Okay, so I was channel surfing the other night, trying to find something decent, you know how it is. Landed on that movie, “The Rookie”. The one about Jimmy Morris. Hadn’t seen it in ages.
Watching it again really got me thinking. Here’s this guy, Jimmy Morris, a high school science teacher and baseball coach, way past his prime by baseball standards. Makes a bet with his team, ends up trying out, and actually makes it to the Major Leagues at 35. Throws serious gas too. It’s just a wild story when you stop and think about it.
It kinda hit me differently this time. Maybe ’cause I’m getting older myself, feeling a bit… well, settled. Stuck, maybe? Seeing his journey, the sheer guts it took, made me look at my own routine.
So, I decided I needed to shake things up a bit. Not trying out for the MLB, obviously. My arm would probably fall off just thinking about it. But I thought about things I used to do, things I enjoyed but just kinda… stopped.
I remembered my old bike gathering dust in the garage. Haven’t ridden it properly in years. So, that was my “practice”. My own little comeback attempt, I guess you could call it. Step one: actually find the bike under all the junk I’ve piled around it. Took longer than I’d like to admit.
Then I had to pump up the tires – totally flat, naturally. Lubed the chain, checked the brakes. Felt like a real project. Finally got it ready. Put on some old shorts and a t-shirt, feeling kinda silly but also a little excited.
That first ride? Man. Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. I went around the block, maybe a mile or two. My legs felt like lead almost immediately. Breathing heavy. Everything felt rusty, including me. Definitely not like throwing 98 mph fastballs, but tough in its own way.
It was super easy to just think, “Okay, tried it, not for me anymore,” and hang the bike back up. Honestly, I almost did. Felt discouraged.
But then, weirdly enough, I thought about that Morris guy again. He wasn’t just fighting age; he was fighting injuries, doubt, the sheer improbability of it all. Pitching in front of scouts after years away. My little bike ride felt kinda pathetic in comparison, sure, but the core feeling – pushing past that voice saying “just quit” – felt kinda similar.
So, I kept at it. Didn’t set any huge goals. Just tried to get out a few times a week. Sometimes just around the neighborhood, sometimes I pushed it a bit further down that local trail. Some days were better than others. Some days I really had to force myself.
Am I suddenly a cycling champion? Nope. Still pretty slow. Still get winded on hills. But, you know what? It feels good. Just the act of doing it. Getting out, moving, clearing my head. It’s not about making the big leagues; it’s just about showing up for yourself, I guess. Trying something, even when it feels a bit late in the game. That story, Jimmy Morris’s story, just gave me that little nudge I needed to start my own small practice.
