By allowing ads to appear on this site, you support the local businesses who, in turn, support great journalism.
Racking up some exercise with Motrin & ice pack chaser
Placeholder Image

There was a time not that long ago where I practically lived on the racquetball courts at In-Shape.
I wasn’t necessarily very good – anytime my friends and I would play a team of legitimate players, we often had to hustle harder than ever to score points that were seemingly easy amongst ourselves.
But I was in relatively good shape, and it was much easier to bounce up after slamming into another person or the back wall or crumbling into a heap diving for a shot that I have virtually no chance to make.
That’s not the case anymore.
While I’m getting down in weight and my cardio is improving, I’m about 10 years older than I was back when I was flying all over the hardwood and selling out for shots.
So when my father and I set out to play a few friendly games against one another on Monday, I assumed that I would be able to do the same.
The last time I stepped onto a racquetball court was about 40 pounds ago, and while the guy that I was playing was also trying to get back into shape, he hadn’t exactly gotten to the point that I had in my life where every passing day was another without fulfilling the goal.
So when I struggled to keep up and even got to the point where I let a few go past me because I simply didn’t have anything left in the tank, it didn’t bother me too much because I knew I would get there.
Well, “there” keeps moving on me.
I can get on a treadmill and go for a while, and even complete short runs around the neighborhood that work up a sweat and fulfill the 30-minute elevated heart rate that I’m shooting for. But high-impact? While I’m far from old, I’m older than I was and the extra weight that wasn’t there before plays hell on the frame when you’re foolishly trying to do things that were once in your wheelhouse – a long, long time ago.
And it didn’t help matters much that my father – who is pushing 60 – used his wizardry to put the ball in places that I simply couldn’t get to. I’m pretty sure it was black magic that allowed him to somehow be right where I hit the ball every single time, despite the fact that I was sprinting back-and-forth chasing down his shots every time we would volley.
But here’s the good thing about playing racquetball – you don’t even realize that you’re working out. Yes, you’re sweating and you’re exhausted and you’re moving back and forth and sideways and every once in a while you slam into a wall that’s as hard as concrete because you’re so focused on not losing to your father.
What you don’t do is realize at the time how hard you’re actually working out. It’s not continuous, but it’s pretty close and those short sprints coupled with an awareness of what’s going on around you and constant motion takes your mind out of it and gives you a sweat that you wouldn’t believe.
Couple that with some time on the treadmill and the elliptical, and you’ve got yourself a pretty good day.
Now please pass the Motrin. And an ice pack.

To contact reporter Jason Campbell email or call 209.249.3544.