If it hasn't become evident in my six month span of blog posting, I coach high school girls soccer. I'm currently in my 6th season, and it embodies some of the best moments, relationships, and life lessons in my adult life.
I have also experienced all 3 knee surgeries throughout my tenure at said high school.
As an athlete growing up, no one tore their ACL. We played on the crappiest fields, on the uneven asphalt, and considered ourselves dangerously resilient and almost animalistic. I had broken bones and stitches to show for much of my competitive edge, but those were quick recoveries and not nearly as dreadful as some other possibilities. Say the word "soccer" today around a group of teenage girls, and the number one fear will be the blasted ACL. It's the threat hanging over everyone's head. It's the heartbreak that you never want to see or feel. It's the chaotic "no!" that brings me to my feet when an athlete falls with a yelp and knee grab.
It's the injury you only really understand if you've been through it before, and the one that you are thankful for not experiencing every moment until you may or may not do so.
I mentioned this is one of my earliest blog posts, but I have a senior athlete who I never even got to see take the field under the stadium lights until her 3rd year on the varsity squad. She tore her right ACL in October of her Freshman year, and then her left in October of her Sophomore year. I was devastated for her. She didn't miss a game though, did I mention that? Even days out of surgery, she brought her ice machine and blanket and bundled up on the bench to cheer her teammates on. She wore her uniform on game days, sat at every training session, and was just as much a part of the team as the leading goal scorer.
Last year, her junior year, her dad emailed me about being superstitious of training the last week of October - two for two in resulting in torn ACLs for his daughter. I said I understood. And I did.
She trained every day that week, month, everything. Never said a word about skipping.
And then she played. She wasn't the same athlete as before, but she played. Instead of giving up, she became better in new ways. She was slower in pace, no doubt, but she was stronger and more determined in strength and game awareness. She quickly became a starter and full-game player. She also became one of my youngest heroes. I cringed every time she took a tackle or got mixed up with legs, cleats, and ball. But she bounced up and she competed. She even scored her first and only high school career goal to open up our victory against the cross-town rivalry squad. She was brilliant.
As a coach, I try to balance my personal enjoyment of my athletes with my obligation to teach and train them. Sometimes it is easier said than done. I care about them. And I totally have favorites. How can you not? This particular athlete is one of them. She gave me just the slightest indication of the heartbreak parents must feel when their own children face adversity. And then the pride (intermixed with fear) of watching that child overcome it without any self-righteousness.
I learned a thing or two from this kid, and channeled her during my go-around this third time.
Which is why my heart crumbled on Friday afternoon when she went down with her 3rd ACL tear as a Senior captain of her Varsity soccer team. God damn did it hurt. I knew it the minute she went down, and I bet she knew before that even. I hobbled over to her, and instead of asking anything or offering any solace, I simply grabbed her leg, and she just looked at me, nodded, and fell into a pool of misery. I waved my assistant over frantically to help me lift her off of the field, and caught enough eye contact with her parents to let them know silently. I never have parents come down.
The game went on, and I was removed from the score, play, and possession as I watched my athlete share the same unspoken grief with her father as she had with me moments before. She grabbed hold of his neck and just hurt and sobbed. Rightfully so. We all knew what it meant, and we all knew what the future might have in store for a girl who didn't earn a second of that pain. She saw the entire game through, sniffling and icing on the sidelines as her teammates battled on. I left my coaching post to wordlessly offer my support to her parents. It felt useless. They took off after the game and I considered my own pathway of ACL tears compared to hers. There was no comparison. She got the short end of the stick, no question about it. I left her a message Saturday morning, and then went on to prepare for our next games.
And what do you know? The kid showed up. Former ACL brace, swollen knee, and street clothes. And a smile even. This girl showed up and stuck out hours worth of soccer from the bench. She cheered the team on and answered those mind-numbing questions over and over again that I know so well. I spoke to both of her parents and relayed my gratitude and appreciation for having a girl on the team such as their daughter to be such an unassuming leader and example. They seemed content and resolved that she had wanted to come to the games regardless of her situation.
I saw my competitive athletic career through. And then some. I know the course of this girl's future is changed, and I'm anxious for the day that it will become clear that this new path led to amazing things. Until then, I still feel utterly heartbroken for her and utterly ashamed of my self-pity over the past couple of weeks. I need to take a page out of my 17 year old athlete's book and remember that grace and confidence can radiate and touch some unsuspecting characters - just as hers has for me.
How do you do it, parents? How do you push your child through without shielding the truth and still remain sensitive? How do you allow them to battle through their own hurt without bothering them all the while? I applaud you for being supportive without being overbearing. You've created wonderful children, who in turn, have continued to teach other adults around them.
I don't really have anything funny to say tonight, but it's not because I don't think there isn't any humor in the eventuality that comes from all tough situations. I do. And I think my girl does too. But I just don't have any to lurch forward throughout my seething paragraphs tonight. A humorless blog doesn't take away one's wit and funny-power just the same as a torn ACL doesn't take away one's title as an athlete.
Don't be so harsh on this generation of kids with cell phones glued to their hands and a general lack of care for the goings on in the world. So many are so much more than that. You are what you know! And if this girl is joining the exclusive and least popular torn and triad club, I better make it known in all the right ways.
I have also experienced all 3 knee surgeries throughout my tenure at said high school.
As an athlete growing up, no one tore their ACL. We played on the crappiest fields, on the uneven asphalt, and considered ourselves dangerously resilient and almost animalistic. I had broken bones and stitches to show for much of my competitive edge, but those were quick recoveries and not nearly as dreadful as some other possibilities. Say the word "soccer" today around a group of teenage girls, and the number one fear will be the blasted ACL. It's the threat hanging over everyone's head. It's the heartbreak that you never want to see or feel. It's the chaotic "no!" that brings me to my feet when an athlete falls with a yelp and knee grab.
It's the injury you only really understand if you've been through it before, and the one that you are thankful for not experiencing every moment until you may or may not do so.
I mentioned this is one of my earliest blog posts, but I have a senior athlete who I never even got to see take the field under the stadium lights until her 3rd year on the varsity squad. She tore her right ACL in October of her Freshman year, and then her left in October of her Sophomore year. I was devastated for her. She didn't miss a game though, did I mention that? Even days out of surgery, she brought her ice machine and blanket and bundled up on the bench to cheer her teammates on. She wore her uniform on game days, sat at every training session, and was just as much a part of the team as the leading goal scorer.
Last year, her junior year, her dad emailed me about being superstitious of training the last week of October - two for two in resulting in torn ACLs for his daughter. I said I understood. And I did.
She trained every day that week, month, everything. Never said a word about skipping.
And then she played. She wasn't the same athlete as before, but she played. Instead of giving up, she became better in new ways. She was slower in pace, no doubt, but she was stronger and more determined in strength and game awareness. She quickly became a starter and full-game player. She also became one of my youngest heroes. I cringed every time she took a tackle or got mixed up with legs, cleats, and ball. But she bounced up and she competed. She even scored her first and only high school career goal to open up our victory against the cross-town rivalry squad. She was brilliant.
As a coach, I try to balance my personal enjoyment of my athletes with my obligation to teach and train them. Sometimes it is easier said than done. I care about them. And I totally have favorites. How can you not? This particular athlete is one of them. She gave me just the slightest indication of the heartbreak parents must feel when their own children face adversity. And then the pride (intermixed with fear) of watching that child overcome it without any self-righteousness.
I learned a thing or two from this kid, and channeled her during my go-around this third time.
Which is why my heart crumbled on Friday afternoon when she went down with her 3rd ACL tear as a Senior captain of her Varsity soccer team. God damn did it hurt. I knew it the minute she went down, and I bet she knew before that even. I hobbled over to her, and instead of asking anything or offering any solace, I simply grabbed her leg, and she just looked at me, nodded, and fell into a pool of misery. I waved my assistant over frantically to help me lift her off of the field, and caught enough eye contact with her parents to let them know silently. I never have parents come down.
The game went on, and I was removed from the score, play, and possession as I watched my athlete share the same unspoken grief with her father as she had with me moments before. She grabbed hold of his neck and just hurt and sobbed. Rightfully so. We all knew what it meant, and we all knew what the future might have in store for a girl who didn't earn a second of that pain. She saw the entire game through, sniffling and icing on the sidelines as her teammates battled on. I left my coaching post to wordlessly offer my support to her parents. It felt useless. They took off after the game and I considered my own pathway of ACL tears compared to hers. There was no comparison. She got the short end of the stick, no question about it. I left her a message Saturday morning, and then went on to prepare for our next games.
And what do you know? The kid showed up. Former ACL brace, swollen knee, and street clothes. And a smile even. This girl showed up and stuck out hours worth of soccer from the bench. She cheered the team on and answered those mind-numbing questions over and over again that I know so well. I spoke to both of her parents and relayed my gratitude and appreciation for having a girl on the team such as their daughter to be such an unassuming leader and example. They seemed content and resolved that she had wanted to come to the games regardless of her situation.
I saw my competitive athletic career through. And then some. I know the course of this girl's future is changed, and I'm anxious for the day that it will become clear that this new path led to amazing things. Until then, I still feel utterly heartbroken for her and utterly ashamed of my self-pity over the past couple of weeks. I need to take a page out of my 17 year old athlete's book and remember that grace and confidence can radiate and touch some unsuspecting characters - just as hers has for me.
How do you do it, parents? How do you push your child through without shielding the truth and still remain sensitive? How do you allow them to battle through their own hurt without bothering them all the while? I applaud you for being supportive without being overbearing. You've created wonderful children, who in turn, have continued to teach other adults around them.
I don't really have anything funny to say tonight, but it's not because I don't think there isn't any humor in the eventuality that comes from all tough situations. I do. And I think my girl does too. But I just don't have any to lurch forward throughout my seething paragraphs tonight. A humorless blog doesn't take away one's wit and funny-power just the same as a torn ACL doesn't take away one's title as an athlete.
Don't be so harsh on this generation of kids with cell phones glued to their hands and a general lack of care for the goings on in the world. So many are so much more than that. You are what you know! And if this girl is joining the exclusive and least popular torn and triad club, I better make it known in all the right ways.