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10-Pound Bowling Ball

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When I approach the lane, 10-pound bowling ball in hand, I try to ease my thoughts. I swing the ball first backward, then forward, my arm full of kinetic energy, as I take my three measured steps toward the black foul line. In a swift motion, the ball is released, and it glides across the oiled pattern planks like it is hydroplaning over a wet narrow road. As the ball makes way towards the center of the lane, it veers too much to the left. The ball will miss the pocket. Crash! All the pins have fallen except for one; my trajectory was off. This is an excerpt of what my Monday and Thursday evenings consist of during the winter season. It’s a chaotic scene: the hustle of high schoolers switching from lane to lane, the hearty tumultuous cheers

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