Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him-it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at leas...
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I walk through down the long hallway and make the various turns I need to in order to land myself right in front of Coach's office. Coach Lee, one of the assistants, stopped me after practice to tell me Coach Quinn wanted to see me immediately. I have no idea why, but if I had to guess it has something to do with the good report I got from Dr. Kramer this morning. I knock and wait for the invitation to enter.
"Coach," I say in greeting. He's seated behind a large mahogany desk. He barely glances in my direction before returning to his tablet, planning the plays for this weekend's game, no doubt. He's always planning or thinking about football.
My mind floats to Camryn, and the pain written all over her face when she showed up at my house the other night. All of it etched in her because she believes her family wouldn't have been there for her. Seeing Coach like this is nothing new, but knowing what I know now makes me believe Camryn even more. She has no reason to lie to me, not like her dad and brother do, apparently.
"Just pulling up this report from Kramer," Coach starts. "Knee looking 90% healed with minimal scar tissue build up. Recommendation to drop to one day of PT a week and increase in team workouts and practices." He is reading directly from the report, but I could have quoted that for him. I've already reread it over and over since my appointment.
"Doc told me you have the final clearance for games?" I question as if I don't already know the truth. I had begged Dr. Kramer to just note that he would clear me for games too, but he knows just as well as I do, that Coach makes the final call for his players. It's his choice whether or not he wants to use me. With the amount of minutes I've been able to practice, or lack thereof, in the last few weeks I'm worried his answer is going to be a hell no. Coach gives one of his unnaturally long pauses as he looks over the report again, scrolling up and down as if he too needs to reread it to fully understand all the medical terms.
"How does it feel?" he asks finally.
"Honestly, it feels good. I'm lifting and running almost the same as before."
"What about plays? You've been working with the third string. That doesn't push you the same as a game would," he pushes. He's testing me, not a physical one, but a mental one. He wants to see where my head is, in terms of my recovery. He's a good coach, he knows that the drive it takes to play the game is much deeper than the agility that comes from a physical game. Precision and excellence on the field is built from a player's mental and emotional headspace.
"I've had some good reps running through the plays with the third string. It's given me a chance to memorize them, let my body ease back into the motions. I'm ready for the challenge of putting it all back together. I've had to push myself in new ways and I think it's only going to make my game stronger, Coach." I'm trying to speak the truth without sounding too eager to be back on the field. I don't want to lead Coach to believe I'm coming back too soon, or that I won't be prepared. We wouldn't be the number one football program in the country if our third string didn't get pushed in practice, but it doesn't give the same strain as playing with the first stringers, and nothing compares to playing in an actual game. I'm itching to get back into that action. I need to get back to moving my body in the way it was meant to move.
