An Old Friend

Yesterday, I picked up something that I've put down for three years already. I was surprised at how nervous I was as I got ready to tackle this challenge again, considering that this was something that I used to be considerably good at and proud of. I was afraid that I've lost all my knowledge of how It's done, the techniques, the rules, the ability and the atmosphere. Furthermore, I was half-convinced that my efforts to re-acquaint myself with this old friend would be futile; I will (or so I predicted then) discover that I no longer loved It, no longer wanted to invest time and energy into It, and just give up trying altogether.

I decided to quiz myself on how much I remembered after three years. As I tried to get ready, I suddenly realized that I could no longer recall how to get ready, even though It was something that, until three years ago, I did twice a week for four years. I also painfully discovered that I could no longer recall the language, or lingo, that is commonly used during It. As I watched other people get ready, people that are surely not as experienced as I once was, I couldn't help but think if they realize that I'm a veteran, albeit one that has quit already for a few years, but nonetheless, a practitioner that once spent a lot of time on It.

As It started, I recalled the familiar scent of aching, tried bodies that fills the room of It. Yet, at the same time, there was something missing, something that makes this room of It players different than the room that I once frequented. There was no air of discipline, hard-work, perseverance, discipline, and the strong but undeniable realization that only a slim border separates all of us from "same old" and "yes! I did better than last week".

As I got into the motions, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I still remembered all the techniques, but equally appalled to realize that it was all only in my head. My body no longer worked the way it used to. My advanced head knowledge of It was restricted by what my body was capable of doing and mocked by the memories of times when everything was second nature. I suddenly caught a glimpse of something that I've always been most afraid of. Old age: an inevitable conclusion to every man's life, a time when one's body no longer obeyed one's will, a time when one's memories shine far brighter than the present and, most likely, the future.

At the end of it all, I was exhausted. Not so much from the physical motions itself, but from the frustration of having my head perpetually tell my body that "This is not how it's done! Why don't you try again." and from having to reach into my memories to re-learn things that I've learned long before but have now, somehow, managed to forget.

At least somewhere along the way, I remembered my great passion for It and that it itself is powerful enough to warrant more attempts of a comeback from this retiree.