If you knew me when I was younger, you know I played basketball.
All.
The.
Time.
I loved ball.
I loved it so much that not playing it was what I chose to punish myself with when I was sexually assaulted at 14.
I healed though.
And I went back to it.
If you met me in the last 5 years, you probably have no idea that it was such a significant part of my life. I’ve kept it that way because it’s one of the very few things I’ve struggled to admit and accept.
But here it is.
4 concussions and 2 rounds of post concussion syndrome caused havoc on my physical and psychological state. My memory is what I’m most open about; it’s a difficult symptom to hide. I could barely retain any new information for the first few months after concussion number 4. It was awful.
Over time, I made some massive improvements and I continue to be hopeful for more.
In between concussions, I was very limited on the amount of physical activity I could participate in. Contact sports were out of the question, team sports were risky and not at all advised, even running solo wasn’t recommended for a while. I had to ease myself back into my active lifestyle, one baby step at a time.
I accepted that.
I had felt the effects of pushing myself too hard, it wasn’t worth the pain. I paced myself and followed doctor’s orders.
When I finally felt ready to try ball again, I joined a co-ed recreational team. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but it was a shock to every part of my system.
There were two additional symptoms that I hadn’t noticed.
1. I now “played scared”. I was afraid that I would get hit, so I both avoided the ball and stayed out of the plays.
2. I had lost a lot of the coordination in my left side. For whatever reason, the brain signals to my left had a delayed response. I couldn’t dribble well with my left hand. I could no longer do layups on the left. I couldn’t shoot with my left hand. I could barely function on the left side of the court.
The more I concentrated on doing it, the more psychological it became for me. It got to a point where even if I could, I wouldn’t. It was a devastating blow at an already low period of my life.
So, I stopped playing.
Completely.
My oldest son played ball for years. I coached him in his first year and practically lived on the court. That was no longer an option, I became a spectator and supporter. A basketball mom.
Basketball simply became something I used to do, for those that knew I did it.
Many of the adults in my personal and professional life played ball too. Quite a few still do. I used to tell people I played if they asked, but I stopped doing that too. Having a good sense of humour, friends would often joke around about my ability, or inability, to play. They would challenge me to a game and when I didn’t accept the challenge, they made the assumption that I was lying. If I couldn’t prove it, then it wasn’t true. They would tease me about it, try to test my knowledge of positions, rules, calls, etc.
I wouldn’t answer questions and I refused to pick up a ball. Instead, I laughed it off. Everytime.
I laughed it off because it was extremely difficult for me to talk about. If people believed I didn’t play, they would just leave me alone. It was a win-win for me.
Recently, I made the decision to start training again. To re-develop my left side.
No expectations. No pressure.
I registered in a development/house league for recreational players. Today was my first day. There were 12 of us there. I raised my hand with the other 11 participants when the instructor asked who used to play. The skills in the room ranged from basic to intermediate. I tried to stay in between.
No expectations. No pressure.
Trying to balance the skill with my right and the beginner level of my left was challenging in itself but it was a lot of fun being in a room with strangers.
No expectations. No pressure.
We worked through a variety of drills…dribbling, passes, layups. I didn’t do one left layup properly, but I kept trying anyway. It started to become obvious to the group that I more than just “used to play as a kid”.
We were playing full court, one on one, until someone scored. I was paired with a woman who hadn’t played in about 15 years. Her defense consisted of her slapping my arms everytime I went to shoot, so I couldn’t score. I’d let her run the ball for a bit before stealing it back but then she would slap my arms again to get it back. It was like playing with a kid but it was hilarious and so much fun. We repeated it so many times, we were both exhausted. Finally, I looked at her and said “here, let me put both of us out of our misery” and I shot the three in her net. Everyone started laughing but once I got back to the baseline, the “What was that? You play, don’t you?” questions came out.
No expectations. No pressure.
Strangers are supportive in a way friends sometimes are not. People who knew me as a player think they are doing me a favour by asking me to play a pick up game. By pushing me to pick up a ball when I’m not ready because they know how happy it used to make me. They believe that if I just do it, it’ll come back to me in no time. While I know they mean well, it’s not as simple as they believe it to be. I wish it were. I really do.
Training like a beginner is both depressing and exciting for me right now. Although I cried all the way home, it felt amazing to be back on the court; even at that capacity. 2 hours with a ball in my hand.
No expectations. No pressure.
I’m already looking forward to next week.
And miles to go before I sleep 