Howdy,
#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 27
(Unedited, or only slightly)
Continued …
All week Jake Jones — the smallest player on the basketball court every time he stepped on it, even when he was by himself — pushed himself hard.
The hardest he ever had, all week. Jake hadn’t cracked the code to reenter the unsettling athletic state, still unsure of another effort for making the game blur, but he remained completely willing to start his training after an exhaustion point.
Jake didn’t know it yet, but his approach fell into the shadow of a great athlete’s mode: Muhammad Ali’s assertion that he didn’t count all his reps. Why? He said, “I don’t count my sit-ups; I only start counting when it starts hurting because they’re the only ones that count. That what makes you a champion.”
The little man had a long way to go, but Jake Jones himself was training like a champion. Like the Champ.
Tuesday morning, being tired, Jake got out of bed slower than he had on Monday. Nonetheless he repeated the routine of socks and shoes, shorts and shirt, adding a sweatshirt for the early morning brisk greeting, cereal and out the door: his basketball sticking close like a puppy dog through it all.
Jake wrapped the ball around his back when turning a corner into the hallway, pinned it against his hip spooning breakfast, cocked under his left arm while brushing his teeth, squeezed between his knees washing his hands, and in both hands ahead nudging open the screen door, before bouncing it on the front step and down the paved walk T-ing with the street.
On the court, he ran lines, suicides, before his one-man layup line: half court, speed dribble to basket, layup, own rebounding, speed dribble to half court, switch hands on switched side, speed dribble …
Rebound. Run full court. Jump stop, free throw line. Jumper. Rebound. Push full court …
Jake’s jumpers … dragged. A cerebral and somatic effort, mind and body both hurting and fighting Jake. Getting the ball up, with any form, and the shot off, with any touch, became a bout. Fundamentals melting in exhaustion’s burning fire.
Wednesday was a test. Bed a terrible temptation. Jake dragged, his body more sore than his young self had much encounter in his lifetime. He was feeling it. Still feeling the days before, which was weird for Jake.
Thursday Jake exited the house quicker, still tired but ready.
He didn’t make it back out that evening as he had the other nights. His family had a sit down dinner on Thursday and afterward Jake felt full and done, his muscles melting into the couch.
He fell asleep in the living room, Jake’s dad and grandpa, each with can in hand, finished the Warriors – Lakers game without him. Jake woke with his father carrying him to bed, when his dad’s rough, fur-shielded face rubbed against his own. Jake held still, yet stayed close, his face resting on the short, stiff growth but not shifting against it.
The smell of his dad’s breath wasn’t a scent Jake wasn’t used to, but it was what made him turn away. Jake turned and dropped his head down into the crook of his dad’s strong right arm. Savoring the ride, Jake made no move to dangle his feet down and make the rest of the hallway trip himself. He curled into keeping his sleep, and let Dad dump him into
“Jake?” Grandma stood quietly at his door. “Awake?” She brought in a glass of water. “Take a drink, Jake.” He didn’t reach right away, arms feeling separate from his body, uninterested in moving. “You’ve been pushing yourself. Take a drink. Grandson. Water for tomorrow.” Jake stretched into propping himself up on his side, taking the water glass, and guzzling. He gave Grandma a thank you and the glass back: and was asleep.
Friday morning offered its own unique energy boost.
Friday.
Jake bounced out of bed the best he had all week. The week of his own personal hell-week training camp. Mornings and evenings, most days. Jake felt fresher having skipped the night before.
Friday, he was ready to go. Again.
Yes, Jake Jones was the smallest basketball player on the court even when he balled all out full speed by himself — but then he was also the biggest: and making himself better, fighting with fire.
To be continued …
—Billy
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