To the athlete I used to be,

Right now you're probably packing a bag: a school bag, a practice bag, a bag for a weekend at a competition or tournament. You're probably searching for your missing sock, your backup suit, counting out extra spikes, re-lacing your sneakers. You're probably trying to block out that big game that you have coming up. You're probably hungry, tired and sweaty. You're probably wondering what it feels like to be anyone that doesn't have a life that revolves around a sport.

You wake up every morning at 5:30 to rush to practice. Your mom drives you while you try to nap in the front seat and absorb every moment of sleep you can possibly even attempt to get. You're wishing that the season was over and that you didn't have homework that kept you up the night before. You're looking at all the dimly lit houses one by one and wondering why you can't be cuddled in bed soon.

You get to practice before 6 a.m., and scarf down a granola bar. You're not hungry but you know what happens if you workout on an empty stomach. You fill up your water bottle because you're going to need it. You stretch your tired arms and legs, not yet ready to be awake for the day. You complain about how miserable you are in your head and how much you hate this sport, but when the coach needs you to dive in or step to the line, you're the first one to do it.

You push through practice. You fight back tears. You listen to criticisms and critiques knowing it's for the best, but disgusted and frustrated by every word anyway. But you listen. You speed up. You focus on the technique you've been slacking on. You ache and hurt so much, you think about what it would feel like to just walk out. But you don't. You never do.

You go to school with wet hair and tired muscles. You struggle to stay awake in classes, but focus anyway. You know what it's like to give 100 percent even when you don't feel like you don't have it in you. You're an athlete.

You ignore the stereotypes that surround being an athlete: that you take everything for granted, that you don't work hard, that you're lucky, that you're not smart. You ignore them and defy them.

You go to the gym right after school. You squat and lunge and press and curl. You sweat and bleed. You take ice baths and apply bio-freeze. You use rubber bands to stretch your shoulders and foam rollers to get out muscle kinks. You roll your foot over a tennis ball to get rid of shin splints. You bandage calluses. You wrap toes. You get stiff. You get heat. You get ice. You repeat. You get poked and prodded a million different ways. You're made to do hundreds of different exercises to tone your muscles in a better, healthier way, each more uncomfortable than the last.

You trudge off to another practice. You can feel the aches in your muscles, but choose to ignore it. You push yourself harder than you have all day. You compete with your teammates because you want to be the best. You have the date in the back of your mind. This is when it counts.

You finally get home. Your family has already eaten, but there is a wrapped dinner in the microwave. You heat it up and open your text books. You check off assignments one by one to realize it's almost midnight.

You climb into bed and close your eyes and think about what it feels like right before you compete and hear the national anthem. You think about how it feels to step onto the court, the field, the blocks. You visualize exactly how you'll play, run, swim.

The day finally comes. You notice butterflies in your stomach and your breathing isn't as light as normal. You're having trouble concentrating and calming down. You stare at the competition. Who is it gonna be? You step up. This is the moment. You can feel the energy pulling towards your opponent, gaining momentum, pulling away. You feel a haze, a blur, a rush. You think about the practices, the hours, the blood, the injuries, the sacrifices, and the pain. You're back. You pick up, you give more, you pretend it doesn't hurt and somehow it stops. You hit the top of all you can give and yet you're still there giving more. You see it all and suddenly it's right there in front of you. It's yours for the taking. And you take it.

Eventually, your time as an athlete will change. You won't have the commitment like you used to. Your body will challenge you and give up on you. Your teams will change. You'll change. But you'll never forget what you learned along the way. You'll never forget what it takes to make what you want happen. How could you? You're an athlete.