If You’re 60 And You Know It, Play Some Ball

Today I woke up early and somehow managed to take advantage of one of those cool, crisp, and cloudless September mornings to venture to a nearby park and to shoot some hoops. This marked a bit of a milestone for me, as this was the first time I’d touched a basketball since turning 60 years old a few months ago. So while 60 isn’t supposed to feel much different than 59, it had been 10 months since the last time I did this when my fellow 60-year-old Al and I hit the courts last November (though I’m sure he’s been back several times since then) as 59ers. With the pandemic and the lockdown that followed, this was long overdue and felt that way (and still does). So if it’s safe where you are and playing some ball is something you enjoy, go for it if you’re able. It becomes more of a challenge with age, but us 60-somethings can still get out there. (“If you’re 60 and you know it, play some ball, clap clap!”)

THE SMALL DETAILS

The local weather report said the temperatures would be in the mid-60s around the time I would head for the park, so I ditched the basketball shorts and went with some full-length warm-ups. That was the easy part. One of the reasons I haven’t gone out more than I have during the pandemic is the amount of preparation involved. It’s almost like preparing for surgery using hand sanitizers, finding a properly fitting mask, etc. An early rise was a must, as the courts in NYC become crowded at around noon. After filling my underutilized basketball with air (which came after a lengthy search for the pump and a slightly less intense search for needles), I then had to tie my eyeglasses on so they wouldn’t slip off while shooting mid-range “jumpers” and wearing a mask is still a must.

I still had to decide which courts I’d use: the ones right across the street in a more open area where I’d end up spending most of my time chasing the ball after makes AND misses, or the enclosed courts with fences on four sides but six blocks away. Either way, I’d get some exercise in. After a short, but wobbly walk to the supermarket just the day before, I opted to walk the six blocks to the enclosed courts.

OFF TO THE COURTS

So after a long hiatus, I finally headed for the basketball courts looking every bit the walking contradiction, with a basketball under my left arm, a just-purchased bottle of water in my left hand, and my cane in my right hand. I’d only walked about two blocks before beginning to second-guess my decision to use the courts further away from home. There’s a slight incline on the avenue going in that direction, but after three blocks it was beginning to feel like Mount Everest, my pre- and post-lockdown gut started to feel like a bag of groceries, and my back was beginning to sing. But the thought of having to chase a basketball around a park was enough to prevent me from turning around.

Once I reached the empty courts I was met with a dilemma (Am I the only one who thought this word was spelled with an “n” as the sixth letter?) right away. The enclosed courts have two baskets. To use the one facing east would mean shooting the ball with the sun right in my face; to use the one facing west would mean being closer to the overpowering stench of a huge pile of uncollected New York City garbage, a huge problem here due to city budget cuts. I had no intention of keeping my mask on while shooting around, thinking social distancing would not be a problem (it wasn’t) but in this case, it came in handy for as long as I could take it. I eventually moved it to the chin area and just dealt with the odor.

THE RESULTS DON’T MATTER UNTIL THEY DO

I’ve been working from home since early-March. That’s six months of sitting for eight-to-ten hours a day, not including the time needed to decompress (more sitting). I have an exercise bike at home, but even that requires sitting. So with no commute and little movement for that length of time, the muscles go to sleep. And like humans, muscles don’t appreciate when they are abruptly awakened from a deep slumber. Even as I did some light stretching upon arriving at the courts, the muscles, especially the back muscles, became rather cranky, cursing me out in muscle-speak.

“If you think you’re uncomfortable now, wait until tomorrow, sucker!”

I don’t shoot a lot of long-distance shots and, not surprisingly, I wasn’t able to on this day without some intense pain. I mostly hung around the basket anyway, and until I limbered up a bit I was clanging shots off the front rim as if I was aiming for it. I left home thinking the results weren’t important as this was all about a light workout. But you know how the ego works. I’m just glad there was no one around to record field-goal percentages, especially at the beginning. But I did start to feel better and, with frequent breaks, managed to extend a planned 30-minute session to nearly an hour, totally forgetting that I still had to walk six blocks to get back home.

KEEPING THINGS MOVING

This current ordeal we’re all faced with has forced us to change routines on the fly. As we get older the consequences of not engaging in some sort of physical activity daily, even if it’s nothing more than a walk around the block, are greater. At 60, my days of playing competitive basketball games are winding down and full-court games are out of the question, but just shooting around keeps a lot of muscles active. To be sure, the term “playing basketball” means different things to a 30-year-old and a 60-year old. But just a six-block walk and shooting a basketball flat-footed for an hour on a smelly court after months of inactivity can serve as a reminder of the importance of keeping things moving.

Of course, today’s journey will mean nothing if I’m not back on the courts or walking somewhere tomorrow and the day after, and so on. The weather’s getting nicer. No excuses.

Keep moving!