Page 35 of Beyond Protection
"Smart isn't always what we need." He handed me the water again. "Sometimes we need to remember what our bodies can do."
I drank.
"Your form's good," Eamon said. "Even exhausted."
"Eleven years of coaching."
"No. That's discipline." He leaned against the wall. "You don't think about it anymore. Your body knows."
"Muscle memory."
"More than that. You trust it. Even now, with everything uncertain, you trust your body to follow its training."
"I have to," I said. "It's all I've got left."
"It's not nothing."
Silence. I should've been done, but I wasn't ready to leave—wasn't prepared for Ma's house, the waiting, and the phone that might buzz with another clinical observation.
Here, I was only a major league third baseman, and the world made sense.
"Show me the throwing motion," Eamon suggested.
"What?"
"The throw. Third to first. I want to see it."
"There's no ball."
"Show me anyway."
I moved to where third base would be. Took my position. Weight balanced. Hands ready.
I imagined the ground ball. The hop. Glove meeting leather.
My body took over.
Plant. Gather. Torque through the core. Arm whipping over. Release point burned into my nervous system from ten thousand reps.
The phantom ball sailed toward imaginary first base.
Eamon exhaled. "Damn."
I looked at him. "What?"
"That's—" He shook his head. "Do it again."
"Why?"
"Because I need to understand how someone moves like that."
It wasn't a request or command. It was pure curiosity, and maybe a bit of appreciation.
I did it again.
And again.
Five times. Ten. Until my shoulder screamed and my legs were rubbery.
