The Competitive Fires

This Christmas I want a time machine. I would like to physically become somewhere between the age of 19 and 22 again. Why? Let me explain.

I've been realizing for some time that there has been something missing from my life for the past five or so years and that "thing" is two words: Competitive Sports. I was raised on Competitive Sports (Tm) and ever since I can remember (teeball, which I can barely remember) until about the end of medical school I always played SOMETHING. Something organized, something refereed, something with a scoreboard or scorebook or game clock - something.

When I left medical school and residency began to dominate my existence the secure and gratifying world of Competitive Sports left me for a time (five long years) and I've missed it ever since, particularly football and basketball.

I played nine years of full-contact football as a youth and from college on through the end of medical school I played flag football every year, accounting for nine more years and totaling a whopping 18 years of refereed football. Basketball I played even more of and over less time, and since leagues weren't limited to once yearly I probably averaged about two leagues a year from the end of high school until just about the end of medical school. (Also, pick-up hoops, though technically not "Competitive Sports", I played endlessly in college.)

And then residency started and it all just stopped. For a while I didn't realized what I was missing. During the three long, dark, Siberian years of residency, a group of us made an effort to play a weekly game of pick up hoops which, accounting for call and other things probably worked out about 50% of the time. In this time, we played exactly two games which I would say were "competitive", the two sessions, (previously discussed right here on this blog actually), where Internal Medicine squared off against the ER and there was more at stake than just a basketball game. Every made shot from our side was a victory for "rational medicine", every stuffed jumper an awe-inspiring "block" of a crappy chest pain admission instigated by the hated ER. There was no ref, but there was fire. I liked it.

Then residency ended and I came to Landstuhl, and lo and behold there was a weekly basketball game here, too, amongst some of the docs and pharmacists. This game, which again was good for exercise, suited my purposes to some extent and probably happened about 40% of the time.

Then I was off to Iraq. There too, albeit surprisingly, there were actually pick-up basketball games on outdoor courts for several weeks in the March and April time frame. Pete and I played in about two of these before Pete left. By then the temperature was already over 100, even at dusk and furthermore and perhaps more importantly we started getting mortared regularly. Not only were our outdoor activities canceled but one of our two courts suffered a direct hit and had a small crater right over the half court line, which was difficult to game plan for, much less run over or dribble through.

So for the remainder of my time in Iraq I hit the weights to an obsessive degree, more for psychological reasons and stress management than anything else, gaining 10 to 15 pounds of muscle in my upper body over my time there. (Then upon my return I worked hard and succeeded at getting rid of all that muscle and replacing it with a brief period of impressive truncal obesity thanks to a good regimen of excessive food and alcohol.) When I returned our Landstuhl game was still happening on an infrequent basis, and I have been going ever since when able.

Which brings me up to date and to the point of this story. All through the past five years I've wanted to play more sports. Not only do I get a better work-out when playing sports (as opposed to mind-numbing running, which is always painful at EVERY step, no matter how many times I've tried to convince myself I could really "get into" running...) , but I'm just happier out there when competing for something, manning an opponent, or chasing a ball. Every year there is a Landstuhl flag football team and I always see the flyer or email and always want to go out and try out, but always wuss out in the end. I don't know anyone on the team, and it's mostly enlisted guys anyway.

Similarly, last year I noticed there was "unit level" basketball in the Winter, meaning that Landstuhl puts together a basketball team and competes against other military teams in the surrounding area. A mass email went out for a "practice" and I showed up at one or two of them. At the time though, I knew I'd be on call a lot and traveling when Gwen returned, and the fact that 20 people showed up made it less enticing, so I decided not to pursue it. But I kept thinking about it, and when this year rolled around, I started talking to a guy in my clinic and we thought it would be fun to make a second team, composed of people we know (and play with) and enter the league this year.

Logistics of recruiting aside (a story in itself), we put together a team and voila, I'm on a basketball team again.

The league is actually fairly intense, mostly in that we play at least one but as many as three games a week! The season runs through early March, and there are two weeks off for the holidays coming up. The games are short (two 15 minute halves with "running clock") but numerous. All told there are nearly 30 games! The first week of league play was last week and we had three games back to back, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Yikes.

Before the first game I was fairly nervous. Good enough to "start" on our team, but certainly not the player I was ten years ago, I went to the gym several times the week before, rented out a ball and just started shooting, dribbling and doing basketball stuff. I even ran a suicide or two, Cable Guy style, a mistake which only served to tighten my hammies (ironic in the setting of the movie) and prove that I was not in any sort of "game shape".

Now one of the (many) problems of getting older is that the mind does so in different ways than the body. In my head I can still do all things I used to be able to do, I can play the same game I did when I was 21 years old. Truth is, my body can't keep up.

Before I explain that, allow me to fawn over my former self for a moment here. (Feel free skip to the next paragraph if you're not interested in hearing me gush about my former athleticism.) My "game" as a hoops player, when I was at my best, was predicated on driving to the hoop effectively and playing good defense. In my best years, when I had a good shot as well, I was actually pretty good at basketball. My favorite and best asset over all that time, was my shot-blocking ability. With a good combination of height, lanky arms, timing, and a surprising vertical leap (for a white geeky guy) I must say that I could always block shots with the best of them. (On the flip side, my willingness to leave my feet always made me the butt of many a successful play-fake, but when I was young I could often recover.) Some of my best memories from sports - period - are blocked shots. I loved doing it, and I loved guarding guys taller and slower than me, who thought they would just pull their half-ass turn around, or other signature shot, on me with relatively little effort. I was often underestimated in games, at least initially, and I would always get a charge out of rejecting that first shot so fiercely when they never saw it coming. How my eyes would light up when I saw them start to shoot, and then their whole demeanor would change thereafter, as they watched the ball they had dared to try and shoot rocketing backward somewhere in the vicinity of their own back court; some would become almost frightened to think about shooting again - ah the good old days. Also when I was young (and in shape) I could dunk the ball with reasonable ease. I dunked in games only seldom, on the break almost exclusively, but in warm-ups or just messing around there was a period of five or so years where simply dunking a basketball came easy. (My best "dunking" game ever was a pick up game my sophmore year of college; I dunked three times in one game, once on the break and twice while driving to the hoop in a half court set with relative traffic! That was a great day. OK, fawning part over. Back to the present - dark reality that it is....)


Cut away to last week. Recently I turned 32 years old. (In those practice sessions I mentioned above, before our first games, just to see if I could, I worked up to and actually did dunk a basketball. Mission accomplished. We'll see how it goes again at age 33 - for some reason I want to see what age it is that I can't dunk anymore. Also, it's comical now. What used to come easy now requires some serious warming up, coupled with practice runs at the basket, and usually costs me a sore left arch for a day or so - but I can still do it dammit!) When we took the court at the first game I was actually fairly nervous, but in a good way. The game started and things actually went pretty well. We played a crappy team, but it took our "old man" team an overtime to get the win. I was the leading scorer on this team, (and also sealed the game with a pair of free throws - go me!) but mostly because of sneaky offensive rebound type of points. Also, I'm the tallest guy on our team, so despite spending most of my "career" as a 3, or small forward, I'm basically having to play a small center now, which I'm not sure I like. I've never been a back-to-the-basket type of player, so it's taking some adjusting.

So the first game went relatively well. Now cut to the second game. One night later. On taking the court that second night, we played a much younger, much faster team, and I was sore from the first night. My hammies were balling up a little (I've had hamstring problems since near the end of college and the track team. They never bothered me in hoops - only in football and other cleated "full sprint" sports before - until just recently. Also in March last year I slipped two discs in my lower back which have been slow to heal. This injury actually happened while I was bending down for a loose ball during a game - how old does THAT sound? I bent down, my hammies were too tight, and a sharp pain was my reward as my back paid the price and the discs were yanked out. At the time, right after it happened, every step I took was accompanied by shooting pain down my left leg. This symptom subsided with time, rest, a few meds, and physical therapy, but I still have back pain and soreness any day after running or playing any sport. It sucks, but for now it's livable.) I noticed also that I was exhausted early and often during that second game. My speed and spring were about 75% of the night before (and are already permanently diminished as discussed). We got run up and down the floor, losing by 20 points. Yuck.

Wednesday was the third game. I didn't sleep well the night before, which apparently matters when you're old. I felt terrible going into this game - I had a latte at 4 pm a few hours before to help me survive at work, which took me up and then brought me way down about an hour before the game. I went to the game feeling exhausted before we even started, and I was slow and terrible again. My hammies felt like they were ready to pop and I had absolutely NO spring. Nobody played well, and we got beat again by another large margin. It was actually a little depressing.

Whereas in a younger day, at age 20, I would play pick up hoops for two to three hours a day almost every day of the week without a problem, I now have trouble playing for 30 minutes or so (less when factoring subs) on successive nights. Also, in the third game, I was guarding a guy slightly taller than me. He was big too, probably outweighing me by about 30 pounds or so. This is the type of player I would have relished guarding years ago. Now, on fatigued legs and an aching back - not as much. The classic scenario happened. He got the ball in the low post. He made a move and then spun to shoot. My eyes lit up as I began to leap - I knew I would get the swat. Only, I didn't. He turned, I jumped, he released the ball which sailed over my outstretched fingertips, went off the glass, and into the hoop. He ran back down the floor, high-fiving his teammates while his point guard said something to the effect of "that's there all day." What an awful feeling. I had jumped my best. I couldn't get the ball. If it had been the first game, maybe. If it had been 10 years ago, that ball would have been sent to the other side of the gym. Getting old sucks. And this is only age 32. Perish the thought of age 37, 42, or worse...

(Which reminds me of a story. When I was a senior at UCSD, on the track team, I was out on a Saturday at the track doing hurdle hops one afternoon at practice. There was an old guy there, like 60 years old or so, and he was doing the actual long jump - running, jumping into the sand, tucking into a chair position - the whole bit. It was a little awkward appearing, but impressive nonetheless given his age. I started talking to him and he said he was still competing in age-group events, including the long jump. He said he really missed being young and that "the leap" is the first thing to go. At the time, I empathized with him, and remember thinking that it was damn cool that he was still out there giving it his best, but I also couldn't relate. Back then, in the prime of my athleticism, which was then bolstered by rigorous daily track work-outs, I had a 30+ inch vertical leap, a 52 flat time in the 400 meters, and I had absolutely NO IDEA what he could mean. This was about 11 years ago now. And sadly, I now know exactly what he means.)


But all age-related atrophy of body aside, it is good - damn good in fact - to be playing Competitive Sports (Tm) again. Despite the attenuation of speed and spring, I can already feel the increase in "game shape" and on weeks where we only have 1 or 2 games I should probably be OK. As long as my back holds up. (Wow, did I just type that? Excuse me I might go cry.) It sure as hell beats running or doing generic weights or something like that. I've made a mental note now that I need to be playing in leagues (or at least playing pick-up sports), even if I'm older and slower, as long as I can. Basketball, football, ultimate disc, soccer even, I don't care. It's just a much better way to stay in shape and have fun in the process. Plus it still feels good to get that nervous game energy as things are about to start. That competitive fire is still thrilling. My dream is to return to San Diego and fire up the old boys on a couple of leagues of the above. If we can't out-athleticize them like we used to, maybe we can out-think or out-strategize them instead. At the very least, we can always tell them what we USED TO be able to do. And that's better than nothing, right?

Either way, and despite the yearning for younger days, it'll be worth the effort.