Since apparently the other team captain never called ours back to reschedule the game that was called due to stupidity, our soccer season ended today.  In a pretty serious loss, but we’ll glibly gloss right over that.

I figured a few months ago when my friend Andrew asked if I was interested in playing on a team with a bunch of other bartenders and bar regulars, it’d be a good idea because at least I wouldn’t be the only one smoking on the sidelines at halftime.  As the season progressed, though, I realized that I was actually enjoying the game and the people that I play with and against — it’s not nearly as competitive and testosterone-bloated as the games I was playing ten years ago, when I decided that I was too old and not nearly competitive enough to be playing anymore.

Not to mention the fact that I got in better shape faster than I expected.  I still won’t be running a marathon anytime soon, but my endurance came back so that — in spite of a pulled quad muscle that I really shouldn’t have run on today like I did — I lasted about 60 minutes of the 90 without hurting for air (or passing out, or vomiting, etc.).  It’s a good feeling, and I’m hoping to do enough this summer so that when the next season begins (Labor Day, I think), I’ll be ready to play the full 90 at closer to top speed.

It’s good to be back.  As long as I don’t do something to myself that makes me regret not having health insurance…