svetikya Chapter 161
Chapter 161
Lin Feng looked up. "A friend."
"The provincial team?"
"No. I used to be on the provincial team, but then I got injured."
Chen Hao nodded. "No wonder. Your shooting form is very standard. The position of your elbow, the downward pressure of your wrist, the flicking motion of your fingers—all are standard. But it's not the kind of standard that comes from formal training."
"What's the difference?" Lin Feng asked.
Chen Hao thought for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts. "Those who come from formal training practice their movements through repetition, repeating the same movement a thousand or ten thousand times until their bodies memorize it. Your movements aren't practiced; they're imagined. You know how the standard movement should be done, and then you imitate it. So your movements look correct, but when you exert force, there's a slight awkwardness, like there's something between you and it."
Lin Feng looked at him, never expecting that Chen Hao, who wore thick glasses and didn't talk much, had such a deep understanding of technology.
"You're right," Lin Feng said.
Chen Hao glanced at him but didn't say anything more. He picked up his chopsticks and slowly finished the remaining half bowl of rice.
At 3 PM, basic skills training will begin.
The temperature inside the stadium was considerably higher than in the morning. Sunlight streamed in through the west-facing windows, casting a huge golden patch on the floor, the edge of which fell precisely on the three-point line.
Coach Li stood in the center of the field, holding a whistle in his hand.
"Today we'll practice dribbling. Dribble in place, 500 times each with both hands. Then dribble while moving, back and forth across the court, 10 times each with both hands. Then dribble in different directions, between the legs, behind the back, and spin, 50 times each."
Someone muttered something under their breath, but no one dared to complain loudly.
Lin Feng took the ball and stood in his position.
The dribbling in place has begun.
The arena fell silent, save for the sound of basketballs hitting the floor. Thump, thump, thump—dozens of balls slammed into the ground simultaneously, the sounds blending together like thunder, like a waterfall, like a thousand horses galloping from afar.
By the three hundredth repetition, Lin Feng's right hand began to ache. His thumb and forefinger were numb from the vibrations, and the muscles in his fingers were stiffening. He gritted his teeth and continued. Four hundred, five hundred. Then he switched to his left hand.
His left hand was much worse than his right. When dribbling, the ball wouldn't obey him; it bounced up and down erratically, and he couldn't control its direction well, sometimes veering to the side. He didn't stop; he picked up the ball and continued dribbling.
Coach Li walked over, stood next to him, and watched for a while.
"Your left hand isn't strong enough. You're using your fingers, not your palm. Lower your center of gravity a bit."
Lin Feng did as instructed.
"Yes, that's it. Keep it up."
Coach Li has left.
Lin Feng continued dribbling. On his three hundredth dribble with his left hand, the ball went astray and rolled to the side. He ran over, retrieved it, and started again. He didn't count to five hundred before starting again—he couldn't lie to himself. Practicing was for himself, not for others to see.
He repeated the exercise five hundred times. With his left hand, without switching hands or stopping, he completed it in one go.
When he finished dribbling, his entire left arm was sore, from his shoulder to his fingertips, every part ached. But he held the ball in his arms, stood up straight, took a deep breath, and felt a slight burning sensation in his left fingertips, as if they had been scorched by fire.
Dribbling while moving is more difficult.
He dribbled back and forth across the court, going with his right hand and returning with his left. The faster the speed, the harder it was to control. When Lin Feng went with his right hand, it was manageable, but when he returned with his left, the ball always veered off course at crucial moments, forcing him to slow down to chase.
After making six round trips, Coach Li blew his whistle to stop the game.