It’s 4:33 in the morning and I’m on a bus, singing Bob Dylan to myself amongst a crowd of sleeping ballplayers. I don’t know why I feel compelled to sing the tunes of the old poet at this hour, but it’s soothing, and I’m fighting the wearies at a very early hour. After all, we just crossed over into Central time, and if we were still on Eastern, as we had been for the past week, the sun would already be laughing at us. I’m really tired, and Bobby D is about the best medicine for me right now.

Game no. 81 was played today, and we have 15 to go. It’s late August now, which means our season is rapidly winding down, at a rate that seems to speed up by the day. What was once an impossibly long season is now quickly giving way to an obtrusively and abruptly approaching off-season. I really don’t want this ride to end, ever. Yet, at the same time, the schedule will force it to in a few short weeks.

Nearly 100 innings in and approaching nearly 100 games, I’ve finally come to understand something for which 15 years of amateur baseball did not adequately prepare me – it’s just plain hard to make it through a pro baseball season.

It’s a combination of a lot of things. It’s gotten progressively hotter as the season has aged. Sprinting your ass off to keep your conditioning up is much easier in the June heat than the sauna that has been July and August. The energy I had in pregame then has been more difficult to summon now; All of us on the staff have had to stick together, and switch up our tactics to keep sharp. Running I could complete on my own two months ago, I now recruit a partner to get through. Mentally and physically, we all need each other to keep pushing hard through the end of the season.

And workouts can’t stay the same. As mental obstacles appear, we have had to find new things to do to keep ourselves motivated. In Washington PA, we found a great hill cut into the mountains. Sprinting that hill was as hard as anything we’d done all year, but it felt refreshing to get our work done in a new way. It wasn’t running poles, it wasn’t sprinting suicides – it was harder – but it was different, and sometimes a change is all you need for a second wind.

The late nights and travel, they wear on you. Our longest road trips have come in August, and driving from one town to another during the night leaves everyone depleted. We’re fortunately able to sleep late into the afternoon, but the grogginess is hard to chip off.

The food is far less than ideal. Ballpark concessions, peanut butter and jelly, and gas station provisions don’t rejuvenate you in the same way that fresh fruit and veggies do. I haven’t planned ahead to keep healthy foods in my diet, which is something I’ll need to change next season. It’s also been difficult for me to get focused on other things during the day, like updating my blog, keeping in touch with family and friends, and preparing for the offseason. Things fall by the wayside when you’re distracted and trying to catch up on rest.

But at the same time, pitchers sharpen as the year goes along. Our staff has been incredible, and we have a pair of guys who are no-hit threats every time they step out on the field. A whole season of learning from hitters, our coaches and each other has given each of us a clear idea of who we are, who our opponents are, and how to pick them apart. Despite some tired bodies and tired arms, pitching has been more fun than ever in the late weeks of the season.

Though I’m a Baltimore native, I was never a big fan of Cal Ripken; he just wasn’t an exciting player to me, and I didn’t see what the big deal was about playing in a bunch of consecutive games. Even the fans who were overjoyed in his record still probably didn’t realize how incredible it was – something I now realize – and how exhausting that journey of his must have been. It’s one of those things that until you experience it (and I still have not experienced anything close to the 162 game major league season) it’s just hard to understand. I have a lot more respect for those guys who are still lucky enough to play late into September and October. It’s a fun game and a dream life, but it’s a grind, day in and day out. And though it’s tough, I don’t want the other 8 months, the 2/3 of the year where I look out the window and wait; My aspirations go into limbo as I regrettably age, and I take on jobs to make pay bills, staying alive until my real passion comes back out of seasonal hiding.

And here’s the thing: I can only do this as long as I am able to live with low overhead. I made 600 dollars a month this season, the rookie minimum for the independent Frontier League; I’ll make more next season, but I’d have played for less. I net 270.55 from each paycheck, money which I tried to hold on to, living as frugally as I could. Yet, despite even my best efforts to add to my bank account, I’ve broken even for the summer. Expenses and just enough spending to enjoy my life out here has eaten every dime I’ve earned, but thankfully, no more. If I go into a gas station and buy a bag of beef Jerky, a Gatorade and a Protein bar, I’ve spent half of a day’s pay;  Crazy, right? Tank of gas? 15% of my paycheck. But what if I had rent, a kid, and a wife back home? Breaking even doesn’t cut it when you have to take care of more than yourself. Yet, I’m without those things, and consider myself lucky to be able to continue down this road, even if my feet drag a little at the end.