The Three Ts Of A Happy Life

Yesterday was basically the most perfect day you can ever hope to have.

Productivity errands in the morning.

Beach in the afternoon.

Drinks in the evening.

I still can’t get over how perfect Gulf Coast beaches are even though I’ve been to them several times now. I could spend all day jumping in the waves. And chasing the biggest ones to jump in. Apparently, in a month the water will get cloudy and the jellyfish come out which makes swimming problematic. I’m about to live it up and become a serious beach bum during the next few weekends.

Also, I truly experienced the sheer happiness that comes with pick-up games on the beach. First of all, it’s a freakin’ workout. Second of all, when you dive for the football in the end zone, it’s like jumping into a pile of clouds.

Killing yourself to get the ball on a field in Pittsburgh in November means that you will most likely end up on the ground and every bone you have in your body will be broken by the end of the game. Even if you’re not killing yourself to get the ball, if it’s a true throwdown game of pick-up two-hand touch football with yinzers, you’re going to end up on the ground. Once I was out of commission for a month on serious anti-inflammatory meds because all the tissue around my ribs was jacked up. It hurt to do absolutely everything, including breathe. And the injury was just the result of being knocked down due to a full-speed unintentional collision between Mike and I when we were on the same team. Our peripheral vision failed us apparently. Too focused on what we were doing. Plus, it was getting dark. We used to play in the dark on the Cathedral lawn with nowhere near enough lighting. I’m surprised there weren’t so many more injuries.

We also played when the temperature was outrageously low. Like 11 degrees low. That’s insanity. Oh, to be young again.

Anyway, here’s a tangent about a less than satisfying healthcare experience. When I went to student health a few days after the rib trauma event occurred (when I realized that this wasn’t a temporary injury that would heal itself), the NP harassed me for playing football with guys. Bitch, please. It was the first and only real pick-up football injury of my whole life and nothing was broken. Shit happens. I hate when people have that overprotective attitude. Overprotected kids get more diseases when they’re older because their immune systems were exposed to less when they were younger and a kid who’s never been hurt playing outside has never truly lived. I wasn’t even the only girl that played. The co-ed split was usually between 25/75 and 50/50. Ugh. If I’m ever an NP, I’ll never condescendingly harass anyone about anything like that.

Ok, but anyway, back to killing yourself to get the ball.

Killing yourself to get the ball on Gulf Coast sand means that you will still mostly likely fall down but after it’s over, you’ll roll over and look at the sky with severe contentment because you’re pain-free and the sand is warm. Even if you don’t get to the ball in time, you’re kind of too happy to care. And that’s coming from someone with very high competitive standards.

My knees are a little scraped up from the abrasiveness of the sand but other than that, I feel great. Usually the day (sometimes more than one) after pick-up football is a rough one of impaired mobility related to minor injury pain.

Every muscle in my body hurts though because as we all know, running and playing in the sand is 100x harder than it is on solid ground. I feel like I did pilates for 5 hours yesterday. But it’s that good post-exercise soreness that’s almost comfortable. I’m about to be the most toned kid in the world.

Effortless hotness and healthiness is what the Gulf Coast has brought to my life. Aside from the toning, my skin is a little darker and definitely more exfoliated.

It was weird having to explain football logistics to people though. In western PA, you’re born with an inherent knowledge of football. The rules and strategies are just part of your DNA. I hate having to be that person that’s like “No, the QB can’t run because it’s 2 v. 3 right now” and explain what a route is and stuff like that. I don’t like to run the show. I just like to play.

There was an anonymous 12 year old kid that joined us which was awesome. He kicked our asses. Most of us were in decent shape, but the lungs of 20 somethings cannot compete with the lungs of 12 year olds. His dad came over and played too eventually. The dad was obviously the worst because the lungs of a 40 something can’t compete with the lungs of 20 somethings. I was kind of bummed too because he could really only be QB due to decreased lung function and basically sucked at it. When I QBed or when Omar QBed, we got TDs. When anonymous kid’s dad QBed, we lost.

Someday, I’m gonna have a Gulf Coast beach house and all my favorite yinzers can come and we’ll play the most epic game of non-professional football that has ever occurred.

Anyway, after the beach, we got cleaned up and went out. And stayed out ’til 4:30 because the bars in Mobile don’t have to close at 2. Sometimes I can’t even believe this is my real life. At the end of so many non-school days, I’m tan (for a ginger), tired (the content/fulfilled variety as opposed to the stress variety), and tipsy. The three Ts of a happy life.

Finally, in response to my last post, Ben brought up the fact that Austin is 200 miles from the coast. Good point, buddy. Austin is not happening. Rejected from the pile of future options. NOLA forever. Or NOLA ’til I’m tired of too much fun and then it’s back to Pittsburgh because Pittsburgh is the only place that would make living so far from the Gulf Coast worthwhile.

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