I had to slow down my stride during my run yesterday to traverse a very wet, mushy patch on the soccer field portion of my run. This spot happens to be right next to my childhood baseball field, Centennial Park.
I was just past the midpoint of my approximately 50 minute run up and down the hills of White Rock, so decided I would take a minute to catch my breath, and check out the old field. It's still a well used field during the spring and summer, and the surface is still almost the exact same as it was when I was 9-12 playing all my league and all-star games on it. It's where I hit my first home run, where went out to throw with my dad almost daily for a couple of years to bring me from the "minors" classification to the "majors", from a very so-so, non-driven 9 year old to one of the top pitchers in the province by the age of 12. It's where I began to love baseball.
I walked down onto the field, stepped on the mound, and shamelessly threw about 5 pitches, without a ball or glove, all strikes of course. I couldn't believe how damn close that 46 foot 12 year old mound looks now! I backed up a bit to right behind the mound... well, it's not much of a mound really, more flat with the grass making up the sides now.
This is a park that I still work out at. When I start my throwing program in January, I will likely utilize Centennial as one of the backstops I'll throw numerous beat up baseballs into for my regular off season arm building process.
It was a nice little 3-4 minute stop to allow my sweat to break and catch my breath. I guess you never forget some of those places that changed your life or sent you on a certain path. This is one of those for me. See you in January Centennial.