I Threw A Baseball.

Dr. Andrews approved my ability to throw a baseball last Friday, and suggested that we start Monday in order to set myself on a typical Monday-Wednesday-Friday routine. I accepted the suggestion in stride, figuring stretching out the additional plan for an additional 48 hours couldn't hurt. And M/W/F was a lot easier and normal to follow than F/M/W. I walked out of physical therapy on Friday calm and comfortable with the plans and figured I'd coast through the weekend and come into this morning's session fresh and ready to go.

Of course lo and behold, I was wrong. I probably slept a combined 15 hours all three weekend nights. I tossed and turned in bed, anxiously arising in the middle of the night just to comfort myself by putting on my glove and tossing a ball into it. I awoke to cold sweat and panting, dreams recollecting the events of April 22. The blinding pain in my elbow, the ensuing collapse, the look on my coach's face, the eerie silence of the worried crowd. I recalled the vision of the tears building up in the eyes of my mom and girlfriend, and the scurrying of the training staff to try to muster up any sort of therapeutic device they could find, despite the obvious uselessness. I remembered the pool of tears I left on the floor of the visiting locker room, and the dent in the locker that was compliments of my fist. I reminisced of the painful chore of watching my teammates lose in the conference tournament while I iced my obliterated arm on the bench. The memories were too strong, too vivid, too agonizing.

After gulping down a much needed caffeine-laden cup of coffee, I hopped in the car and headed to physical therapy this morning. My sentiment from last week had changed over the last few days. Did I really want to throw a baseball? Did I really want to potentially subject myself to the same misery I'd experienced just a few months ago? Did I fully prepare myself for the conceivable notion that this session could be a new entry into the lowest point in my life experiences with depression?

I heated my arm, completed my band work, and my exercise ball stability exercises. I was fairly silent this morning, abnormal of most days when I openly converse with my fellow teammate who is recovering from shoulder surgery. I felt a constant turning in the pit of my stomach and a dried throat. I would venture to say that I might have been more nervous then than I have ever been about anything in my entire life. After all, I was going to throw a baseball.

After my teammate and I both completed our work in the training room, it was time to begin the throwing program. I re-laced my sneakers and grabbed my glove. The trainer handed me a fresh NCAA baseball, and I quickly engulfed the four-seam fastball grip I've been so accustomed to for so many years. My teammate and I walked out of the training room and ascended upstairs into the hallway. From there, a right turn into the arena.

We stationed ourselves on the basketball court, with me assuming placement on the baseline and my teammate standing where the trainer measured off the appropriate distance. I was instructed to loosen up and then make 25 throws with very minimal effort- with emphasis on mechanics and release point. I stretched out until I felt as though my body was sufficiently ready to begin throwing, and came set at the belt.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a minute. All the memories that had rushed to the forefront of my mind over the weekend were quickly rushing back. I attempted to shake these off and focus on the task at hand. I took another deep breath and opened my eyes, fixating my attention on the open glove of my teammate standing in front of me. I stretched out forward with my right leg, planting it in a directly straight line towards my teammate. I broke my hands and positioned my glove in its conventional location upon release- thumb down, elbow pointed at my target. My left arm began its pendulum-like motion, first reaching upwards until my fingers were positioned on top of the ball, the ball was facing behind me and my arm was at a nearly perfect 90 degree angle with the elbow parallel with the shoulder. In one motion, I pulled my glove hand in towards my side and began to bring my arm forward into my release.

A split second later, I let the ball go.

The ball soared through the air at an incredibly slow rate, rotating with quick backspin. My teammate began to move his glove towards where he expected the ball to end up, and my follow through began. My back leg came over, my arm down to my right knee, and my chin well over my chest.

My eyes remained closed as soon as I released the ball, wincing in preparation for the fierce stabbing of agony that came with every throw I'd made since April 22. Time seemed to stand still during the ball's flight, and I anticipated the pain to soon be set in.

Suddenly, I heard the thud of cowhide hitting leather. I quickly opened my eyes to witness what the sound was. My teammate, who stood in the same place he had been in before I released the ball, held his glove out in front of his chest with his thumb down and the glove squeezed closed. Inside the pocket of this glove was the baseball I'd just thrown.

I smiled wider than I've smiled in a long while. By my highly unprofessional estimate, I would guess that initial ball was thrown anywhere between 15 and 25 miles per hour. Onlookers not aware of the situational circumstances would probably scratch their heads and snicker at the looping molasses-like nature of my elaborately mechanical throw. And I literally could not care less. I threw a baseball. I went through my full-fledged mechanics and I threw a baseball. And there was no pain. None at all. In fact, there was no pain with throw #2 or 3 or 4 or 25. Every throw was normal, albeit slow. My teammate and I finished our session, high-fived, and made our way back to the training room to continue our other aspects of rehab.

I arrived home a bit later, made myself a sandwich and turned on the television. My roommate walked in shortly thereafter and after speaking for a minute, said "So throwing went well I see." I asked him how he knew and he said "You won't stop smiling." I smiled even bigger at that, which garnered up another response from my roommate. "It's kind of weird dude, stop."

Now that the emotional elation has dwindled away several hours after my ultra-successful throwing session, the exhaustion has set back in. I am glad I set a few hours this afternoon aside for some free time, because I'm in serious need of a nap. And I'm sure I'll rest assured, comfortable and content, smiling. Hopefully if I dream it'll be of this: