Basketball

I went to the gym to play basketball with a friend.  It was February and the drive was especially cold.  After changing into my gym shoes and trying to rub my hands together for warmth, I dribbled the ball across the court to the far basket.  My hands hadn’t warmed at all; they felt like bricks as I dribbled.  I had no feel for the ball.  I must’ve looked like a five-year-old who had never dribbled a ball, slapping it awkwardly.  It had been a while since I picked up a basketball, everything felt so foreign.  My feet were in a cold sweat, hands cold and dry as we began shooting around.

My shot felt weak, like I needed to use my legs, jumping hard just to assure the ball reached its goal.  After a few minutes of “shaking the dust off”, i.e. warming up, we began a game of “taps”.  Taps is a game in which one player shoots foul shots while the other “taps” into the basket, any misses.  It requires the “tapper” to jump, catch the ball, and shoot the ball before landing.  I quickly learned that this was asking a lot.  There was a time when this game came as easily as anything, but that time had passed. 

When I found myself on the foul line, I learned that I barely had the strength to reach the basket without jumping.  Watch a basketball game, be it high school, college, or pro, no one over the age of eight jumps on a foul shot.  But I did.  I had to.

Later we played “21”, essentially a one-on-one game that also includes foul shots and a three-pointer at the end.  I found myself a step slow on defense, and my hands still felt like bricks when handling the ball.  I tried to execute moves I was comfortable with in the past, and failed.  I tried to drive past my defender, dribbling with my right (dominant) hand, but found that when I tried to collect the ball to attempt a layup, I couldn’t get a handle; the ball bouncing forward, out of bounds and into the wall. 

When I or my opponent brought the ball into the post, creating a bit of physicality, I felt okay with the slowed down pace, but soon learned that this too brought challenges.  I backed down my defender, using my body to shield him from my dribble.  I leaned in, pushing him closer to the basket and suddenly he moved.  He slid his body to the side and I backpedalled awkwardly towards the sideline.  It felt like slow motion as I first lost my balance, then control of the ball, then watched helplessly as my legs struggled to try to catch up with my momentum.  They didn’t; I fell, sliding backwards on my butt. 

I’m not sure what my friend and opponent thought; I didn’t ask.  Likely he was as confused as I.  Soon after, I called my doctor to set up an appointment.