Foul Shots Silence, no sound but labored traceing. No surprise to me. My mouth is dry, but its nothing I didnt anticipate. alone eyes on me, but that lonesome(prenominal) makes me stronger. All my focus is on my target, the hoop. Feet shoulder width, left toes align with discipline laces. My right shoulder just outside the rim, abruptly aligned. I wipe the sweat off my hands, wouldnt lack it to slip. Exhaled breath slowly, body calm. The whistle is blown, the screw bunch passed to me. The oaf feels right, the immaculate weight. I dribble once quickly, then again. I careen the ball twice and Im ready to go. pack on my heels, my knees bend slowly. My gaze never drifts from my target. Nothing shadower erupt my focus now. My arms come up and my legs blend in and I release the ball. My weight shifts to my toes and my right hand follows through. The ball arcs beautifully and drops into the hoop. One down. On to the second shot, but in my he ad nothing had changed.
Same situation, same focus. I afford the process, burying the second free throw. Foul shots were my specialty, my strength. I rarely missed, and playing under the hoop makes this an invaluable skill. Im good at drawing fouls, giving me plenty of opportunities on the line. And that was where I was most comfortable. But this was no time to necessitate in my skill. The second the shot dropped I was jogging key onto defense, stepping into my zone. Ready to fulfill my next task. Ready to continue my game.If you destitution to get a full essay, order it on our website:
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