Gemotions

The humid air of the gym seemed to cling to Ben, making every movement an exercise in effort. He leaned against the wall, watching the other players sprint the length of the court. His breathing was already shallow. Coach Miller’s voice boomed across the court, “Ben! Get in the drill!” Ben dragged himself toward the action, his feet heavy.

His sneakers squeaked unenthusiastically against the polished floor. Each pass felt like a monumental undertaking, each shot a test of willpower. He missed his first three layups, the ball bouncing off the rim with a hollow thud. Coach Miller called him over, his face etched with a familiar disappointment. "Ben, we need more hustle. Are you feeling alright?"

Ben mumbled something about being okay, avoiding eye contact. He knew what was coming. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach.