Growing Up As a Student Athlete `I have played sports since the age of three. I was the first-born boy born of a man from a long line of athletes. One of my earliest memories was training in my backyard with my Dad. I would sprint across the grass, and he would time me on his phone. Every fraction of a second I could shave off my time would bring a smile to my younger, wide-eyed self. My Dad taught me how to chop my feet to make a tackle, take a handoff with both arms, and catch a football. He was my mentor for hard work since I could walk. My high school basketball career showed me that hard work did not always result in success. In my mind, I deserved to win. It was my right to have the glory and attention I had worked for. What I received, however, was far from praise. Game after game, we would lose. I would wait in the locker room for everyone to clear the gym so people couldn’t see the shame on my face. Imagine a newly 16-year-old boy who can’t even drive yet, shaking in fear before he plays against his rival school. I wasn’t ready, and it showed. I embarrassed myself during that game and didn’t let go of that loss for months. The rest of the season went more or less the same. The new year introduced more opportunities for the sport. A new coach was hired, and I was finally one of the upperclassmen. Unfortunately, that year’s games wouldn’t go well. Loss after loss, I started to hate myself. I couldn’t manage to do the one thing I had committed to. One date marked on my calendar kept me going: The Grantsville game. I was surrounded by a crowd of old friends from my elementary school. To begin the game, I played great. However, I caught the ball three minutes into the game and pivoted right into my defender. His elbow hit me in the head, and I was knocked out cold on the floor. I had suffered my second and most painful concussion. Just like that— the game was over for me. I wasn’t ready to compete in my sophomore year, and my opportunity was taken from me this year. The loss left a hole in my heart. For the remainder of that season, things got worse. I was forced to find what really mattered in life. I quit basketball early that year and started running track. I learned to love myself and those around me just a little bit more. I began to love school and, as a result, got perfect grades. If I could live my junior year of high school all over again, would I change anything? No, I wouldn’t. There are some things that a book can’t teach. I found myself through my failures. I have always been a leader, but now I try to lead by example. I hope to help the people around me to love themselves. It took significant failure for me to realize that a big ego is not self-love. For me, it was the most painful form of self-hate. When I was humble and confident in myself, I started to heal. I love sports, and I always will. Like my Dad told me when I was young, “Be the best at whatever you do. If you are going to be a garbage man, be the best darn garbage man out there.” Whatever path I pursue moving forward, I vow to do my best.