I remember the switch. Even after concussions and an intervening decade or so, I remember the difference. I remember the preamble—it’s like a wave, rising from some distant point all the way across the ocean, pulled by the moon or resulting from some shift deep within the earth, travelling hundreds of miles to reach the shore. It’s days of heat, and sweat, and pain, and frustration. It’s hours in a weight room that may as well not have air conditioning, followed by sprints in grass that always seemed like it was a day shy of being mowed as it whipped your shins.
UNC Football: First Contact
