Self-Indulgence Alert: Glory Days

Today dcat turned, gulp, 36. By the standards of my profession as a college professor, I still qualify as being young, precocious, even. But if actuarial tables are to be believed, the odds are pretty good that even if I feel like a twenty-something, I'm at or near the midpoint.

There was a time in my life when my default wardrobe involved sneakers and, when possible, shorts. The reason was simple -- for athletes, there was always the possibility that a pickup game might break out. Basketball, football, baseball, even something like frisbee or golf (whether legitimate or through shenanigans such as sneaking on to the course). The idea that in my life in the next few hours a basketball game might break out is only slightly more plausible than that the Virgin Mary will appear burned into my toast or that our youngest kitten will not take a dump the second after I clean the litterbox. (In fact, my eighteen-year-old self just experienced time-space humiliation over the fact that one of the only points of comparison I could muster was with cleaning the litterbox of ONE OF my cats.)

A couple of weeks ago I was invited to play in a charity softball game against our university softball team. I hurt my back. In warmups. And yet my mind remembers being an athlete even as my body has amnesia. I played through the pain -- in fact, I pitched for our team, was active in the field and at the plate, and as a result I was flat on my back for the rest of the day and was pretty much useless for the next week.

But there was a time when things were different. I can still remember those times. In fact, I can even prove that they existed:

This picture was taken exactly 14 years ago today. On this jump I became the third-ranked long-jumper in Williams College's long track and field history and I won the Williams Invitational long jump title. Later that day I also won the triple jump championship. In the decade-and-a-half to follow I have moved down the list as better jumpers have inevitably supplanted me, though I believe I am still in the top five among long jumpers and I know I remain in the top ten on the Williams indoor and outdoor long, high, and triple jump lists.

1993 sometimes seems like a long time ago. I'm not that guy any more. I wish I could go and tell that guy a few things. I wish I could listen to that guy for a little while and remember him better.

Forgive this self-indulgence. Remembrances from some modest Glory Days can be pathetic, but they also remind us of who we are. In my mind I am still flying through the air, defying gravity and, for a brief minute, time itself.