Vigor

Monday was a lovely day. It got up to 47 degrees where I live, and no wind, after three days of cold, raw, windy weather. I went for a walk, and seeing that the park where I usually walk a loop was crowded, I stuck to the road. The road, which I had mostly to myself, runs past several athletic fields belonging to the College of Saint Benedict, including a beautiful new soccer pitch with a gorgeous green rubber field of grass.

Eight young men, college students who have stayed in town in their off-campus housing, were playing touch football. My first reaction was alarm, especially seeing the two not wearing shirts and how closely they were guarding each other, and running after one another, putting bare hands on a bare back.

But the judgment in my initial reaction quickly faded, and all I wanted to do was watch them. As I walked closer, I saw two bikes, and two children sitting at a proper distance from each other watching the game. I stayed on the path and walked up and around, viewing two young women playing catch with a softball, and feeling sad that these beautiful new facilities, with seats for fans, a concession stand, and a batting cage, would not be used this spring. Then I walked back and stopped to watch the young men, from a distance.

How beautiful they were! There were no dropped passes, and they blocked and ran and reset for the next play effortlessly. The motion itself was beautiful, a kind of dance. They didn’t seem overly competitive, just taking turns throwing, catching, running– simple elements of a game we took for granted just a few weeks ago.

It has not been difficult for me to shelter in place, self-isolated for almost three weeks now. But looking at these men, I saw how difficult it must be for them and others who are feeling their vigor and health constrained. Here they are, the invincibles, young people who have been told (somewhat erroneously) their cases will be mild, so they don’t need to worry. Young people calling foul that their lives have been so cruelly interrupted. And it is cruel, missing a spring of a year in college, especially for the seniors but really for everyone.

Here the earth is struggling to come out of hibernation. Today is a day of cold rain on brown ground, trying to melt the last piles of snow on the north side of houses. Ice and mud on the forest paths that turned us back from a walk on Sunday. Ponds with their sick gray skins of ice. Walks are still a challenge most days, as the temperatures rise hopefully then crash back to winter.

And of course my “view” online is mostly dire– what is closed and what is sold out and what is available for curbside pick-up. The fear of not being prepared for what is to come– and watching for what is to come — and the fear of what it will be like when it fully arrives. Three notifications of people I know with the virus, one living a few blocks from me and two in Chicago, one posting from the hospital. It has begun– has it begun?

People are asking others to post something they are grateful for, something beautiful– and they mean in nature or at home. But the most beautiful thing I saw this week, I have to say, was his display of vigor. Definitely a bad idea, and I wish everyone would stay home and protect everyone, including particularly healthcare workers. But I have to admit, it is tough for the vigorous. And it is tough for America, too. Because who are we if not the vigorous, if not the invincible?