Two torn ACLs told me to get the hell off the field. They said, “Quit.” They said, “Nice knowin’ you.” My knees were literally speaking to me – no, begging me, rather – to stop playing soccer.
Soccer. The sport I had played since I was old enough to stand in the middle of the field picking my nose. The sport that made kids wear those reversible, awful, yellow and red most-times-resembling-McDonalds-jerseys. And as we got older, our weekends consisted of dragging our parents to the middle of nowhere in sleeting rain for a tournament. In high school, the carb-loaded dinners your team would have the night before a game. The practices you sprinted so hard you swore a lung was coming up. The bumps and bruises that coated our shins and thighs, the concussions we saw our own teammates and opponents obtain, the high fives on and off the field, the tears, the trophies…I could fill the page. But I’ll stop, just like that, soccer stopped after my junior year of high school.
During my last few years on the field, the ACL (anterior cruciate ligament if we’re getting fancy) in the middle of my knee decided to bail on me and tear in half. “What’s happened is the ligament between your femur and tibia has completely torn, along with cartilage surrounding it and the meniscus supporting it. Surgery is needed if you’ll want to run again.” I stared at the doctor, who oh so casually broke the news to me, as if he just spoke Chinese. He could have been telling me what time it was and I think the expression on his face would have been the same. Well, I had to hear this speech twice, once for the left knee and once for the right. The first time it tore, I believe I threw up (or down, rather) the middle finger and said, “I’m gonna ignore you for a while so just hang tight.” Well, that’s not how your body works. It was telling me something. That was the last time I messed with my knees.
Fast-forward two years and two surgeries later, I became timid on the field. Having to wear this obnoxious, heavy brace on one of my knees for two seasons was not my cup of tea. I wasn’t as fast, as powerful or as confident. After my junior year season, it was time to hang up my cleats and my bag that so many different jerseys went in and out of and permanently smelled like bad cheese. I hated the fact that this whole situation felt like I was saying goodbye to an old life and ending a chapter.
I’m typically the one who cries during goodbyes, so I’ve become a pro at just avoiding them and pretending everything is cool. But this was too obvious. I began thinking how I’d fill the void – the void of competing, of getting pumped up before every game, the bonds between us teammates. It took me a while to figure it out. I’m a senior in college now, and I think I’ve finally locked it down. The realization came to me that yes, the time has come to give up my sport, but there are so many other ways I can continue to include soccer in my life. Intramurals, coaching, a pickup game on campus or in the neighborhood – find your way to keep your sport in your life. The competing will always come to an end – even Mia Hamm, who gave up her sport after decades of playing, had to find something to fill the void when she was done. Michael Jordan, somewhat of a well-known basketball player, called it quits after breaking record after record. Was he completely done with all things basketball? Absolutely not. We still see him on TV talking about the game, players who are breaking his own records (sorry, MJ), and, oh yes, the team that he owns now.
Giving up your sport, whether it’s by choice, injury, college coming or ending, whatever it is, will always happen. Take it as an opportunity to seek out something new, set new goals, be proud of yourself in different ways. If you stayed with a sport long enough to be sad when it came to an end, that means it held a damn special place in your life, and you should feel lucky to have had that experience.
To be an athlete is to give everything to a sport: however, mountain climbers take the term “everything” to a new level with the risks they put on their lungs, intestines and eyes to reach the summit. The Red Bulletin looked into the gruesome toll climbing 29,000 feet has on a person. Check out their findings here.
Check out more fun and exciting Red Bulletin content here!
