Since I was about five years old, my parents have stuck me into any sport they could think of, from volleyball, to basketball, to soccer, to dance. I tried everything until I found the sport that I truly enjoyed. From then on, I played that sport every year. I practiced and practiced and I loved every minute of it. I made myself better with each and every team, practice, and game. Each season was a preparation for what I’d hope would come just seven short years later. I always wanted to be good enough to play at the highest level: the high school varsity squad.
The idea of competing against the best of the best and beating them fueled me. The thought of earning that varsity letter and showing it off proudly motivated me. The knowledge that I would get to play a sport that I loved every day satisfied me. High school athletics seemed so glamorous and I had dreamed about participating, but when I actually achieved that level, my feelings changed drastically.
Making a varsity sport was never everything it had cracked up to be, for me at least. I found out quickly that I was inadequately prepared for the position I was about to hold. Other players had been playing year-round for years on traveling and club teams. Some had even competed nationally. I was way out of my league. I felt like every move I made was scrutinized. I was criticized by my teammates for all of my errors. Coaches watched my moves more closely and pointed out my mistakes more often. Everyone was practicing, but I felt like I was failing.
A sport that I loved had turned into a dreaded after school activity. I tried so hard to be perfect in practice, only to be let down. Practices were especially challenging, but games were the worst of all. I watched other players excel, while I sat on the bench, patiently awaiting my chance. These chances usually came only when my team was ahead by enough that we could afford a few mess-ups.
I felt that I was a burden, rather than a contribution, to the team. An activity and an opportunity to build relationships with teammates, become physically fit, and manage my time, had been lost. The desire to play the sport that I loved for so long was gone.
But I played. I worked my butt off to prove there was a reason I made that team in the first place. Unfortunately, as my last season of high school athletics approached, I found that there was no place for me on the team anymore. I made the decision to finally end my long-ride with a sport that I cherished and had helped shape me into who I am today.
There’s nothing easy about being average. While I had a good time and made great friends playing sports in high school, I found that I was never rewarded for the effort I put into it. That’s the most difficult concept to grasp as a 17-year-old: knowing when to give up. No matter how much I wanted it, I never got what I had hoped for out it. I truly miss playing the sport, but high school athletics ruined my love for the process. I wish I could turn back time and be one of the team’s superstars, but I was simply average and I tried my best. That’s all I could really do.
