I was hanging out at the temple and noticed that, over on the grassy island in the middle of the parking lot, a ball was being kicked back and forth. I was drawn like a moth to a fire.

A couple of little kids were kicking it to each other, with the apparent goal of trying to kick it as high as possible. A few others were watching, so I used the pretext of organizing a game in order to insinuate myself into the action.

Due to my lack of stamina, my participation only lasted about 5 minutes, by which time I was completely deoxygenated, but not before I managed to injure myself.

As the fun seemed to be more height than accuracy, I found myself pursuing a ball that was way over my head and past me. I turned, accelerated, and focused on it with an intensity that would have been better reserved for Krishna (perhaps I rationalize that if I develop the tool of focus, when I do get around to trying out Krishna Consciousness, I will be well served by it).

At that point, there was nothing in the world but concentrating on maximizing speed and calculating the odds of actually getting to the ball as it arced back towards earth. The problem is, if I don’t practice all the time, I lose touch with what I am capable of doing and revert to memories of what I used to be able to do.

As such was the case, I figured I had a decent enough chance if I threw myself at the last moment and leapt while fully extending my leg parallel to the ground. I figured I could get a foot on it and flick it back over my head before it went out of bounds.

Making the full commitment to the attempt, I knew that I would fall, but have enough faith in my tuck and roll that that didn’t concern me. First, save the ball, then worry about the aftermath later. Full focus and commitment to the task at hand.

Naturally, I can no longer do what I used to be able to do, and the ball missed my toes by a good 6 inches or a foot. Time to recalibrate the illusion of my capacities.

The other thing that happens when you don’t practice all the time is you lose situational awareness. In this case, the awareness that the out of bounds line is a curb that drops away onto a concrete parking lot.

A.) A tuck and roll doesn’t work as well when there is a height differential between launch and landing.

B.) A tuck and roll works differently on concrete than on grass.

I did manage to end up on my feet, but the maneuver lacked, shall we say, smoothness.

I managed some glib remark to the guests sitting at the tables who seemed a little surprised at what had happened, in order to try save some face, but, really, what can you say?

I only lasted about a minute longer, the burst had depleted my blood oxygen, so I returned to the temple, not bloody, but scraped (it did end up healing without infection, a greater concern for me than most considering how suppressed my immune system is).

I was thinking on the way, “Cool, a sports injury, it has been years since I had had one of those.” I have had a lot of couch time the last three years, it’s been since 2004 when I last played a real game. So the injury kind of made me happy. Made me feel alive.

I walked up on Soma, laughing about how foolish I had been. He quoted Srila Prabhupada, “I want to run and jump but I can’t because I am old. That proves that the soul is eternal.”