#*rubs my sporty little hands together* yes more relatable athlete experiences in blaseball my evil agenda

[thesunshinydays]

[insert blaseball fic title here]

a wip for @blaseballwipamnesty about lenny marijuana learning how to deal with splort related anxiety before her first game, all as part of my scheme to put more real sports things into blaseball content. theres a lot more that i want to add to this including scenes from the game itself, but i just havent gotten around to it yet. also, this is @waveridden ‘s sister!lenny because thats my favorite lenny. overall id say it isnt even halfway done, though i do intend on finishing it at some point

i put it under a readmore because it needs content warning for food and a very frank discussion of dealing with a nervous stomach

“Okay so, I’m not nervous,” Lenny says, feeling like she might throw up at any moment. She’s looking down at what would normally be a perfectly appetizing waffle.  It has a chunk cut out, separated from the rest with a fork stuck in it.  She had tried to take a bite.  She really had.  But the idea of actually having to eat it was making her even more nauseous, so she is staring at it instead, as if that will let her passively absorb the calories she needs to pitch her first real game out of the shadows.  She is pointedly *not* looking at Mike Townsend sitting across from her as she continues speaking: “But let’s say, hypothetically, I know someone who is pitching their first game today and is nervous about it.  What advice would you suggest I pass along to them?”

“Well, first,” Mike says, “it’s normal to be nervous, so your friend shouldn’t feel bad about that.  Any athlete that says they’ve never been nervous for a competition is a liar.”

“Really? I’ve never been nervous, ever,” Lenny lies.

“Oh, obviously. But for your friend: the secret to maximizing personal performance isn’t about not feeling anxious, it’s about learning how to work with that anxiety in a productive way and knowing that you can perform your best even while nervous,” Mike rattles off rotely.

“Why does this sound familiar?” Lenny asks.

“Because it’s in the presentation that the splort psychologist gives during every preseason training camp, which, I might add, your friend would know if she didn’t, hm, I don’t know, fall asleep in the middle of it,” he says.

“At least I don’t know it word for word,” she snaps back.

“I thought it was your friend who needed advice?” Mike looks a little smug and Lenny kicks him lightly under the table in retaliation. He laughs.

“Are you gonna give me real advice or what?” Lenny asks. She tried to make it sound biting or sarcastic, but she’s not sure it worked. She looks down again at her waffle chunk and pushes it around the plate. Teddy had worked hard to talk the hotel manager into opening up the waffle station at around four in the afternoon for the team, since it was normally reserved for complimentary breakfasts.  She knew this wasn’t the team’s standard operating procedure. Normally, they’d go wherever they wanted for lunch, but Teddy had suggested this today instead. She feels shitty having to let the effort go to waste. She looks back up at Mike and says, “Quit it with the stupid psycho babble and give me something actionable, I feel like I’m gonna hurl.” 

“Well first off, milk is the wrong choice,” he says as he takes her barely touched glass of whole milk and pushes his untouched glass of orange juice toward her. 

He thought something like this might happen and got the juice for me in the first place, that fucking sneak, Lenny realizes.

“Second,” Mike says, ”stop trying to force yourself to eat if you feel like you can’t. It’s better to snack throughout the day if your stomach won’t settle than to eat a bunch at once. The ideal would be dried fruit and jerky so that you get carbs and protein to give you energy in the moment and through the course of the game, but we can make trail mix work.”

“Can’t, peanut allergy,” Lenny says.

“We can get you one with granola and almonds. Also, if you really, really can’t eat during the game, at least make sure you’re drinking a sports drink. It’s a lot of sugar, but it’s better than nothing and will keep you hydrated. Also, if you’ve recently had a lot of dairy, you might think about taking a lactaid.”

Lenny squints at him. “Those pills for lactose intolerant people? But I’m not--”

Mike cuts her off before she can finish. “I know, but it might help digestion go smoother and faster anyway, or at least placebo effect you into thinking it’s working.” 

“Okay, I was giving you shit earlier but this is actually really helpful.”  Lenny’s impressed. Somewhere along the line she had starting thinking of Mike as her weird mom friend -- her mind briefly supplies “adopted brother” but she stomps on that line of thinking before she can let herself analyze it -- and had forgotten that he was also one of the most famous (or infamous) pitchers in the ILB with half a dozen or so seasons of experience.

“My stomach isn’t quite as bad as yours, but I did used to get really nervous for games,” he admits.

“Used to? What changed? I thought you said anyone who says they never get nervous is a liar?” she asks.

“It’s not like I never get nervous, it’s just that… after enough games you start to get used to being nervous. That and well, after everything that’s happened, my perspective has shifted.” He gives a small shrug and looks past her out a window.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She knows she shouldn’t even have to ask. She asks anyway.

“The only games I get really, really nervous for anymore are eclipse games,” Mike says, still looking away, “‘Cause how I perform determines how long we stay on the field.”