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“I’m not an idiot; we all know how these things turn out. He’s either going to take my money or hurt himself trying, and neither of those work for me.” Hank grins at me and I shake my head, laughing.
He’s right.
We get on the treadmills and walk for five minutes to warm up.
“I’m going to miss all this bullshit,” I admit.
“Yeah? I thought you’d be happy to leave us kindergartners behind and move on with your life.”
I’m older than most of the team players. I’m retiring, but they still have a couple of good years left in them.
“I think it’s the small things I’ll miss the most,” I say. “The stupid jokes, training together, ridiculous banter…the games I can still catch on television, so that’s not so bad.”
“Yeah, but you can still train with us here. We’re not going to shut you out just because you’re not on the team anymore. And best know every time we have a drunk night, you’ll be invited.”
I laugh. “To be designated driver because you can’t hold your liquor if you’re this fit, maybe.”
Hank shrugs. “Hey, we all have a purpose.”
I would have punched him in the shoulder if he were close enough. Instead, we push up our treadmills to a steady run on an incline and I focus on my body, on breathing right for the long haul.
“For the record, I think you’re doing the right thing,” Hank says.
“Yeah?”
“It takes courage to know when to quit.”
“Thanks for that.”
Hank nods. “Besides, it’s one less threat off the field, right? I won’t have to kiss your ass to get ahead.” He winks at me and laughs, and we push ourselves into a sprint.
I’m really going to miss these guys, but Hank is right. It’s not goodbye forever—I’ll still get to see them from time to time and it will be good when I don’t have to punish my body so much. I love being fit and active, but football is hard on the body. We take a lot of hits, and I’ll be glad to have that behind me.
“How’s your mom doing?” Hank asks.
The guys know about her health issues.
“She’s doing better than we expected,” I say. “But she might need a transplant. We’ll have to see how it goes.”
“All that after the heart, huh?” Hank says. “That’s a shit one.”
I nod. “We hoped it would all be over.”
My mom had a heart defect when she was born and finally needed a heart transplant. We thought the hell was over when she had her new heart, but her lungs started struggling soon after.
The Pulmonary Edema was slow. At first, she only struggled with being out of breath now and then. Slowly, as time progressed, she struggled more and more. Now, she has attacks sometimes that land her in hospital on machines that have to pull her through.
The money is never an issue. Thanks to my career, I cover the costs to keep her healthy and safe. But we all live on the edge, not knowing when another episode will happen, leaving her without air.
She’s still not home after the last one—they can’t get her SATs to a normal place where the doctors are happy enough with her oxygen levels to send her home. The lung transplant was mentioned once or twice. It seems cruel that she’s going through it all again.
After Hank and I finish our five miles, sprinting some of it and jogging the rest out at an easy pace, we head to the showers. I’m sweating up a storm.
When I get out of the showers, I see Rooster at the gym coffee shop, ordering a protein smoothie.
“Hey, Coach,” I say, clapping him on the back.
“You can stop calling me that, you know. From now on, we’re just friends.”
