Chemistry on the Court

We were taking a water break.

It seemed almost effortless the way one of the men was jumping to smack the backboard with his entire hand. What was he trying to prove? So you can hit the backboard. But I've got the backbone.

A couple weekends ago, I spent an afternoon playing basketball with my roommate and a group of strangers. Some women might hesitate when invited to go head-to-head verse a pack of men in a game of ball. Not me. I have always had faith in my ability to play basketball. It's the best adrenaline rush out there. I've played for most of my life. I hadn't really got into it during my years at college but about a week ago, I was focused and on my game. I can't tell you how many games we played but I can say, I never wanted it to end.

I felt alive.

I was driving to the basket and making my shots. Who was I? My shot had always been from the outside. There were no lines on the rough asphalt, no nets hanging from the rims and no red square on the backboard to guide my aim. I had no fear of getting shoved to the ground by guys three times my size, who brought nothing but their street game. And believe me, I was knocked around and almost knocked out at one point but I kept at it. I was getting complimented on how fast I was. I was the Big D on the court, sticking with my man at every cost. I think these big boys were impressed by a girl.

Usually I get a little giddy when someone's flirting with me but not on the court. My roommate was laughing with the man she was guarding because the guy I had been defending apparently liked me. Or maybe he was just turned on by my mad skills.

Then, beyond all doubt, I stole the ball and dunked on him.

OK, so I didn't. But it did cross my mind. If only I could wrap my little hands around a NBA-sized ball better. It's fascinating how something like a game of ball at a park can lift my spirits higher than anything purchased or guiltily indulged into my body. I felt like all I needed was a ball and a basket to produce instant happiness. Nothing else mattered while I was on that court. I made new friends that day, and I was probably the last player wanting to leave the scene. As my roommate and I drove off, I thought to myself how much I have missed the sparks created between the game of basketball and me. It is truly magical.

I'm hoping to get in to it more, especially since I'll have a full-sized court--with nets--at our new apartment complex. I did make my roommate search a few stores to find an actual WNBA-sized ball for us to play with. Hey, women do have smaller hands. But if I'm ever asked to play with the opposite sex again, you can bet that if they're out to prove manliness by shooting with a bigger ball, it's not going to repress my desire to step up and feel alive again.

This woman has backbone.