I can remember it happening like it was yesterday. Sophomore year. Against Montville. A foul ball at third base. The ball up and I zoned in. The push off my feet. Arms out and glove open waiting for the ball to drop in. It did, and I dropped with it. I got up, brushed the dirt off my face and arms and kept on going. The next morning was a different story.

Nothing in my body felt right. It felt like I was hit by a bus. I thought I was just sore from the day before. Falling on the ground and being hit by the opposing team just took a toll on my body. I went to school and practice thinking that warming up would make my sore joints feel better again. Oh, boy was I mistaken.

We did our throwing drills like every other day. I was a little sore here and there, but nothing I haven’t felt before. Then we got to the real drills. Trying to do long throws, I ended up wincing with every throw. Infield drills, I hid behind tears under my sunglasses. The only one who knew I was in pain was my best friend, constantly telling me to stop, to slow down, that I don’t need to injure myself permanently. Being as stubborn as I am, I continued. I played two more years. High school games during the spring and travel ball teams during the summer. It wasn’t until my senior year that things took a turn for the worse.

Senior year was when you were looking to get scouted to play in college. You went to the college showcases. You attended the skills camps, you trained and worked until you achieved your goal. I did that with going to a personal trainer. One day, we were doing all upper body training. The one that got me: pull-ups. I pulled up trying to get my chin over the bar and a loud pop came out of my shoulder. I felt a pain shoot from my neck to the tips of my fingers. I knew something was wrong. There was.

I went to the orthopedic surgeon. He told me what happened. It was only what I imagined could be my worst nightmare. He explained that I had a torn rotator cuff. That when I dove with my arm out I tore the tendons and joints holding my shoulder into place. My only choices were to get surgery that October, or wait until my last high school season of softball was ove

When a sport is your identity you live and breathe that sport. You make sure that you do whatever deem possible for you to continue what you feel is the only thing keeping you going. Being in that kind of situation, I chose softball.

Two days after I graduated high school, I went to the hospital to finally get my surgery. It wasn’t easy. Six weeks of a sling. Six weeks of having to sleep upright. Six weeks of pain meds and sleepless nights and everything you could possibly imagine happened after that surgery. My doctor explained to me that if I ever wanted to play a sport in college, I had to be working at physical therapy and crying before that would ever happen. I took that challenge and started my journey to recovery.

It wasn’t easy. None of it was easy. I worked and stretched and cried at least 3 times a week to fix everything that I broke.

The process of physical therapy took 18 months, and that was only for me to feel somewhat normal again. The biggest question at that point for me was whether I would ever be able to play again.

This past summer was my second year of playing competitive adult fastpitch softball. I loved it. It kept me happy. That summer was also the summer I realized that my time with everything that I’ve ever known and loved was running out. It was hard to throw, and when I did, it hurt. Stretching for balls at first base was getting more and more difficult. Usually it would be no problem. Once I threw the ball the popping came shortly after and then the pain after that. I called my mother sobbing, because I knew deep down that my identity as a softball player was at its last hoorah.

There are many of you out there just like me; those of you with a “career ending” injury. When you grow up on something, you never cherish the moments that truly matter until you don’t have them anymore. It’s gut wrenching. I tear up every time I think about it.

To you current athletes,

I was just like you not too long ago. Not having a care in the world. Thinking that playing a sport was the only thing that mattered in life. Here is my advice.

Realize what is also going around you. When you no longer have a sport occupying your time, you need to find another outlet. Find something you like now before you have to find it later.

Thank your parents. They have brought you to practices, games, and camps day in and day out. You see them as your taxi now, but let them know you appreciate everything they have done for you. They are part of the reason you are where you are today.

And last but not least.

Enjoy the moment. Remember the sights, smells, and sounds. Remember what it feels like to walk out on game day and to wear that jersey. When it’s all gone, those are the only things you will have left. Your stats will be lost. Your records will be broken. There will be someone else wearing your number.