There was one match this year during the golf season that stood out from all of the others I've played in my four year high-school career. Mostly because it shattered my expectations for the remainder of my final season. It started late because road construction near my home course had made the visiting team’s bus driver confused, leading to a 45 minute delay. I had already had a long day, waking up at the crack of dawn for early morning choir, only then to have multiple tests, followed by what was supposed to be a friendly 9-hole practice to prepare for the conference match in four days . I was exhausted, and the months of golf were starting to further aggravate my already painful chronic back problems. When we finally got to the tee box, I was dead on my feet, hurting all over, and ready to absolutely rock the next nine holes. As the only senior on the varsity team, my place on the conference squad was pretty much assured, but I really wanted to end my last season with a blaze of glory. My junior year, I had to miss conference because of a compacted nerve that was caused by my back problems. My sophomore year, my mildly malicious junior varsity coach took me off the roster for “not smiling enough” on the course. I felt the need to make up for years of disappointing golf by giving one-hundred-and-ten-percent the entire season. I stayed after practice most days, spending hours on the putting green and hitting hundreds of balls on the range. I also spent hours on the couch with a heating pad, trying to relieve the agonizing muscle tightness and fiery nerve pain in my back and shoulders. But that friendly match derailed my conference dreams for good. My first tee shot was a testament to my hard work, going straighter and further than I could have dreamed at the beginning of the season. I was playing great golf for the first three holes. But by the fourth, I could tell something was wrong. By the fifth, the muscles in my back were so tight that I couldn't swing the club without excruciating pain. I wasn't able to twist. My back betrayed me four days before the competition I had been preparing for all year. I knew this was the end for my season, and I was devastated. Even though I knew my high school golfing career would come to an abrupt end, I realized that this match didn't have to. I played the rest of the match. I couldn't twist, or bend, or move very fast without pain, but I finished the match anyways. My score was understandably abysmal, but I was so proud. My difficulties did not destroy my ability to persevere. Golf is a game of perseverance. Every bad shot is an opportunity to make a better one next turn. Every bad round is an opportunity to improve. Failure is a key part of golf, because it teaches us how to endure and conquer whatever challenges we face. My flare-up should have caused me to quit, but my love of the game enabled me to persist. The tenacity I learned from golf propelled me to a spot on the JV conference line-up too, and although I definitely didn't win any medals, I was able to finish my season despite my almost complete physical inability to swing correctly. I found personal success this year, because I was able to prove that my physical limitations could not hold me back. All because I learned to golf.