I am as tough as the worn leather of my glove, and I bleed the red stiches of softballs. Softball is more than just my sport.  Softball is my life.  When I first decided to play softball in high school, it was a choice I wasn’t too thrilled about; however, I soon realized that it was one of the greatest decisions I have ever made.  There are no words that even come close to describing just how passionate I am about my baby.  I live, eat, breathe, dream, and think softball.  Softball has given me a reason to keep pushing myself to become a better player, person, and all around leader.  I was young when I threw my first softball, but as soon as I heard the smack of the ball hitting my dad’s glove, I was in love.  With the flick of my wrist, a bond was formed between softball and me.  From winning the Putnam County Little League in sixth grade to making it to districts my freshman year, softball has given me priceless memories that will stick with me forever.  My love and dedication for this sport will never fade.

As soon as my black cleats hit the varsity softball field, I become one with the brown dirt.  My heart melts into the clay, my emotions become the white chalk lines of the field, my hands and feet mold into the bases, and my mind flows into the rolling green grass of the outfield.  My soul lies between first and second base, where I stand waiting for that first pitch to leave my pitcher’s hand.  The butterflies dance in my stomach; my heart pounds like a loud drum in my ears; sweat forms on my brow, and I stare intently at the batter.  Before the pitch, before the crack of the bat, before I field the ball, before it all starts, there is a moment where everything freezes.  In that frozen moment, I feel the wind blow through my thick ponytail, and I hear my dad yell from the stands, “Here we go, 5.  Time to make this game yours!”  My pitcher does her wind up, and I get low.  Knees bent, glove in the dirt, and eyes on the batter, I’m ready for anything that comes my way.  Strike one.  Strike two.  Strike three. “You’re out!” yells the umpire.  Batter number two comes up, and the electricity in the air intensifies.  A shot over third base lands the girl safe on first.  Batter three, the wind up, the release, and the ball tears through the dirt directly towards me.  My legs low, head up, and glove in the dirt, I field the ball.  Tagging the runner going to second and flipping the ball to my first baseman gets the crowd to their feet.  I sprint off of the field with the biggest smile glued frozen on my face as my teammates offer me high fives. 

Standing in the batter’s circle, I swing the bat, timing the pitcher as she warms up.  The butterflies return, but this time they leave me feeling sick to my stomach and make my knees feel like jelly.  I come to a moment where I question my ability to hit, and I slump to the ground.  I start to back away into the dugout, but I hear the comforting words, “Here we go, babe,” from my third baseman.  “Time to show them what you’re made of.”  Every worry that I have disappears, and I walk up confidently to the plate, trying to hide the fact that on the inside I’m still shaking.  Glancing down to third base, I see my coach flashing me hitting signals.  My right foot goes in the box first followed by my left foot.  I hold my left hand out to the pitcher as I draw my power line in front on the plate.  I count, ‘One, two, three,’ I load up, ‘four, five, six,’ and I give a sassy smile to the pitcher, ‘seven, eight…swing!’  My spirit flies with the ball as it rockets towards the fence.  My feet are on fire as I sprint down to first base, and they only gain heat as my coach yells, “Two!  Two!  Two!”  My coach waves me on to third, and I’m commanded, “Hit it, Isela!”  I throw myself onto the ground, stick my cleats up, and slide into third.  “Safe, she’s safe!” the umpire yells, as the crowd erupts with cheers and whistles. 

Each time I step on home plate, I feel a surge of energy flow through my body, and that energy is released back into the field as the game continues on.  I play with every ounce of energy, passion, and dedication that I have, and I always leave everything I have on the field.   

I live for the crack of the bat, the stitch marks left in my skin after being hit by a pitch, diving catches, and safe slides into home.  There is no feeling more satisfying than making that amazing catch that nobody expects or hanging back just enough to crack the pitcher’s changeup over the centerfielder’s head.  I crave the adrenaline rush I get from sprinting down the first base line to beat out a throw from third base, and I get high off of the cheers from the fans.    From the sacrifice bunts to the inside the park homeruns, there isn’t a single moment that makes me feel more alive than being on the field in the Ayersville Pilot softball uniform decorated with #5 on the back.  I am forever grateful for the talents that God has given me, for the support from my parents, and the love from my team.  I have never been more passionate about anything in my life, and nothing will change my mind. I am a softball addict, and I am proud.