A number of normal bodily functions halt once an individual is forced to face a specific terror; some completely pass out, others suddenly lose control of their bladders. For some reason, when I faced the most terrifying experience of my life, my body was launched into overdrive.

It all began on the last day of the seventh grade. My parents drove down to Hoffman's Ice Cream by the beach in Spring Lake. Eager to finally ring in the summer, I went to stand up, and my right hip locked up with the most excruciating pain I have ever felt in my entire life. I had broken my wrist and sprained various joints before -- being a soccer goalie made me no stranger to bumps and bruises. But simply sitting in the car had me sobbing in the parking lot. After I managed to finally crawl out of the car, we discovered that it was impossible for me to put any weight on my right leg.

Some doctors claimed it was Lyme Disease; others thought it was a torn ligament in my knee; one thought it was a severe case of scoliosis. It came to the point where my parents thought it was all a scheme to get attention. Yet even weeks later, it was still a struggle to walk.

In July of that same year, we decided to see another orthopedist. After a lengthy appointment, he suggested yet another MRI for that same day.

The fear kicked in two hours later. As my mother pulled into the driveway, the doctor called. It was an emergency -- and I needed to be in his office as quickly as possible. I had no clue what was going on, which was the most agonizing thing. I knew something was serious when the nurses ushered me past the waiting room, where I'd normally sit for an hour before being seen.

My growth plate, which was supposed to sit on top of my femur, was slipping fast. This incredibly rare genetic phenomenon is known as Slipped Capital Femoral Epiphysis, or SCFE for short. This condition is so rare that there are around two to 10 cases per every 100,000 kids. I would be one of the only cases in the entire state of New Jersey that year, and as a result, I'd be in a bunch of medical journals, because the case has almost never existed in white females of a healthy weight.

I was soon wheeled into emergency surgery. A long procedure left me with a titanium screw implanted into my hip to reinforce my growing joint. I had an allergic reaction to the pain medication, so I was forced to endure the recovery period popping your everyday Advil. The pain scared me, I'll admit it. But the fact that I would be out of all physical activity for at least the following year kept me up at night. I had been playing soccer and lacrosse since I could walk. Who was I without the game?

After three months hobbling on crutches, I got fed up. So, I started to walk. I took my recovery into my own hands. I'd come home from physical therapy and go through the same exact routine on my own. During my lengthy walks and jogs that looked more like crawls, I gritted my teeth through the pain. I refused to sit on the bench for the next year.

Seven months later, in March, my doctor was shaking his head in disbelief. I had beaten the odds yet again, I had proven all of the medical research wrong, and I was running -- five months earlier than what any doctor had predicted. Fear didn't shut me down. In fact, fear woke me up. Fear forced me to get up and work for the first thing I ever had to earn on my own. And because of that, I will be forever indebted to fear.