I’ve been invited to play in the Homecoming Alumnae Volleyball Game at my old high school this fall. I’m totally excited about the chance to play again as I haven’t played in yyyeeeaaars and, aside from being really pretty good at it, I absolutely loved it.

The problem is that, while I’m already significantly older than most of the other competitors simply because I graduated 8 years ago, it’s already decided that me and my class will be the oldest ones there. This is due to the fact that my class was the first to go through this particular high school, as it opened its doors our freshman year. So, instead of counting on the really old people like normal Alumni functions, the late-twentysomethings are the geezers here.

Now, I could sit around for the next six weeks being scared out of my mind to stand next to 20 year olds in Spandex shorts or I can decide to push myself a little harder and get in amazing shape by the end of October. Since the latter definitely seems more appealing in addition to being healthier all around, I’ll be doing that. And now my workouts won’t be driven by that abstract goal of “well-being”, but something completely selfish, superficial, and generally awesome.

I’m excited. Even if that means that the next month will basically be a montage not unlike the one from the last “Rocky” movie where he’s all old and trying to get back in the game.