I was on the bench after playing the first two games. I couldn’t hit a shot, but I locked down my matchup on defense. I hustled. I knocked the ball lose. I ran the court. I was exhausted.
I sat on the bench and sipped water. One of the other guys talked with me about curling off the block to get some ball movement.
My heart fluttered a little bit.
“Am I having a heart attack?” I thought to myself. This is a thought that accompanies anxiety. “Am I dying?”
My heart stopped fluttering. I filled up my water bottle. Drank more water. Played in three more games. Tried to take it easy. Paid too much attention to my heartbeat. Missed more shots. I didn’t die of a heart attack.
I probably couldn’t have played three more games if I were having a heart attack, I reasoned to myself. Every time I get my heart checked out it looks good, I reasoned to myself. Anxiety is hard to sway with reason.
“You’re probably dying,” my anxiety said.
I spent the rest of the day trying to notice if my chest was sore.
I didn’t die. Anxiety is a liar.
***
A busy semester comes to an end. I spent last week in Las Vegas. Las Vegas is a panic attack. The final two weeks of the semester is a wall of responsibility. An interim-co-department-chair can lose weeks to walls of responsibility.
This semester has been a lot. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been good. Really good. Lots of great things happened this semester. I’ve enjoyed interim-co-department-chairing. I’ve played lots of basketball and football. I’ve written lots of things that matter to me. Iowa City continues to grow on me. Still, this fall has been a lot. A heart-fluttering lot.
I continue to learn how anxiety shows up in my body as I get older. When things are a lot, that a-lot-ness expresses itself as fluttering hearts or dizzy moments. My body is changing as I turn 45. My heart feels different. My feet feel different. My head feels different. Aches and pains that never happened are happening. Worrying about those differences doesn’t seem to help much.
If I have a heart attack, I’ll have heart attack. Call the ambulance. Stint me up. Or, God forbid, put me in the grave. Worrying about any of this does no good. Doesn’t add a day to our lives. Blood pressure, cholesterol, my chubbier stomach – these things are what they are. I’ll take my medication, I’ll try to eat right, and I’ll exercise. But I can’t control whether I’ll die right this second. Or this second. Or even this second.
So be it.
***
I didn’t die of a heart attack at basketball. And I didn’t die writing that last section of this blog.
I didn’t die shoveling mountains of snow in my driveway after basketball last week. Sure, my body aches, but it always aches these days. Let it ache. That last sentence is like a geriatric version of the classic Stones’ song Let it Bleed.
My body is changing. A reverse puberty. If only I had a 10th grade health teacher to walk me through it.
Who am I kidding? Mr. White wasn’t much help when I was an adolescent. I do remember him sharing that he masturbated frequently. The entire class threw up in their mouth at the same time. I learned an important lesson that day. A high school teacher, even a health teacher, probably shouldn’t tell their class they masturbate frequently.
And let that be the lesson you take from this blog. If you, like me, find yourself teaching high school. Pay careful attention to what you share. I always was an over-sharer. That’s fine. Still, if you can, try to avoid making your class collectively throw up in their mouths.
Samuel Jaye Tanner 