The historic Berry Bowl. I hear the slow buzz of the old lights as they turn on and watch as my red tennis shoes to a dark maroon. The entire gym looks surreal, like a scene from Pleasantville, until they are fully bright and working. I tie my shoe laces and begin to stretch out on the old hardwood floor. There is not a sound in the gym as I feel myself breathing, slow and deep. I lie on the court as I take everything in; each moment of my life here, in this space, that transforms everyone who enters. Soon, this place will no longer be my second home. I close my eyes and open to a whirlwind of memories that replay all the flashbacks from my high school years. The fight song begins to play through my head and I can hear the roar of a Friday night crowd. Next, I begin to hear the faint holler of my parents, the cheering from the bench, and then, suddenly I am greeted with a pat on my back from my fellow teammates. All the late nights in the gym shooting until dark, the drenched t-shirts, and the hours spent studying film all seem to have a purpose now.
Basketball is not like any team sport. It engages the brain mentally and pains the body physically. There is no greater feeling than finding chemistry within a group of players I’ve never played with before. After a while, the game just becomes natural, things begin to click; soon I am able to read my teammates just by a simple glance at their eyes. During my freshman season, I would hit three or four threes in a row only to find the crowd in amazement after the swish of the net. I often wondered, what the crowd was thinking? To my team, it was just simple basketball, to the crowd, not so much. It was the highlight of the night for me to see every player engaged into one mindset and make that perfect pass to the post player, focused on making a basket.
It is junior year; I am sitting on the bus with my headphones in, tuning out every sound in the world to get prepared for the game. I had this rush of feelings and emotions. I knew this was the moment. The moment I knew what I wanted to do. I was going to play collegiate basketball. Taking my headphones out, I began walking to the front of the bus to coach’s seat. Each step I took my heart began beating faster, my breathing heavier. Sitting in the cramped seat I knew right then that I was on the hot seat to begin talking. My impromptu speech about my dream began to come full circle. The more I talked about my passion for the game and my future plans, my pulse began to go back to normal. Since that long bus ride to Tippecanoe Valley, my nights spent in the gym became more frequent. It became a habit of staying late after practice until I achieved my goal for the night.
As I look at my shoes and watch them turn back to the original crimson red, the gym no longer seems like a movie scene. It was real life, and it is fully lit. No more buzz, silence, or deep thoughts to myself. I hear the chatter of teammates and the bounce of a basketball in the background. It was time for me, the captain of the team, to get our daily warmups going for practice. Dreaming is done. The time is now. Each day in this gym takes me one step closer to achieving my goal.
Soon this gym will no longer be the force changing me into the person and player I am today. It will become a memory. However, when my body becomes weak and my mind tells me to stop, I will always play for the little girl in her jersey who fell in love with the game so long ago.
