The athlete understands.
We establish “I can’t, I have practice” as perhaps the most employed excuse on campus behind “I can’t, I have [insert household commitment]”. We hide limps and bruises and bandages and ice packs behind “Yah, but we won”. To refuse to mortgage morning workouts in favor of the allure of the snooze button is to start a morning successfully, before most of campus has opened its eyes. We crowd the training room with the black and blue trophies of our exploits. We’re the reason the dorm showers can log overtime.
The athlete understands.
Because somewhere, our opponents are running just a little faster than us. Somewhere, they’re crossing the finish line a little bit sooner. So we’ll wake up earlier. We’ll put in one more rep, go one more mile, hit one more ball. We’ll dig our cleats in further, swing our rackets faster, squeeze that right-footed cross through a gap that no soccer ball should ever be able to fit through, not without work: not without the sweat that no one sees, not without the hours no one understands, not without the iced muscles no one cuts you any slack for.
The athlete understands.
Until the clock hits zero, until the scoring opportunities are no more, until potential transformed by perspiration becomes post-match praise, it’s about leaving every ounce of effort on the playing field. It’s about that, and only that.
The athlete understands.
And then the clock runs down, the buzzer hits zeros, and the score is immortalized. The win or the loss, the victory or the shortcoming, the padded statistics or the lack thereof, in that moment takes a backseat. An athlete’s earnest dedication, in the early mornings and in the late nights and in the trials and diets and workouts and doubts and bruises and camaraderie, all glorifies the Father who bestowed on us all of the above. Therein lies the victory, not in the score, but in the recognition of the ability which facilitates it. The body built through hours on a field or in a gym or upon a court can only be praised to the extent that both athlete and spectator realize the source of athletic prowess is one fully beyond humanity’s control.
The athlete understands.
For as hard as we work, for as much as we sweat, for as long as we train, the accomplishments of a student athlete are victorious so long as they are done for the glorification of the God who in His grace granted them to us. Triumph founded in a strength not credited to the God who grants it is not triumph. But success rooted in a mindset of faith is anything but ordinary. We play for a prize not our own, to glorify so infinite a God with so finite an offering. An athlete fully devoted to life in Christ understands that success is based on the scoreboard’s results. But regardless of a team’s on-field execution of lack thereof, victory was purchased on a cross.
The athlete understands.
