Excuse me. Is Nate Loenser here?

“Naah, he isn’t here yet,” ISU head baseball coach Lyle Smith said. “He should be here later.”

But he will be at practice today?

“I should hope so,” Smith said. “I think he has class. But don’t worry, you can’t miss him.”

All ready an hour late for practice Wednesday, Loenser rushes into Lied Recreation Center.

His right arm rests on the gym bag that’s thrown up on his shoulder. His left arm . He doesn’t have one. At least not a complete one.

It is severed just below the elbow. Doctors think maybe Loenser’s umbilical cord wrapped around his left arm.

He was born without it.

“I don’t want any pity whatsoever,” the 22-year-old Loenser said.

He disappears into a locker room. Five minutes later, Loenser’s gym bag is gone.

He replaces it with a bat, a hat, a gray T-shirt, a pair of white full-length baseball pants and white sneakers.

Into the nylon-lined batting cage now.

Loenser bats left-handed. He places the pink tip of his two-inches of left forearm above his right hand on the grip of his bat.

His right forearm ripples with anticipation. His left elbow is cocked and waiting.

The pitch.

The swing is fluid.

It starts with Loenser’s right shoulder drawing in and then extending through the ball. It ends with Loenser’s bat snapping across the broad of his back.

Still, the first few balls are hit poorly. They wrestle with the nylon that encloses Loenser.

But then Pop! goes the bat.

And Thud! goes the black tarp that blankets the nylon behind the pitcher.

A few more pitches, and Loenser’s back among other Cyclones, waiting for another crack at batting practice.

Loenser stretches his legs. Wags his bat. Takes a cut but cuts it off halfway through. He studies the bat and the motion that preceded it to make sure he was level at contact.

It’s his turn again. Loenser runs to the plate.

“I’m trying to catch up so much,” Loenser said.

He makes up time not only for his tardiness today, but for the season.

It was a Monday night in February, and there was a message on Loenser’s answering machine.

Tim Evans, the assistant baseball coach, wanted to meet with Loenser in his office.

Loenser went. Evans asked him how he was doing and what was he doing and would he like to join the baseball team?

He thought about it. “You think you have life figured out, and it throws you a curveball,” Loenser said.

Loenser tried out for the team as a sophomore. Missed it by thatmuch.

“I was devastated,” he said.

He turned to coaching. At 21, he became the head varsity baseball coach at Northern University high school in Cedar Falls.

During the summers, he played in the Iowa Valley League, a league where college athletes can play competitively.

That’s where Coach Evans met Loenser.

“I was pitching and he hit a double,” Evans said. Next time up, Evans pitch nailed Loenser. “I drilled him with a good one,” Evans said.

But Evans was impressed.

He never forgot Loenser.

And recently when he saw Loenser eating in Hy-Vee, Evans decided to check out his eligibility.

That led to the call on the answering machine.

Problem was, Loenser hadn’t played in four years. Problem was, the Cyclones were a weekend into the season. Problem was, Loenser had class until 5 p.m. one day, 3 p.m. another.

“When you get an opportunity to follow a dream, you don’t turn it down,” Loenser said.

No problem.

It’s Loenser’s turn again in the cage. Pop! and Thud! Pop! Thud!

Loenser drops the bat to his side. His right tricep sticks out at sharp angles.

“How ya’ doing Nate?” catcher Ryan Wickham asks. Both of them bring their left forearms to their shoulders and slap elbows.

Loenser’s doing good.

He played in left against Winona State. He pinch-ran against Iowa.

Getting in those games was “the icing on the cake,” Loenser said. “I was on the field. I’m in the box score.”

Another turn in the cage. And another.

A couple hours later, the team heads to the weight room on the second floor of Lied Recreation Center.

Loenser is doing rows, a lift that simulates the rowing motion. Sixty pounds go up and clank down.

Loenser grimaces. He blows the air out as he pulls the row handle in.

Other guys joke around as they lift in their small groups. Loenser says little and lifts alone.

“He gives 150 percent all the time,” Evans said. “He’s an inspiration to the team.”

It doesn’t stop there.

Paul Kix is a sophomore in journalism and mass communication from Hubbard.