The Lessons I Keep Learning...

In my short 28, nearly 29, years of life I have crossed paths with many different people with a plethora of experiences from which to glean knowledge and guidance. There have been those whose wisdom and nurturing spirit helped carve my path and others who have simply shone the light. Perhaps the most significant of these people, however, have been those whose intentions were not geared towards my transformation or betterment at all but rather those who offered just a basic life assertion intended for the moment in which it was shared and that moment alone.

One such person, so poignantly described, was my high school softball coach. I have written about her before in other environments but it seems that the sarcastic jabs she took at me as a 16 year old still find their way into my life nearly 13 years later and their intent, now deeply translated, continues to ring true.

I was a Junior in high school and well on my way to reaching the many goals I'd set for myself at that time. Some of them, like getting good grades, taking an interest in a lot of different things, and becoming 'well rounded', were important to my mom while others, like being a 4 year Varsity Softball player, were of no significance to anyone but me. Still, having started varsity as a freshman, I was determined to "letter" all 4 years and be captain no less as I entered the off season between volleyball and softball. Like most 16 year olds I knew I was working, trying to save up a little money to buy a car and do other teenage-specific things which my family could not afford to pay for. As we rounded the corner on the new year and I began to prepare myself for winter conditioning I met an unfortunate puddle of grease which quickly claimed the normal and pain-free function of my left knee.

On the first business day of January, softball conditioning only 5 weeks away, I went into the hospital to have my knee scraped and suctioned and my miniscus carefully reassebled. The surgeon, who has now performed total knee replacements on both of my mom's knees and one of my grandma's, came into my hospital room and exclaimed that the surgery had been a success but before the relief and excitement could set in he continued that for the rest of my life the functionality and dependability of my knee would deteriorate and strongly suggested that I discontinue any activities which would put additional stress on the joint- simply put, I should stop playing sports. With that I shot him a more than disapproving look and formally asserted that his recommendation, while respected, was not an option.

As soon as I was cleared to do so I began physical therapy and worked very hard to rehabilitate my knee and the rest of its supporting cast. I remember that my least favorite part about physical therapy was having to break up the scar tissue, so much pain, so little time! Softball conditioning began the second week of February and I saw my doctor the week before to get clearance to start with the rest of the team. Begrudgingly he agreed that I could start light workouts and intensify them as I felt comfortable so I did.

The pivotal moment came one afternoon at practice. I had survived winter workouts, made the team, and was preparing for our season opener. At that time the weather in Ohio was still less than desirable so we often practiced in the gym, something I never enjoyed. After running the stairwells to get "warmed up" (something I always hated anyway)and a few excruciatingly monotonous sets of suicides coach lined us up for shoe string and deep drop fly ball drills. For those of you who don't have any idea what I'm talking about this drill basically consisted of coach throwing a ball low and short for you to sprint forward and catch on your "shoestrings" and then she would immediately throw a ball deep for which you had to stop on a dime and drop back to catch. That kind of forward and reverse motion was difficult for me on my bad knee, especially after stairs and wind sprints. After practice I was all but in tears as I went to the trainer to get an ice pack. Coach waited for me outside of the trainer's office and when I emerged she asked me how I was feeling. We chatted for a little while about what I felt good about and the things I was still struggling with and as I prepared to leave she said, "It'll only hurt 'til it stops".

She, of course, meant the workouts and my knee, but those words resound in my ears whenever I face adversity of any kind and, without fail, reveal themselves as accurate. Recently her wisdom was tested, however. Though I had held her logic's feet to the fire through every trial I had not yet encountered the total masacre of my heart and when that moment came this cornerstone of triumph met its first real opposition.

For months I've labored through the anguish that befalled my heart wondering each day if the clouds would ever part. Timidly a ray of light would humbly carve its way through from time to time but ultimately the dismal climate reigned. Still, in the back of my mind I could still hear Coach Tuck's words and as the new year opened I felt them breaking free from the clutches of defeat and beginning to chant. A few weeks ago the clouds parted and like a previously chained dog being taunted by a squirrel, the sun burst through and the chain snapped. The heart break hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt, until it stopped.

I remember the first time I ran without pain in my knee. As excited as I was I was also terrified of reinjuring myself and the feeling of my heart running free again is just as scary. Luckily I know that even if I get hurt again it'll only hurt 'til it stops!