow, climbed into the car and drove across town to the fancy gym in Minnetonka for a little late-night exercise.

We chose the Minnetonka gym because, unlike my club a mile to the east, this one has a basketball court. It’s been awhile since I last had a basketball in my hands, and I figured if I was going to have to get out of my comfy chair and drive somewhere in the middle of the night, there might as well be a hoop at the end of the trail.

A decade ago, my weekly two-hour pickup game at Anderson school in South Minneapolis was pretty much my entire fitness regimen. Sure, I bicycled a half-dozen miles to and from work five days a week, but I never really worked up a sweat, so it didn’t really count. Basketball, on the other hand, was something I looked forward to every week. When I stepped out on the court, I could feel the adrenaline start to pump, and I pushed myself hard for the whole two hours.

It’s been a dozen years since I blew out my right knee and retired from competitive hoops, but I still enjoy shooting baskets when I get the chance. I can work up a good lather after about an hour and work muscle groups I never seem to get to during my regular routine. That’s why on Wednesday and Thursday my body was so stiff and sore that I was hard-pressed to roll out of bed.

The good news, though, was that Tuesday’s hoopfest confirmed that my left knee has recovered sufficiently to allow me to move laterally; stop, start, and pivot; and actually jump a little — developments that all augur well for my return to the tennis court in a month or two (if the snow here ever melts).

When Thursday evening rolled around, I was still pretty stiff, but MP once again persuaded us to grab our gear and hit the gym. This time, I avoided the basketball court and wandered over to the stretching area, where I found a foam roller and worked out some of the kinks in my calves and hammies. Then MP and I stretched a bit, before testing each other’s strength on various resistance machinery. I’m not a competitive guy, but I was happy to be able to keep up with him on everything but the lat pull-down thingy. And at the pull-up bar, he quickly cranked out 10 reps with no assistance. I needed a little help.

Still, I made it through the evening without further injury — to my body or my ego — and the next day I felt no worse than I had before.

At my age, this is called progress.

This is all well and good, but I have to admit that when Sunday morning rolled around I was quietly hoping that MP would sleep in, so we wouldn’t be ushered out into a fast-building blizzard to sneak in a quick workout before he had to go to work in the afternoon. My prayers were answered when he wandered downstairs around 1 p.m. hunting for some breakfast. I was all set to explain the importance of recovery days, when MLW simply stated that we wouldn’t be going anywhere today. He grumbled a little as he bent over his cereal, probably wondering how he got stuck living with such slackers, but he didn’t seem too disappointed. There’s always tomorrow.

Thoughts to share?

This Post Has 0 Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

City and state are only displayed in our print magazine if your comment is chosen for publication.

ADVERTISEMENT

More Like This

Back To Top