I iced my arm a second time before heading to sleep that night, figuring it would behoove me to minimize the additional swelling that may have accumulated from my throwing session. I'd done all the post-throwing exercises I was familiar with doing- shoulder maintenance, core workouts and cardiovascular endurance. I had taken every measure of precaution I could have so my recovery time would be optimized for the following morning and I could continue to progress in my rehab. I hit the sack early on Monday night hoping to get a good night sleep and let my body recuperate to it's maximum.
I woke up Tuesday morning for class and felt like I got hit by a bus. I could barely move my swollen left arm, let alone straighten it. I struggled to put any pressure on the muscles in my legs when I walked because of the incredible soreness I felt. It was as if I had thrown 140 pitches in 100 degree weather on Monday night. I was absolutely exhausted, drained and weak beyond any measurable comparison.
I went straight to the training room before class to see what I could do to offset the soreness. I thought about immersing myself into the cold tub, providing my entire body with the ice that I typically only apply to my arm. I normally can't stand the miserable pain of the cold tub, and often try to get a female athlete that is in the room to role play with me- pretend that I am Leonardo DiCaprio and she is Kate Winslet as I just fell off the Titanic- so that I distract myself from the shivering caused by the water temperature. However I put a good amount of consideration into getting over my fear of the pain and hopping into the tub on this particular occasion because of how sore I was. Unfortunately this proved to be an option that was not feasible because I didn't have enough time before class in order to stay in the tub long enough. So I just strapped some ice to my arm and walked to class with the bags wrapped tightly around me.
That afternoon I went to the weight room and got a good amount of cardio work in, and iced once again. I stretched for what seemed like forever and got additional ultrasound treatment on the arm. Gradually throughout the day, the soreness began to wear off. I straightened my arm with only slight stiffness, and my legs gained strength with every hour that passed. It was an improvement that happened so quickly I was almost skeptical that it was some sort of an illusional teaser...that my body was playing a joke and would wake up Wednesday morning feeling even worse.
Of course that was not the case. Wednesday morning I woke up feeling pretty good, actually, and worked my way through physical therapy without too much extra trouble. Wednesday's throwing session was identical to Monday's, same distance and same amount of throws. I felt great during the session, hitting my target with consistent accuracy and not feeling but a slight tension in my elbow. I went through the regular post-throwing exercises I outlined a few paragraphs ago and once again went about my day.
Lo and behold I woke up Thursday morning and I was sore- but not AS sore. I realized that this was the exact progression I had heard so many times in the past. As I've referenced a few times in the past, my good friend pitched at an ACC school for four years and underwent Tommy John Surgery in 2007. He described the weekly progression of throwing as follows:
"You'll start off a week doing a new set of exercises, and it feels terrible. Horribly sore, like you'll never be able to do anything with your arm ever again. It's a miserable feeling, and you fall into depression. But by the end of the week, somehow, that same set of exercises is a thousand times easier. You don't feel the stress or the agony anymore. You feel so confident that you're progressing so quickly and you are anxious to keep going.
The the next week rolls around. Since your last exercise session felt so good, you are scheduled to move to the next step. Sometimes that's more weight, or more exercises, or more throws, or longer distance. Whatever it is, it's further along. And then on day on, the cycle starts all over again. You're miserable, sore and depressed.
That's how it is man. Every week of every month, for a year."
Back when I was senior in high school and helping my friend as his throwing partner, the thought was "boy that sounds rough." But I couldn't quantify it. There was no comparable experience that I had in my life that I allow me to be able to understand my friend's feelings during that time. I knew all I could do was be a good friend. I could catch the ball when he threw it to me, throw it back to him. I knew I could run with him, do sit ups with him, lift weights with him. I knew I could provide a shoulder to lean on if he had a bad day, or a cheerful companion to relish in his accomplishment during a good day. That, to me, was the definition of being a good friend. But I still couldn't relate to what he was going through. I sympathized, but I didn't empathize. I didn't know how.
Waking up this morning to no soreness whatsoever is exactly what I had expected to happen. It is what I was warned of, it is what the weekly progression schedule had laid out for me. The aches and pains of my throwing session 24 hours previous were nonexistent and the intense muscle recovery was not necessary. I felt completely normal upon arising from bed, without even a hint of feeling that I'd thrown yesterday.
It is a scary thought to realize that every single week will consist of such a physical sensation and such an abrupt advancement. Mentally, it is a period of time that will take some adjusting to do. As good as it felt to throw a baseball this week (and trust me, it felt GREAT), I was 35 feet from my partner. I was lobbing the ball with about as much effort as was necessary to reach the intended target. In the fairly near future, I'll be due to step on a mound and throw the ball with all of my effort and attempt to get hitters out. It's a difficult concept to envision being so far away.
Tommy John Surgery can be very much compared to going through a K-12 education. The wheelchair I was placed in coming out of surgery was my enrollment day in Kindergarten, when the teacher puts all the kids in a circle and we introduce ourselves by name (ironically, we still participate in a similar practice in some college classes...). I feel as though I've graduated my way to fourth grade now. I've learned my multiplication tables and how to do long division. I know how to write in cursive, although I haven't perfected it. I'm beginning to read books that state more than "the cow jumped over the moon" and I'm starting to learn who Abraham Lincoln was. In about a month I expect myself to be entering middle school. Middle school is where hormones begin to arise, and where algebra is first introduced.
I'm not ready for middle school yet. For now, I'll stick to my juice boxes and Pokemon cards at the lunch table. I don't want to start having girlfriends and midterm exams, that stuff just doesn't sound like fun.
Eventually though, I'd like to complete the 12th grade and walk across that stage with my diploma in hand. I'm hoping that my fictitious education has very little bumps in the road and that I graduate with high honors.
Unfortunately when I was in fourth grade I was not imagining graduating high school. And experiencing soreness from 35-foot throwing does not prove it to be an easy task to look ahead to the day I step on the mound to pitch in a game. But, it's certainly something worth dreaming about. And I'll keep envisioning it.
One week of throwing complete.
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