On 2 year's rest . . .

So a few days ago I went and tried, stressing that word, to play full-court basketball for the first time in a long while. Going in there with almost two year's rest I assumed I'd totally dominate. Actually, I set the bar a little lower - being able to walk again within 3-4 days would be a stunning success, but I was content with survival. I stretched and jogged around a little bit before we started - this part went marvelously. I even made a few shots in the warm up. Then we began . . . Now let me say in all fairness, I can do 3-4 miles on the treadmill without much struggle, it's not like I'm totally hopeless or anything. But after roughly 2 minutes of play, all of my cells, except for 3 or 4 of 'em, were on fire. I was huffing and puffing so hard I was afraid I was gonna do structural damage to the building. At one point the guy I was guarding got an outlet pass and went flying down the court towards his goal. Now I knew exactly what I needed to do, I just needed to run him down and get in front of him. He had a little head start, but I knew I could catch him . . . At least my mind knew it. With literally no one around me I took two quick steps towards him . . . I was off to the races, or so I thought. Then, like some kind of drunk panda bear, the top half of my body kept moving in the direction I wanted it to, but the feet were quite content to be stationary. I fell flat on my face at midcourt, skidded to an ugly halt, and my guy scored. A thing of beauty. It's rough to spontaneously fall down on your face, all alone, for no apparent reason. All the guys were good enough to not say anything to me about it, but there was no need - any semblance of pride in my hoops prowess is gone. I'll keep going back though. The moral of the story: I should've probably stretched more or at least have worn protective gear with an oxygen mask.