relentless

Why? is the question I get most often.

People want to know what makes me push myself to such intense limits in my basketball workouts.

The commitment. The drive. The discipline. How do I keep that burning year after year?

The answer is simple, I tell them.

I know that somewhere out there, in some other private health club in some other gated community, some other doughy, scrubby 36 year-old dude is working on his game. Logging the hours. Getting better. Or at least getting worse more slowly.

He's out there.

And someday our paths will cross. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next year. But we'll meet on some court someplace down the line. As slow, husky white guys in our mid-30's, we'll probably end up guarding each other.

And when we do, I need to be ready.

***

Actually, as I was in mid-workout at the health club, some middle-aged couple came onto the court because they wanted to play tennis. As an outsider, I don't know the rules. Did they book a court time? Did I have to leave? There seemed to be enough room on the court for me to shoot on the side while they played tennis, but when I suggested this option to them, they were like, "No, not really." So I left fuming.

Middle-aged Tennis Dorks: Gas Face.
Sports where you need to reserve a court: Gas Face
Tennis: Gas Face
Golf: Triple Lindy Gas Face

Give me basketball's democratic "I got next" system any day -- it's been working on city playgrounds for at least 50 years.

While I'm at it, sports should be free. I am a sellout for playing at that ritzy health club in the first place. After I left, I went and shot around at an elementary school. At least 8 full courts and not a soul playing. The court had a layer of dirt on it from nearby construction but it still felt right in a way that the health club did not.

I shot 50 free throws. How many did I make? (exact answer gets 8 GP's).