Sometimes things just happen at the wrong time. Sometimes I feel that it’s just my bad luck. Last summer I was at a tournament with my travel softball team. I was so excited to slide and steal home plate. I was full of energy and I was feeling pumped. As soon as I dashed for home plate, the unthinkable happened. The plate was loose and my foot got caught on it. Just my luck. After leaving the tournament early, I found out that my ankle was broken. Tears poured down my face. I didn’t care that I had broken my ankle; I cared that I wouldn’t be playing softball for a while. After many doctor appointments, I was in a cast and a boot for the rest of the summer. Not only was I not able to play softball, I couldn’t go on vacation either. I endured a lot of pain. I felt as if someone was continuously throwing bricks at my foot. Although I couldn’t play, I went to every tournament and supported my team. It was hard to watch pla, knowing I could not. This made me envy them. While I sat down, they could continue to play day-by-day as I did nothing but sit there. Sometimes I felt hopeless. I had to tell myself, “I will be able to play again. It’s not over.” But I felt that it was.

I always pushed myself to practice. I wouldn’t let my cast stop me. I practiced technique. I practiced my swing. I practiced everything that I could possibly could. I always got yelled at. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be doing anything but I just wanted to play. My coaches always looked at me and smiled; they knew my passion for softball. They knew what I wanted to do. They knew I wouldn’t let one little thing stop me. Whenever the games began, it would hit me. I was happy to cheer my team on but it wasn’t the same. My broken foot was in the way and it was a hassle. I felt that I no longer belonged there. More tears. More pain. More jealousy. Yet I continued to support my team.

The day had finally come. It was August 20, 2012, and I remember it so clearly. I went to the doctors with a boot and crutches, and came home with a brace. I was as happy as a little girl getting a new doll. When the words I had been waiting for, came out of the doctor’s mouth, I could feel my body getting warm and happy again. He said, “You can slowly start playing again.” That was the only thing I ever cared about. The entire way home, I rambled about softball, practice and just the fact that I could play again. A week later, the season started. I was the first one on the field. I couldn’t believe the day had finally come. Feeling pumped as ever, I ran and did all the drills I never liked, faster than a race car. It was the best feeling in the world. There was one thing I hadn’t thought about was the pain. What did I expect? I thought I would be able to go out on the field and be good again. I was wrong. It was the same shooting pain as I had experienced in the beginning. I felt crushed. All I could do is work through the pain. No matter how much it hurt, I practiced. A few tears appeared but I pushed through it. My injury felt like an obstacle course, and this was just the beginning.