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.