Gemotions

The morning air tasted stale as Amelia laced up her cleats. She felt a profound lack of motivation, an inability to get her body to cooperate. Her coach, Mr. Davis, called her over, his brow furrowed. "Amelia, we're putting you at defensive mid today. We need some grit in the midfield, some… tenacity."

She stared at the expanse of the soccer field. She was a striker. The idea of running back and forth, defending, felt utterly unappealing. Every movement seemed to require immense effort. She had difficulty keeping pace. She felt a general sense of disconnection from the game. Her legs felt heavy as she made her way across the field.