Flattery can get you hurt

I must be looking good at the gym!

I had just completed the first half of my grueling cardio workout (OK ... a slightly grueling 20 minutes on the elliptical), and decided to take advantage of an open basketball court instead of Workout Part II on the treadmill (normally 25 minutes).

My gazelle-like movements on the court (Picture a very old, slightly overweight gazelle.), abundance of old-guy energy, and my deadly accurate, quick release was obviously turning some heads.  I'm pretty sure I sealed the deal when they saw my signature Jabbar-like sky hook.

That would be Maurice Jabbar, a 75 year-old I once saw play in the Smithsonian Geriatric League.  And maybe "sky hook" is a bit of an over-sell; but it sounds a lot sexier than "hop hook"!

Anyways ... I'm working up a good sweat and in mid turn-around jumper (Picture a ... Well, you get the picture already.)  I sense someone behind.

"Hey, want to play two-on-two?"  It's a guy about half my age.  (OK ... Half my age 10 years ago .... maybe 15)  Obviously he was impressed.  Or just really desperate for a playing partner.

What he doesn't realize is I'm pretty near passing out; everything south of my waist (Yes, everything!) is groaning for me to stop; and I feel like I'm one sudden move away from a major muscle spasm.

I must have looked at him like he had six heads, because he suddenly looked alarmed and glanced around ... probably to locate the nearest portable defibrillator.

I took in a huge breath; mustered all my remaining strength; and very slowly told him, "Thanks, but ... I'm ... almost done ... here.  And ... have to ... go soon.  Besides ... you guys ... are ... way ... too young ... for me ..."

He looked either disappointed or relieved that he wouldn't have to administer CPR.  It was tough to tell through the gauzy haze of my overheated, sweat-drenched face.

"But you'll be on my side." he said.

He must have been an ER doc.