"Every athlete dies twice. Once when they take their last breath, and the other when they hang it up."

I came across this statement recently and immediately felt a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions overtake me. The comparison of ending an athletic career with death itself seems drastic and over exaggerated at first, but upon further thought, we may begin to believe otherwise.

For many of us, what we call "athletic careers" consisted of team sports played throughout middle and high school, perhaps even a travel team here and there. For others, they can't remember a time when there wasn't a practice to attend or a game written on the calendar. In either circumstance, being a part of a team and being involved with a sport affected each of us in a way that is truly unexplainable.

Throughout the years, we've dedicated so many hours to the sports we love; paving our way with blood, sweat, and tears. As cliche as that sounds, we all know it's actually the truth. Although we don't remember exactly how many bruises, scrapes, cuts, etc. we've collected over the years, the lessons that came along with them are etched in our minds forever. You see, while we were learning to steal bases, make free throws, or score a goal, we were also learning so much more. Like how to take constructive criticism, the importance of "shaking it off," and that hard work sometimes takes you farther than talent ever will. All those years we gave so much to the game, but we never realized just how much the game was giving us. Until now, when our time has ended, and all we have left are the battle scars and the memories.

We never stopped to take it all in, to truly embrace the feeling of hitting the routine, or making the tackle, or scoring the winning run. We didn't know it would end, or rather, we knew and chose to ignore the fact. It's similar to life in that way, we know the end is inevitable, but we choose not to dwell on that. Like the original quote said, hanging it up resembles death for athletes. For many of us, it didn't feel like it was over when we took the field that final time, or when they presented us with senior night gifts, or when the final buzzer sounded, or even when we walked across the stage at graduation. No, it didn't hit until the leaves began to change again, and the Friday night lights shone brighter than ever, but you were experiencing their glare from a completely different angle this time. It didn't hit until you drove by your old gym, and saw the cars filling every spot, and heard the faint buzz of a crowd from inside, one that used to know your name. It didn't hit until that first sunny day of spring, when you felt yourself impulsively drawn outside, hoping to smell the freshly drug dirt of an infield. It didn't hit until you took your seat on the bleachers, the same ones your parents sat on for years, and watched as your jersey moved across the court, worn by someone new.

Some of us are lucky enough to postpone this feeling for a while, continuing to play the game we love on into college, perhaps even professionally, until our bodies can no longer support us. However, those opportunities are few and far between. More often than not, athletes find themselves yearning for one more game, long after their time has ended. It's true that every athlete dies twice, but if you're lucky, your life as an athlete will be so filled with lessons, memories, trials and triumphs, that your limited time with the game will be enough, and what it has given you will last long after you hang it up.