Like Riding A Bike?

In the fall of 2009, I received a phone call from a man who was starting an expansion franchise summer team and he asked me if I'd be interested in obtaining a roster spot for the following season, the summer of 2010. The team was called the Morehead City Marlins (www.mhcmarlins.com ), and the league was the Coastal Plain League (www.coastalplain.com ). The CPL is considered in the upper echelon of collegiate summer leagues around the country, and is loaded with Division I players and professional prospects. I had been made aware that the call may come by a mutual friend that I had with the owner of the team, a man who is an associate scout for the Angels based in the New York City area, and was pleased to accept the offer upon receiving the call.


I played out my sophomore season at school. My team made a magical run to the NCAA tournament and set a school record in wins and winning percentage. After the year was over, I packed my car with almost everything I own and made the drive to coastal North Carolina, where I'd live with a family I'd never met before and join a team of players I'd never met before in an area I'd never been to before.


Before my arrival in Morehead City, I had been successful with a very particular approach on the mound in college. Being a relief pitcher for the first two years of my college career, I lived predominantly with my fastball and curveball. I could locate both a four seamer and a two seamer to both sides of the plate, and I had a big 12 to 6 curveball that I felt very confident with. My changeup was not terrible, but it lacked consistency, and therefore I threw it sparingly. I figured if I flashed it just enough times to make sure the opponent knew it was in my repertoire then it was enough. But it certainly wasn't a weapon by any means.


I was excited to experience the competition in the CPL. The year before there were over 100 alumni of the league that were drafted and nearly 50 that had debuted in the Major Leagues in just 13 years of existence up to that point (fun fact: the CPL now officially has an alum in the NFL as well, as Russell Wilson spent the 2009 summer season in Gastonia). I was thrilled at the thought of the high level of play and large crowds that were supposed to be present at our games.


There was one aspect, however, that I overlooked. The high level of competition also meant that I'd most likely have to make an adjustment. My normal approach, which had been successful up to that point at the Division III college level, would have to be tweaked in order to remain pitching with a similar level of consistency. 


Being that I didn't take this into account going into the CPL season, I didn't start off pitching well. In fact, it seemed as if I was throwing batting practice during several of my appearances. Whichever pitch I decided to throw, my opponents would line into the outfield or rip into the gaps. I felt helpless, frustrated and defeated. I didn't know what to do and I didn't know how I was ever going to work myself out of this funk.


One day my head coach asked me to sit next to him on the bus so we could talk one-on-one. These bus conversations are comparable to a minor league coach asking a player to come into his office and shut the door...they usually didn't end good. My head coach, a small older man in his 70's, had won nearly 1,200 games in his Division I coaching career and had the stadium at the University of Central Florida, Jay Bergman Field, named in his honor. He commanded a strong presence and spoke convincingly. 


Coach Bergman, or "Bergie" as we called him, told me that he wanted me to shut down for two weeks. He wanted me to spend time each day before the games working with our pitching coach on developing a better changeup. He thought that would help me turn out to be a more successful pitcher.


The next two weeks were miserable. I'd show up to the park each day knowing that my only responsibility for the day was to trek into the outfield during batting practice and throw countless changeups to a designated throwing partner, and do nothing else. I wanted to get back on the mound so badly in order to regain my confidence and to reprove myself, but Bergie wouldn't let me.


Finally, after the two weeks were over, I'd thrown probably a thousand changeups. I was bored with the practice and pleaded with Bergie to put me back on the mound. What I didn't realize, however, was that throwing a changeup was now like second nature for me. The muscle memory was present and the grip felt natural. Suddenly, I was a three-pitch pitcher. I could throw all my pitches to all locations at any time I wanted.


I threw a lot in the last part of the season from that point, and our team earned the #3 seed in the CPL playoffs. My ERA went from 5.23 to 2.49 by the end of the season, and I became a trusted lefty out of the bullpen. 


The changeup that I had developed in the CPL carried over into my junior year at school. Thrusted into the Friday starter role, I continued throwing my changeup in all counts and realized just how much easier it was to pitch well with it. Having another pitch gave me a weapon that I had never been able to utilize before, and simply put- it was awesome.


As noted in my last blog post, this past Monday was the first time I was cleared to throw curveballs or changeups since my operation. The bullpen session I threw didn't hurt or present any discomfort in my body. In fact, I felt pretty good. But there was one problem...


I had no idea where the ball was going.


I wound up just like I always wind up and released the pitches just as I'm used to releasing them. Except the curveballs would curve in ways I didn't want them to curve and the changeups would float in locations I didn't want them to end up in. And despite continuing to throw, nothing helped. I had no consistency and no feel for my pitches.


Tommy John Surgery has temporarily eliminated the success I'm used to having with my off-speed pitches. And while I know that this is "just part of the process", it is a scary thought. I've put in all that work in the past just to get to the point that I had gotten to with all of my offerings, and now its as if I'm being pushed back to step one. Dr. Andrews told me that it sometimes takes 6-8 months for a pitcher to "feel like himself" after the rehab process is over, and I assume this is what he was referring to.


Last night after celebrating a conference tournament bid with my college teammates I couldn't fall asleep. Instead of "counting sheep" or any of the typical methods of comforting the body and distracting the mind at night, I got up and walked over to the desk on the other side of the room. I grabbed a baseball sitting comfortably next to a textbook and lay back down. I turned over onto my side and proceeded to grip the ball loosely as if I was about to throw a circle changeup.


I woke up about eight hours later with the ball still in my hand and the grip still in place. Repetition is the only way to get better at things, and practice makes perfect. I don't want it to take 6-8 months for me to regain the feel for my offspeed pitches, I want it to happen as soon as possible. So, I'll force my body to retrieve that muscle memory that used to be so fresh. And I'll do it now.

One Year Anniversary

A year ago today, I awoke on a beautiful Friday morning, threw on my travel sweatsuit that was given to me by my school, and drove to campus. A few minutes later, I grabbed my travel bag and hopped on the bus. I had my iPod and laptop in stow, and was relaxed and ready to embark on the road trip a few hours west of us, where we'd be playing in what was the most important weekend series up to that point in our season.


We were a cool 11 and 1 in conference games, and were on a tear in which we had won 16 of our last 18 games. We were getting attention nationally and were destined to make a run deep into the playoffs.


Our opponent for the weekend was a perennial power, who was also 11 and 1 in our conference and was ranked 12th in the country, after finishing as the national runner-up in 2010 by losing in the national championship game. Their ace pitcher, who was undefeated and led the conference in strikeouts, was scheduled to start the game for them. The scheduled starting pitcher for us was also undefeated and led the conference in ERA. It was set to be a battle of the giants to see who could claim the conference regular season title and the right to host the conference tournament. The weekend had big implications on the playoffs for the future and the potential national rankings that came out weekly.


I calmly stepped off the bus and entered the visiting locker room, where I continued to listen to music while trying to zone in. I had been thrown in relief as a freshman and a sophomore against them, and I had a moderate level of success. But going from a reliever to the Friday starter was a big step. I tried as best as I could to quiet my emotions and slow my environment down. And as the stands quickly filled before the game started, I was doing a very good job of it. Coming into the game with a 1.44 ERA and victories against two teams that were in the national rankings already, I saw the contest as just another performance, regardless of how rowdy the opposing fans may be or how truly important the game may have actually been in reality.


After batting practice ended, I began my pre-game warmup, a ritual of dynamic and static stretching for an extended period of time in the outfield. Then the starting catcher and I began throwing, extending ourselves deep into the outfield while loosening up our arms during the long toss session. After a bit of time, I retreated to the bullpen deep in foul territory in left field to begin my warmup pitches.


My fastball was jumping, my curveball was sharp, and my changeup freely flew off of my fingertips. I felt like I had control of all of my offerings, and confidently went through my routine with a sense that nothing could go wrong.


About 15 minutes later, I toed the rubber for the first pitch of the bottom of the first inning. The leadoff hitter squared up a 1-2 curveball and hit it hard back up the middle, but luckily it was right at me. I gloved it and made the play, undaunted by the voices I heard from the stands and the pressure I felt. The two-hitter blooped a 1-1 fastball down the right field line and legged out a Texas League double. The three-hitter, a mammoth first baseman, dug into the box. He worked the count full, and battled through all of my offerings. I looked into my catcher for the pitch...a curveball was called for the full count. Good choice, I thought. I came set and checked the runner at second, and lifted my leg to come home. I was going to try to backdoor a curve, hoping that it'd freeze the hitter enough to buckle his knees. And if he was going to swing, I was hoping he'd pull off and open his hips and roll a groundball to shortstop.


That was the last pitch I've ever thrown.


One year ago today my UCL exploded while releasing that curveball and I fell to the ground. The ball went to the backstop and I walked off the mound and into the locker room, with a limp left arm and defeated mentally. 


Tomorrow is my 22nd birthday, or rather my second-annual 21st birthday, which is what I've been calling it with my friends. I had a feeling that today and tomorrow would be difficult days emotionally for me. I figured I'd spend all day today reminiscing about the pain of hurting my elbow, and remembering all of the misery that ensued afterwards. I figured I'd spend all today tomorrow not celebrating my birthday, but thinking of a fact that hit me the other day quite hard:


I will never throw a pitch in a game as a 21-year-old. 


Instead of all of that, I'm busy locked in my bedroom completing a research paper for my senior capstone class today. And tomorrow, well tomorrow's birthday celebration will hopefully be more gratifying than last year's.


Tomorrow I will toe the rubber in the bullpen once more and complete my allotted array of four-seam fastballs. Then once those are done, I will rest, and toe the mound once more. I will come set the same way. But instead of letting a fastball go, I will rotate my fingers together on the side of the horseshoe part of the ball and turn my wrist over inwards. 


Tomorrow is the first day I am cleared to throw breaking balls.


My last pitch as a 20-year-old was a curveball to the backstop. Here's to hoping my first curveball as a 22-year-old will have a better result.


With every end comes a new beginning. Happy anniversary to the ulnar collateral ligament I was born with, may you rest in peace. You did well for me, and now it's time to move onto the next one.

Finding My "Flow State"

I received a text message over the weekend from a friend who graduated from my school last year. She is now attending Springfield College in Massachusetts, working towards receiving a Masters of Science in Athletic Counseling. Being that we have spoken several times since she graduated, she is well aware of my injury and the ensuing rehab process. There have been a few times where I've vented my frustrations to her, in hopes that she could help me out in some way. 


As most psychologists know, a client often times believes that his or her counseling session will come fully loaded with some sort of magic potion that cures every problem that is brought up during conversation. I was no different when speaking with my friend from Springfield College, or anyone else that I've discussed my frustrations with for that matter. Only when I received advice in return, it didn't come with any magic potion. In fact, it often times doesn't really make sense to me at all right away. The concepts of long-term focus and maintaining what is known as a "flow state" were things that I couldn't grasp...I wanted to know WHY these feelings were happening to me, and I wanted them fixed ASAP!


As most sane people know, psychologists certainly don't have the power to cure problems. In fact, it is their job to provide sound professional analysis that enables an individual to garner up some sort of motive to overcome whatever stresses that they feel require them to seek out this therapeutic treatment. 


When my friend texted me over the weekend, she asked me if she could interview me for a paper she would be submitting to a professor. I said no problem, of course, being that she's helped me in the past and she is a friend. Once we worked through our equally busy schedules, we determined that last night would be a good time for us to commence.


After joking around for a few minutes via our Skype session, the talk began. Much of the focus centered around the emotional feelings I have during my physical therapy, and how I am able to overcome the frustrations that come with the process. I spoke about taking everything one day at a time and setting simple goals for yourself. Then she brought up my outlook for the future- how I see myself performing as I continue to progress closer and closer to being able to once again pitch. I told her that while I was nervous, I can already sense the "normal" feelings creeping back in. When I am throwing off a mound and envisioning things just as they were pre-Tommy John, all of the senses that I previously had experienced so commonly quickly rushed back to the forefront of my mind.


The next point was tied into that idea. She brought up the concept of a "flow state". Being that baseball is such a skills-oriented sport and a sport that requires so much focus, the mental comfort zone becomes crucial for an individual to reach in order to be able to continually be successful at one's craft for an extended period of time. For me, my "flow state" comes when I am on a mound pitching live to a batter. That is the situation where I find myself most comfortable. I get into a rhythm mechanically, physically and mentally. Once I am able to realize that oh-so-familiar rhythm, the art of pitching instantly becomes simplified. I mentioned the movie For The Love Of The Game in the Skype interview last night, bringing up Kevin Costner's act of "clearing the mechanism". While the entire crowd doesn't suddenly fade into a blurred horizon for me like it does in the movie, that makes sense conceptually. That rhythm...that "flow state"...allows for me to simplify pitching to the point of it being one easy process- I rock back, and I throw the ball. Nothing else matters, and nothing else is a worry. 100% of my attention is given to what I'm doing.


I had never heard the term "flow state" before last night, and while I understood what it meant I couldn't really find a good way to translate that into my everyday life, especially now that I am rehabbing. When I arrived at practice this afternoon with my team, I took a catcher to the bullpen and completed my necessary throwing for the day. I threw four-seam fastball after four-seam fastball, just as I have done for the last several weeks. While I certainly got in a mechanical rhythm during my bullpen session, I couldn't come to believe that I was in any type of "flow state". What I was doing just wasn't natural to me. My body and my mind didn't sync. 


After my prescribed bullpen pitches, I was instructed to throw 30 pitches in batting practice to my teammates. Because we have a conference series beginning tomorrow, my head coach decided it would be beneficial to have this batting practice session treated as a scrimmage- each ball would be played live off the bat.


I trotted out to the rubber mat in front of the pitcher's mound after I was done in the bullpen, just in time for the live BP game to begin. In stepped one of my teammates, who set his feet and got into his stance. I peered in at the catcher as though I was looking for a sign, even though everyone in the park knew I was just going to groove a throw over the plate for him to hit. I raised my arm up and released the ball. A split second later, my teammate swung and roped a hard one-hop groundball to the shortstop. The ball was fielded and thrown across the diamond in time for the out.


My mind came alive. It's been almost a year since I've thrown a ball to a batter swinging live. I heard the ting of the bat and the whiz of the ball speeding past me. I watched as my teammate gracefully made the play in a fluid fashion, and retrieved the ball from the third baseman after it was thrown around the infield.


I coasted through my remaining 29 pitches without much thought of anything else in the world. Sure, I got hit...a lot. After all, that's the point of batting practice. The result of my session didn't matter to me. What mattered was gaining back that feeling once again.


I dearly miss that "flow state". I want so badly to be able to toe the rubber and relive that feeling once more...that euphoric sense of freedom and control. And while the batting practice session today didn't provide me with the "flow state" that I so yearn to get back to, it provided me with a feeling that was closer to it than any I've had since this entire experience began. And with the recognition of being a part of a semi-real baseball game in the form of a batting practice scrimmage amongst teammates, I begin to sense that I am getting THAT much closer to reliving that "flow state" I desire.


My interview last night was with the intention to benefit a friend with her graduate school assignment. But in the end, what I got out of it was a term that will remain with me throughout my entire baseball career into the future- a "flow state". The odyssey of baseball is a miraculous road, one filled with many adventures. It's up to me to embrace the opportunity to continue on living those adventures...and doing so in the most idyllic fashion...in my perfect "flow state".

If At First You Don't Succeed- Try, Try Again

I arrived at the baseball field on campus yesterday in the early afternoon, just after I did my band work in the training room and just after my catcher got out of class. I assumed the oh-so-familiar duty of removing the bullpen mound tarp and raking out the dirt in front of the rubber and a few feet further down near my foot land position. I then retreated to the outfield, where the grass loomed largely untouched in the empty stadium, and began warming up to throw my bullpen.

I breezed through my warmup throws and proceeded towards the mound. I let out a deep breathe as my catcher squatted 60 feet, 6 inches away from me and I positioned myself appropriately on top of the rubber. I came set, flipped the ball into a four-seam grip, and glared into my target. The catcher's mitt lay motionless on the outside corner, about knee high, just inviting me to guide the ball into it's open pocket. I lifted my leg, cocked my arm up, and reared back to throw. The ball came off of my fingers smoothly, and flew through the air briskly and efficiently. A split-second later, the ball greeted the catcher's glove with a loud thud, a sound that most pitchers have become so accustomed to.

There was no pain in my shoulder whatsoever. I let out a sigh of relief as I caught the return throw back from the catcher, and prepared myself to once again take my place on the rubber and deliver another four-seam fastball. I went through the same routine...coming set, finding my target, and delivering the pitch. Same result. A thud on the other end and a painless arm attached to me.

After a few preliminary tosses, I began to get in a rhythm. I threw four sets of 15 fastballs, sets one and three from the stretch and sets two and four from the windup. I worked the ball consistently on each corner, having my catcher move back and forth according to whichever direction I indicated with my glove. With each delivery came the same thud, and then I'd retreat back towards the rubber as I repositioned myself to repeat each four-seamer over and over and over again.

There is nothing in the world that I would describe quite like throwing a bullpen. Throwing a bullpen is such a tedious and monotonous task that it often times grows frustrating just going through the thought of the action. Yet throwing a bullpen is, in my opinion, a truly glorious and beautiful event. Pitching in and of itself is an art form, and practicing pitching enables one to exploit that art form on a consistent basis off the bullpen mound.

About halfway through my rehab session, I paused and smiled. I looked at my catcher, who quizzically took off his mask and peered back, and pondered for a moment.

"Man, it feels awesome to be standing up here right now," I remarked. He grinned back at me, knowing exactly how I feel. He is recovering from a torn labrum and appreciated the opportunity to catch me just as much as I appreciate the opportunity to pitch to him.

As I continued on throughout my bullpen session, I began to fall deep into an odd form of reminiscent thought. I was so comforted by the fact that the time I took off from throwing had allowed for the pain in my shoulder to subside that I started taking in everything in my surroundings. The smell of the dirt that surrounded me on the mound. The fizzing noise the ball made as it exited my hand and darted through the air towards home plate. The faint tussling of the grass as it waded back and forth in the breeze. I missed it. So much. Sure, I've been on the field plenty of times since my injury. I've attended numerous games, I've attended countless practices. I've coached third base and helped line the batter's box. I've done just about everything that is involved with being on a baseball field without actually playing baseball. And when I finally began to get a slight glimpse of that experience again yesterday, however miniscule and faint that chance may have seemed, it felt unbelievable.

My reminiscent pleasantries quickly turned into a harsh self-loathing. My mind raced through all of those times in the past when I hit snooze on my alarm clock, when I arrived at the field in a sluggish and unprepared manner. I'd taken my abilities for granted...I'd taken THE GAME for granted...for so long and not even understood the true implications of my actions. As the old adage goes, one doesn't realize how important something is until it's gone. Well baseball is gone, and I can't believe I'd ever acted the way I did. Throwing bullpens now, and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, allows me to enable myself to push that much harder, to strive that much further. Because I've been fortunate enough to be granted the opportunity to have a second chance, and I'll never let anything get in the way of that.

After my self-loathing I pumped a few more strikes into the zone and finished up the allotted amount of pitches. Then it was off to the weight room to ensure that I completed the appropriate post-throwing rehab exercises. And while I was at it, I threw in a little bit extra focus and a little bit more enthusiasm with each prescribed movement. Because if my goal is to return, and to be at full health, it'll take a lot of hard work...even more than what I've already done. And I never want to take this beautiful game for granted again.

True Life: I Had A Setback.

It was bound to happen. I had a feeling it would happen. I was afraid of how I would react when it finally did happen.

Last Monday's well-documented throwing session was one that I deemed to be very successful. Despite the slight mental discomfort I felt on the mound, my arm felt smooth and fluid and my body worked in cohesiveness. I finished my session and went about the post-throwing rehabilitation exercises as I normally do. Those also went extremely well, and I finished up my work out for the day with a smile on my face and a relaxed state of mind.

I went about the rest of my day completing whatever academic tasks that were required of me, and went to bed at an early hour to ensure that I'd get a good night sleep. I wanted to be ready to work my body hard on Tuesday so that I could be ready to throw at an optimal level for Thursday's session. I comfortably set my alarm clock, turned over and went to sleep.

When I arose Tuesday morning, my arm ached. It wasn't a typical ache that I'd expect to feel a day after throwing, however. It felt as if someone was pinching on the top of my shoulder, and that pinching was causing a lot of discomfort on the bone. I tried moving my shoulder around, and it ached even more. I did some arm circles and heard a clicking noise, loud enough that it echoed off the bedroom wall. I tried not thinking much of it, figuring maybe I just slept on it wrong. I went up to campus and sat through class for the morning, but couldn't really concentrate. I continued to move my arm around in circles and massage the area on my shoulder that felt painful. The ache was enough to be worrisome, and was something I didn't want to mess around with. I walked into the arena and into the basement, where the trainer's room is. I reported what I felt to the head trainer, who took me to the other side of the room and put me through a slew of testing exercises.

I was quickly informed that there didn't seem to be any structural damage in the shoulder, and that my range of motion was fine. There was definitely some swelling in the area though, and caution should be used. After some contemplation and discussion, I placed a phone call to the Andrews Institute and got Jeremy Geus, Dr. Andrews's program director on the phone.

I told Jeremy that I had woken up with pain in my shoulder, and that the range of motion seemed to be alright. There was just aching and swelling. After I described everything I had been experiencing to him, I was met with a response that very much took me by surprise.

He laughed.

"Josh, it's been a little over eight months, right?" he asked, after letting out a chuckle.

I told him yes, and anxiously awaited his further response.

"Man, I'm surprised it's taken this long for you to have any type of setback. Most guys start complaining about shoulder pain after like three months. If your range of motion is fine then there's nothing to worry about. It's probably either tendonitis or a bone bursitis, nothing to lose sleep over. Just take a week off from throwing and do some strengthening of the area."

I told him I kind of figured it was some type of mild tendonitis, and asked him how long it usually took for those other players that had complained of pain to experience no pain at all.

"Honestly, you will probably have some type of ache and pain everyday for the rest of your life. It's called getting old brother. But in terms of your arm, it should be fine in a week or so." I let out a good laugh at that one and thanked him for the reassurance.

So ladies and gentlemen, I had a setback. My shoulder was in enough pain to cause me to stop throwing for a little over a week (April 2-April 12 to be exact). It was an occurrence that I was so scared of experiencing for so long...the thought of my hard work and hours of dedication being smacked away from me as quickly as my pitching career was derailed last spring. I spent a lot of time in daily thought thanking whoever was in charge of blessing me with good health thus far during my recovery time, and prayed at the same time that I'd never have to deal with the task of rebounding from a rehab setback.

But for whatever reason when I was told that it'd probably be best to take some time off from throwing to give my arm a rest, I took it in stride. Not only did I not stress out about it, but I almost thought as if this was a blessing in disguise. This gave me more of an opportunity to continue to work at getting my body stronger. This gave me more of an opportunity to continue to strengthen the structural aspect of my rehabilitating arm. But most of all, this gave me more of an opportunity to truly appreciate the mythical light at the end of the tunnel. Because as with most things in life, I shouldn't expect this process to come to me easily and without any negativity. Overcoming a setback- another setback- will make that return to the game that much more gratifying for me in the end.

I'll be back on the grind- and on the mound- this Thursday.

Just a speed bump in the road...

Visualization Practice

Tommy John is a funny animal in a lot of instances. For the most part, my experience over the last 8+ months has provided me with a lot of realizations. As my rehab continues to progress to greater physical lengths, I begin to understand the necessity of preparation much more than I did in the past. It takes a lot more for my body to get ready for the upcoming throwing session and then takes a lot more for me to overcome the exhaustion that ensues after each throwing session. This continual up and down of physical preparation and physical exhaustion is something that is somewhat manageable for me because it is something that I've become rather accustomed to in the past. Starting games at the collegiate level has a similar effect on my body...lots of preparation followed by lots of exhaustion. Then repeat. Today, however, I came across something different.

Today's protocol involved throwing 60 pitches, all four-seam fastballs, at 75% velocity. After completing those 60 throws, I was to throw 15 pitches in batting practice to my teammates. Upon first reading the instructions I was kind of puzzled as to what it specifically asked for pertaining to batting practice. I called down to the Andrews Institute and spoke to Jeremy Geus, Dr. Andrews' program director who I've been collaborating with. I asked him if this meant I should get on the mound and pitch to my teammates and he said no, they want me to throw actual batting practice like coaches do to their team. This confused me as well. I didn't really understand the point of standing 40 feet from the plate and cruising balls down the middle for my teammates to feast on after throwing a bullpen session...it just kind of seemed like a step down.

I went through the 60 pitches in somewhat of a breeze. I split the session up in four sets of 15 with a few minutes of rest in between. I worked inside and outside, up and down. My control wasn't ideal, but was certainly nothing to scoff at considering the stage of rehab. After my four sets I went into the clubhouse connected to our dugout and changed from my cleats into my sneakers. I waited a few minutes for the batting practice groups to change and then exchanged spots with our hitting coach, who was throwing to the team while I threw my bullpen.

I assumed my position on the rubber mat set up in front of the mound, probably about 40 feet from home plate. I reached down into the ball holder next to me and grabbed a few baseballs, and stepped back. I looked up at home plate and proceeded to watch as one of our senior outfielders dug into the box and got set in his stance, awaiting my throw.

Suddenly, the reasoning behind Dr. Andrews' orders set in. Home plate seemed microscopically small, and my teammate looked like Andre the Giant. I peered into the strike zone and tried to focus my attention, but I couldn't. It hit me quickly- I hadn't faced a real batter in almost a year.

Seeing a hitter standing in the batter's box in front of me threw me off the rhythm that I had started to become so accustomed with in the last few months of throwing. My last pitch in a game was April 22, 2011. That pitch was also the last baseball that I threw with a batter standing in front of me attempting to hit the balls I threw. And as I stood behind the L-screen this afternoon in the middle of my team's practice, I became thankful. I knew that the reason for the protocol being written the way it is was a simple reason- comfort.

I need to relearn what it is like to pitch to a batter. I need to relearn the visualization process of successfully hitting my spots while I have an opponent standing in front of me. And this afternoon, as I stood and threw my 15 batting practice pitches, I was thankful that Dr. Andrews was so thoughtful to make sure that the first time I saw a batter in front of me was in a meaningless batting practice session and not in a game-like situation.

So for now I will quit second-guessing what I read on the protocol. Dr. Andrews and the fine staff that he has at the Andrews Institute obviously know what they're doing and why they're doing it. I am just a pawn in a gigantic game of chess...and I'm more than OK with that. Anything to get my arm better.