Gemotions

The humid air of the gym seemed to cling to Marcus like a wet shroud. He slumped onto the bench, watching the other players sprint drills with a minimal show of enthusiasm. Coach Miller’s booming voice, usually a motivator, faded into background noise as he stared at the ceiling.

"Marcus, you're moving to center. We need more size under the basket." The coach's words barely registered. He was already composing excuses in his mind. *Too much running.* *More contact.* *Less opportunity to chill on the perimeter.*

He dragged himself up and wandered toward the court, feeling his legs protest with each step. The thought of jostling for rebounds, of the constant shoving and bumping, filled him with a profound disinclination.