Scott Schultz When Schultz’s legs and
back get sore from running, nothing relieves his pain better than
medicinal marijuana, which he feels should be legal. And he wishes
you all a happy 4/20. Send your holiday wishes to sschultz@media.ucla.edu.
Click Here for more articles by Scott Schultz
With the dawning of another season of C-Level intra-mural
softball staring me in the face, I knew it was time to get into
game-shape. Last year the Daily Bruin (or as I like to call us, the
Daily Bruin Red Sox) made the playoffs with a record of 2-2. Our
key stat for the season was a record of 2-0 against teams that
couldn’t field eight players. With my perfect attendance, I
was a valuable member of our playoff squad.
At 33, I’ve been contemplating retirement from college
intramural sports. I’m probably the oldest student in the
softball league, and much like other elder statesman athletes of
their leagues ““ Michael Jordan, Cal Ripken or Doug Flutie
““ I have to face the reality that my body can’t keep
getting up for these games like it used to.
My body and my mind are no longer as in sync with each other as
they were when I was in my prime. An example of this was in last
year’s season opener, when I was chasing a fly ball and ended
up in a perfect, one-and-a-half corkscrew flip, landing on my ribs
(I swear the field was wet), leaving me in great anguish for five
months.
I had to ask myself, is it worth playing intramurals if I
can’t play up to my standards? But I couldn’t let my
Red Sox teammates down, and the opportunity to finally experience
the thrill of victory when we beat someone that actually competed
against us is too golden to pass on. So I laced up my running shoes
and prepared to give myself some spring training.
Never a workout addict, I have allowed myself to go to seed
during my duration as sports editor. Last month I pulled a muscle
in my shoulder turning off my alarm clock. The only exercise I get
these days is chasing sports writer Greg Schain out of the office
when his New York accent becomes overly annoying.
I began running stairmaster flights in Wooden Center in January,
but, as I’ve already lamented in my column previously, the
music is better suited for getting a cavity filled at the
dentist’s office than a workout in a gym. Unwilling to let my
team down, I had no alternative solution. It was time to return to
The Perimeter.
Yes that perimeter, The Big P. The best four-mile lap in Los
Angeles.
However, my muscles haven’t been as pumped for the
perimeter as my mind has been. The only time I have run hills this
previous year has been the times when I was late for my class in
Public Policy.
I postponed my first lap around the campus for a couple of
weeks, finding any imaginable excuse not to embark on my first
physical test of the year. That week, not only did I wash my
laundry, but I ironed, washed my dishes and disinfected my
bathroom. Finally, with nothing to distract me from my obstacle
besides my French literature homework, I was out of excuses. So on
Sunday morning I set out to conquer the hills of Westwood.
I’ve always preferred the perimeter over the Wooden
Center. For one thing, I can’t understand why anybody would
run in a stuffy gym on machines that basically simulate fake roads
and fake hills when you can run on real hills with fresh air.
When I run the perimeter, my thoughts run a spectrum wider than
the waistband on Tony Siragusa’s chinos.
Without the distraction of the College Television Network crap
in the Wooden Center, I can focus on my classes, my job and what
I’m going to do with the rest of my life, along with plotting
out an effective game plan to capture the C-Level crown.
The best part of running the perimeter is when someone driving
by honks his horn at you. It means that you are no longer the
proverbial tree falling in the forest, because somebody, somewhere
on campus knows you exercise.
I like to start at the corner of Gayley and Le Conte. I run east
on Le Conte, because I like running uphill on Hilgard at the
one-quarter mark. The reason I choose this route is because I get a
boost passing Sorority Row at the crucial moment ““ the first
level of difficult hills.
I was once made aware of studies done which showed that men run
faster when women are watching them. Although I couldn’t
verify these experiments ever took place, it sounds logical. Even
if the friend who informed me of this also predicted that the Bruce
Willis movie “Hudson Hawk” would shatter all box-office
records (I told you I’m 33).
At the end of my run, I felt good. I could have probably pushed
myself to run a second lap. The next day, however, was a different
story.
When I woke up on Monday, I couldn’t walk. I was sore all
over. Even my thighs had shin splints. My biceps tendons were
rupturing. I think I may have even come down with tuberculosis.
After I finished up my column yesterday, we had our first game of
my farewell season, and it was a resounding victory over some team
that didn’t show up.
I sprained an ankle.
And Friday, I’ll be back on the perimeter.