Anxious Awaiting

It is well documented here that the process of Tommy John recovery is a very monotonous, time-consuming experience. It involves months and months of rehabilitation. Within that rehabilitation is painful movements, exhausting exercises and immeasurable anguish. And through all of those experiences, there is a nature of repetitiveness that is not often found in many other life events. Much of the mental toughness that has to be ubiquitous throughout the entire process involves focus. A yearlong recovery requires a persistent focus that sees very little immediate gratification. And as many of you know, immediate gratification is what human beings seek in the majority of life ventures. Tommy John is a daily grind- a speck of molasses dripping down from a tall branch, a snail making its way across a desert.

I have made it a habit to try to update this blog at least once a week, and have been doing so pretty customarily since kicking off back in July. Many of the posts have had a ton of information within them and have provided insight to those who have been following along. I have received many e-mails, tweets and Facebook messages from people who have come across this page, and for those of you who continue to follow I urge you all to share with those that you feel this may benefit and continue to reach out. It truly feels wonderful to be able to help others through some situations that could be similar to what I am going through or what I have gone through thus far.

Some of the blog posts, however, have been, as my Advanced Composition professor kindly called it, "fluff." It sometimes is difficult to quantify the emotional standing of my progress in a thousand words or so every single week. Truth be told, sometimes my feelings have not changed at all since my post the previous week. And writing out an entire post highlighting my feelings proves to be tough because I have to extrapolate information out of areas where that information doesn't seem extraordinarily significant. Yet I continue to prod along and continue to try to provide information that may seem valuable to me.

For lack of a better excuse, I've decided to make this post unlike those others before that I mentioned above. I won't delve too far into the specifics of the emotional roller coaster I have felt because frankly, things haven't differed too much since my last post last Thursday. I've continued my throwing program with fairly identical results as the past throwing days I've had, and I've been hard at it in the gym with the conditioning aspect of the rehab. I've realized that there haven't been many instances in past posts in which I've provided a detailed chronicle of the actual events that I am completing. Therefore, the rest of this post will outline what lies ahead into the future, according to the protocol given to me by Dr. Andrews.

Tomorrow, Friday, January 20th, 2012, marks my final day throwing at 120 feet. I will make three sets of 25 throws from that distance, with approximately five minutes of rest in between sets. On Monday I begin the new distance, 150 feet. I will spend next week throwing Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 150 feet, completing two sets of 25 throws. The following week I will progress to 180 feet, where I start at two sets of 25 throws. The week after that, which would begin on Monday, February 13, I move to three sets of 25 throws. Then during the week of February 20, I move back in to two sets of 25 throws at 180 feet.

Once the 180 foot phase is complete, I begin what is known as "Interval Throwing Program Phase II." In my mind, phase two has extreme significance in that it marks my time to begin my mound work. Phase two is split into 15 steps (15 weeks) and three stages, and works to gradually build the arm and the body back up to peak performance potential by the end of the program. Phase two begins for me, barring any setbacks, on February 27 and runs, barring any setbacks, until June 1.

So there you have it. A detailed outline of exactly what the sheet says. I've made photocopies of the original twice now because I've looked at it so many times that it has become wrinkled and ripped. The sheet that holds the interval throwing program is the most important piece of paper that I hold in my life right now. It holds the key to my future on the mound, my future in the game of baseball.

I don't know what lies ahead for me with respect to my arm's reaction to the increased distances and increased reps. Nor do I know what is in store for me once I step on a mound and throw my first fastball. Or changeup. Or curveball. I do know one thing though, I'll be nervous. And I'll be excited. Because each day of throwing leads one day closer to hearing my name called by the PA announcer and having a batter step in the box once again.

That's really all I want. I just want to pitch.

Tomorrow at 12:30 PM, I'll be out at the football field at White Plains High School completed my last day at 120 feet. From then, I have five more weeks until I can throw off a mound. 31 days actually, until February 27. That's 744 hours. 44,640 minutes. 2,678,400 seconds until I can throw off a mound.

But who's counting?