Leave it to ESPN to help me put my life in perspective. (Alright, alright, before someone comes at me reckless, that’s not the only thing that puts my life in perspective, sheesh.)
There is … life after ultimate.
I’ve been an athlete my whole life (albeit not a great one, but y’know what I’m saying). There’s a million different things I love about being involved in sports: off the top of my head, I love the camaraderie, the competition, the rigors of it. I’m not sure what I’d do if something took that away from me.
It happens. You read articles about former football players who kill themselves out of depression years after their careers are over. You read about former boxers who can’t form sentences anymore, guys who can’t even stand up straight or write their own names. You read about basketball has-beens whose careers went down the drain because of a knee injury, baseball players who never come back from reconstructive surgeries. You read all those stories and you shake your head. You feel for those players, you think for a second what it would be like if your career went down that path. But that’s not us, y’know? We’re young and healthy and it makes you feel cot damn invincible! You hear athletes say it all the time, and I’m guilty of using this phrase too: I’ll be done when it’s not fun anymore/doesn’t make me happy anymore. I’ll be done when I want to be done.
But the truth is that our shelf life in our respective sports comes to an end, whether that time is sooner or later, whether that time is of our own choosing or not. It’s tough to think about, and it’s something we’d all rather shove to the back of our minds for another few years as we down another painkiller, ice another ailing part of our body, pull on the myriad layers of tape, braces, and wraps, and head out on the field/court/track/etc. for another go.
The “real life” implications of injuries and the lingering effects of those injuries never hit me until my college career was over, and really not even until the club season was over. I didn’t understand it until I was taken out of that competitive bubble, once I finished that relentless four year struggle. I’m finding that reality is harsh, and I’ve learned that I am not invincible.
I’ve seen some grisly stuff on the ultimate field. I’ve seen blood, I’ve seen broken bones, I’ve seen a girl go into shock, I’ve seen bones being popped back into place. And all the while, the show went on. We all continued playing while the girl cried underneath a blanket on the sidelines, waiting for an ambulance to come. I don’t know that any of us were actually “playing”, but we went through the motions of it anyway. I’ve heard some gnarly stories and I’ve seen some less-than-savory battle scars.
Athletes are some tough people. We play through so much for something as simple and as abstract as “winning”. On the one hand, that toughness is something we revere in America, it’s something we aspire to and get misty eyed over. Curt Schilling’s bloody sock. Michael Jordan’s flu. Aaron Rodgers’ concussions. On the other, sometimes it’s downright stupid and stubborn, not tough and not strong-willed. We put our health, our bodies, and our lives at real danger with nary a second thought. But we’re competitors. Giving up or quitting on something is the last thing we think about, especially if winning is at stake. Is it smart? Probably not, but I can’t say whether I think it’s right or not. I can’t say that it’s wrong to continue playing when you know you’re injured because that’s pot/kettle territory. I can’t say that knowing my team had a shot at qualifying for Nationals, I’d sit out a game or a tournament because of an injury that didn’t prevent me from standing on my own two feet.
But in this time of personal turbulence and confusion, I’ve found myself questioning my identities a little bit. I’m imagining what my life would be like without ultimate, without basketball, without sports. Being an athlete and my love of sports are part of who I am, but they aren’t the sole components of my identity. Those “real life” implications (especially the one about not being able to listen to Ke-dollar sign-ha for months! /sarcasm) are things I know I need to take more seriously, and I promise to consider those things more carefully before I sacrifice my body and my health. Again, I don’t know that I’ll always make the “right” decision, but I hope I start taking steps in that direction.
It’s sad to see careers end before they’re supposed to, and it’s even sadder to see lives go down the tube because of the damage — both bodily and otherwise — done throughout the course of an athletic career. I have tremendous respect for those who have had to give up doing what they love to do but still find ways to be around it. People like Ebony and Steven remind me about what I love about sports and athletes, and they remind me to appreciate the things I love in my life — not just the opportunity to compete, but also my body and my health. I don’t know when that day will come (although I have to admit I’ve thought about it quite a bit), but I know that the day I hang up the competitive cleats for good isn’t far off in the future. Life with ultimate is great, but I hope life after it is just as good, if not better, and I don’t want to do anything silly or short-sighted to jeopardize that.
(And thus ends my letter to Coach about why I can’t make practice this week… ;D)
