Snap.

5 minutes left in practice.

We're doing a deep drill. Offense gets a headstart on defense, the thrower puts something up and the battle begins. I've been throwing, but decide I need at least one battle before the day is done. I pick my matchup--arguably the most athletic sophomore--and cut into the front of the O line on the backhand side.

Disc in. I sprint. Disc up.

I read. I get position. I go up a fraction of a second too early to make the catch with both hands. Some contact. I go down, on my feet but into a crouch, and watch in slow-motion high-definition as my left hand reaches out to the turf to balance my landing, to absorb my impact.

Why does my thumb look like that? Why, hand, would you put yourself at that angle for landing? I see you touch down. I see, millisecond by millisecond, the angle between my thumb and hand contract in the wrong plane.

I hear a snap.

A crack, a shot loud in my ears as my eyes register the pain. I stand, and know something is not right. I feel woozy. I feel numb. I feel angry, helpless, violent, alone, and clichéd. Swelling, pain--it is familiar, but wrong. This should not be happening. I am supposed to be swimming, rock climbing, catching bullets, and preparing to be in the best shape of my life. I am supposed to have all the balls in the air.

Now, I have something different to look to. Doctor appointments. My second cast, maybe even my first surgery. Time spent feeling like time wasted. Pain, mental and physical. Creative training. Weaknesses to attack.

It's all about focus.