Last Sunday was a strange day. Sure the sun came up as usual and all that, but the strange part of it was that I went down to the village basketball court and no one was playing.
Oh sure about fifty little kids and about as many balls were there running and screaming and doing what little kids do in a wide open space, but the ballers – the village ballers – those guys constant in every Village in the Philippines, who play ball day and night and spend what little money they make on overpriced shoes – were nowhere to be found.
And I was the only dork there standing around with my own ball wondering what the hell was going on.
But before I hiked back up to the house, I saw another dude I used to play with. After asking him what was going on, he shrugged, said maybe they were visiting other villages or something, and then said, oh yeah by the way, the village liga was cancelled I forgot to tell you, for some reason or other, mumble mumble..
I realized then that the sun might as well have not come out today, because damn that stings.
Firstly, I can’t remember not joining a league of some sort at least once every year for the last 10 years, no matter how dorky, small or disorganized (actually there’s still the Alumni gang from College, but the venue’s way too far since we moved to Cainta).
Secondly, it’s a nice Sunday afternoon, and I can’t believe there’s no game going on at a typical Philippine village basketball court. This is Twilight Zone stuff.
Anyway, as far as I can remember, I was always forcing myself to hit the weights to ‘train’ for some league. Jill asked me recently how I manage to not get bored staying in the house all day, which I usually do when I have no clients to attend to. Other than the fact that this is an excellent way to keep from spending (I am very, very cheap). I realized then that the reason was the basketball leagues, and going to the gym.
Like most people, I really don’t like working out. I mean really, why the hell would you want to inflict such physical pain on yourself? Wouldn’t it be so much nicer to veg in front of the tube, or curl up in bed reading a book, getting up only to relieve yourself or take a shower when you can’t stand your own smell anymore?
But because I was usually in some league, I sleep and get up in the morning with thoughts of the last game, where something challenged me. It may be some guy, trash talking. It may be the whole opposing team, celebrating a little too smugly after scoring. It may even be a teammate sometimes, saying stuff about my game which I find offensive.
Whatever it might be, it burns me up inside. After so many years, you’d think I’d grow up by now, but I can’t help it. I only need to remember a few words, a comment, an offhand remark, a glancing look, anything I don’t like, and I wanna pound the guy. And since I can’t do that, I’ll take it out on my game.
And to do that, I gotta be fit. And to be fit, I gotta hit the weights. Stretch hard for 5 minutes, then Upper body, work on the middle, and 10-15 minutes on a bike, increasing the tension every 5 minutes. Then get on a mat and crunch again until you can’t hardly breathe, then force ten more. Back to the free weights for the chest followed by each arm. Then finally, skip rope, supposedly to warm yourself down, but if your timing is off it can get pretty frustrating and tiring, and before you know it your lungs are bursting for air, heart beating like a jackhammer.
You convince yourself everything’s for your own good. You try not to think of the strain, trying not to cheat on your reps, but even counting one to ten becomes a strain.
Over and over in your head you tell yourself it’ll make you stronger. You can reach for the ball you just couldn’t get at the last rebound. Poke the ball away for a steal like you did the last time you felt so fit. Turn around, put your feet together, and jump high in a straight line and away from the defender, 8 feet away from the goal to bury a shot, with your hand in a perfect arch like your coach drilled you to do a million times years ago.
And then as you almost collapse in exhaustion, you walk around to get your bearings straight, and the endorphins start kicking in. You feel great. You feel the burn in your arms and make a ball with your fists, flexing the pain away.
You take deep breaths, and with every breath it feels like life flowing into you, like strength pouring into your lungs, and the dark, rusty dirt of negativity and all that is wrong with your body coming out with every exhale.
You are ready and raring for any challenge. Let them do their worst, you say. Bring it on, you’re ready.
Bring it on.
But no, at least not last Sunday. Not even for the whole summer. Imagine that, a perfect summer day and no one was playing ball.