It is going to hurt. Physically, maybe the injury is going to be bad. Maybe a broken bone, a torn ligament, a really, really badly strained muscle. Physically, it's going to be tough.

The real challenge is going to hit you emotionally, mentally. The real pain is going to come when you are stuck on the sideline, game after game, glued to the bench while watching some of your closest friends play the sport you've devoted your entire life to.

You're going to think that it isn't fair--all the miles you ran, hours you trained, work you put in to get to this level, just to get knocked down. To get it all taken away from you.

You are going to feel like a traitor, almost like you're going against your team when you're sitting out while they are killing their bodies in a conditioning session. Some people are going to say that you're lucky, that they'd do anything to be in your position, to be able just to watch instead of running to the point where it feels as if your legs are breaking with every step. These people don't understand that you would literally do anything you could to run like that. That sitting back and watching makes you feel like you've betrayed your team, and that you'd rather repeatedly throw yourself across the end line rather than sit with that feeling.

It's going to hurt when your team leaves to travel, and you're stuck on campus. It's going to be painful, seeing the snapchats of the team bonding and the Instagram posts of pre-game family dinners. You're going to be happy for them because of the fact that they are indeed your family, but you're also going to feel the aching jealousy inside of you that you aren't experiencing it all there with them.

You are going to get extremely pissed off sometimes. It's mainly going to come when someone complains about playing time or not starting because at least they get to dress. At least they get to train, to play, whether it's for a minute or an entire game. And of course it's nothing personal, it's just a way to take out all of the built-up anger and frustration.

Recovery is going to be hard. Whether it's a small, minor(minor enough to warrant a medical redshirt) problem or a surgery-induced, re-learning how to walk, life-changing injury, you are going to have to face recovery. And let me tell you, rehab is going to be a bitch, but you're going to do it. It's going to try to kick your ass, but you are still going to do it.

Now, this is where the line gets divided. Some people are going to decide that this just isn't for them, and that is okay. Whether we want to accept it or not, every athlete is going to have to face retirement one day, and for some that day is sooner than others. And that is okay. For those who decide to keep going, once you get through rehab and recover, the road is not over. It's just beginning, and you're about to enter what might be the hardest part of the whole situation--returning to play.

I'm considering returning to play the hardest part of the whole process because the athlete inside you is not going to be in sync with the body that just went to hell and back. You're going to try and jump right back into playing and functioning the way you used to, pre-injury. When you can't run as fast as you used to or your touch inst as clean as it used to be, it's going to be frustrating and disheartening.

You can't let these small things get to you. You have come way too far, worked way too hard for yourself, to give up right now. You have a team, a coach, a fan that is waiting for you to come back. Without a doubt, they are going to be there for you every step of the way.

Taking a medical redshirt year is going to be extremely hard. It is going to test your patience, your commitment, your work ethic, and your strength, but mainly it is going to test how much you love your sport. And after all the pain and work and rehab, you are going to come out not only a stronger athlete but with a newfound respect and appreciation for your sport that you may not have noticed before.