More like hoopster.
Determined to not fail in Juneathon so early, I opted for cross-training when my plan offered the choice of “rest/cross-training.” I packed my gym bag and brought it to work, thinking I would do either the elliptical or stationary bike for 30 minutes.
But at lunch time, my work’s gym is full of stevedores (yes, they still exist and I’m glad they do because it’s a fun word to both type and say) and port workers of other ilk, so instead I headed outside for our basketball court.
Back in the day, roundball was my game. Loved it. Larry Bird was my hero. I would doodle the number 33 on all my school books. I spent my winters watching the NBA, college hoops and even high school basketball. And I was ok at it. Not the best, but not the worst. A solid player.
Guess what? I sorta suck now. Not to the point of actually dribbling off my feet, but man, I couldn’t buy a basket. On a skill scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being knitting and 1 being showing patience to small children who aren’t my own, I’ve digressed to a 1.5.
Lucky for me, my friend Dave (a contract ship’s engineer) was on hand to witness the spectacle and take pictures. He didn’t join in the reindeer games because he sucked more than me.
It’s been 30 years since I’ve played organized basketball. But somehow, as I took each shot, I heard my coach’s voice: “square up to the basket, arm at a 90 degree angle, follow through.” By the end of the 30 minutes, I had hit some shots, and was sufficiently tired enough to consider my Juneathon Day 3 a success.