I can still see myself standing on second base in that little league game. I was 12 years old, playing my first baseball game since returning from breaking my right femur six months before.
As the pitcher threw to the batter, I began to think to myself, “Will my legs work?” As the ball crossed the plate for a strike, I thought more. “How are they working?
Wait, how am I breathing?” The next pitch was a ball. “Am I going to make it to home plate? Are my legs going to get me there?
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