ICE, ICE BABY

Three days ago I found myself trying to comfort to the rules of what they call net-bag (or at least that's what I call it..). To cut long story short, it's like volleyball, but the little hard ball they use is kicked back, forth and around with whatever a human being happens to be equipped with under their knee. My first (and only) training session has resulted in a bruised and swollen ankle and a bout of post-exercise muscle soreness only curable with cold beer. I must say it was more than worth it. Think of the immediate rush of blood to the head, evening breeze and the incapacitating scent of freshly mowed grass.. How I had missed all that! Nothing had given me a similar adrenaline kick since the white coats wagged their manicured fingers at me and my sports aspirations.

A real injury! I hold my head up high again. Quite something to boast about! I'm beginning to think sport is for masochists. I do think I'm entitled to say that loud and clear while ice-compressing this troubled lower limb. It hurts like hell. I want more.