As I sit here typing this, I am coming to grips with the fact that I will never be as good as I once was.
I used to be this kid that didn't have a very good relationship with my Dad. He was strict and harsh. The only time we really got along was when I was in basketball because it was the one thing we had in common. He had taught me everything he knew; I'd been playing since I could walk.
My mom and I always had a good relationship. I could tell her anything, and I was happy. I got along great with my brothers. I felt badly for Anthony, my oldest younger brother. He was four years younger and growing up in my shadow when it came to sports. It was hard for him to connect with my dad.
How does have anything to do with the good times in my life? Well, I'm leading up to that. When I was a freshmen in high school, I was at the pique of my athletic talent. I went out for volleyball in the fall so that I'd be in shape for basketball. I hated volleyball, but I was getting better every day. It was the last year I went out for basketball.
My class has ten girls that went out for basketball every year. That year, we had enough upper class that we could divide my class into two groups. Group 1 was the girls that got to go on junior varsity. This group got to play JV and freshmen games. Group 2 stayed on the freshmen group and could only play freshmen games, and behind the other group. I, along with five other girls, made it onto group 1.
I was on JV, which was a huge honor. I played a lot. I was good. I remember having to make sure I wasn't going to be playing too many quarters. (It's policy that a player can only play 6 quarters, and if you are on JV and freshmen teams, I played 4 quarters for JV and 2 on freshmen). I was in sync with the other girls playing as well since I had been playing with them since day one. We were good together.
I remember making game winning plays, having the coaches talk about how they'd best utilize my talents. I remember having fans come up to me and telling me how well I did. I relished stepping onto that court and feeling as though I would own it. I loved being the girl that my team gave me the biggest girls to defend. I loved being able to be a post and using my moves that I had perfected.
It was the time of my life. I didn't have a job, so I didn't have to worry about that. I could focus all of my time and energy on one thing: basketball. I remember even after the season was over, I decided to do the conditioning with my basketball coach instead of doing track. It was great. I'd condition, lift, and then play basketball. Every day after school.
All good things must come to an end. I know this saying all too well. Two weeks before school got out, I tore my ACL in one of the basketball games after school. I went to the doctor, but surgery didn't get scheduled until June, so I was stuck for a month with a messed up knee.
I refused to let that stop me. I kept participating in PE, but that soon had to stop as my knee kept giving out. In the beginning of June, before the surgery, there were several basketball camps being hosted, and of course I went and did all of the drills, but I soon was told to quit. My knee was giving out and causing too many problems.
Surgery came and went and I was told in the beginning that I'd only have to be on crutches for a week or two. Instead, I had to be on crutches for a month because there was so much damage in my knee. I had not only torn the ACL, but the meniscus as well. I worked hard in therapy, pushing myself so that I would be ready for basketball in November, and I was.
I got there, but I had a hard time keeping up. I was slower, not in shape, and my knee was constantly hurting. I ended up hurting my hamstring as well. I sat out a lot that first month. I was the only sophomore that didn't make varsity that year. I cried for days after. This was not how it was supposed to be. Not at all.
I pushed and worked harder and harder and made it to varsity after christmas. The coach and I didn't get along well at this point. I was always in his office talking to him. I cried a lot, so I probably looked like a ballbaby to him. I played a lot of JV minutes, but they acted as though they were afraid I was going to break. I hate being treated like a little kid. I knew what I was doing.
Over that next summer, I played a lot in the leagues, and I was finally getting the playing time I wanted. I was finally getting back into the game. I was still playing a lot of minutes on JV, but I was sitting the bench on varsity. Junior year went on like this for awhile, and it wasn't until the end of December that I started playing significant minutes.
But then, over Christmas break, we had a holiday tournament. I was playing the most I had played in a varsity game ever. This was the one game my dad had not attended. He had been to all the other ones. Neither of us knew that that was going to be the last game I ever played.
I tore my ACL on the opposite knee halfway through the game. I had to sit on the bench and watch, knowing my career was going down the drain. It was over. I was done. I cried for weeks after. But, I hoped that I'd be able to get well by my senior year. However, that hope was soon dashed when my doctor told me it would be wise that I not play again. Give my knees time to heal. So, I coached my senior year. It was fun, but it wasn't the same.
Freshmen year of college, I decided I'd play intramurals. It was fun, and I enjoyed it, but I tore my ACL again. So now, I can never play competitive sports ever again. I was told I'll arthritis out my @ss before I'm 40. We even joke that I'll be in a wheelchair in my thirties. I'll need knee replacements later in life, that much I am for sure.
How is this the good times? Well, I have to look at the bad to appreciate the good times. I will not be as good as I once was, I'll be better.
