I don’t linger.
Cold shower.
Two minutes under freezing water until my breathing steadies and my thoughts slow down enough to function.
I towel off fast.
No mirror.
Four protein bars from my locker.
Two gone before I even sit down.
By the time I finish the fourth, the complex is waking up.
Doors opening.
Footsteps.
Basketballs bouncing somewhere down the hall.
I push a rolling rack of balls onto the court.
A few of the guys are already stretching.
They look up when I enter.
Something in my face must give it away.
Because the usual “morning, princess” dies halfway out of someone’s mouth.
They don’t ask.
They just shift.
Space opens.
I set the rack at the free-throw line.
First shot.
Swish.
Second.
Swish.
The repetition starts to level me out.
More players trickle in.
They sense it.
The mood.
Nobody jokes. Nobody tests it.
At fifty, a freshman tries to lighten the air.
