Every time I enter my garage, I pass by my soccer cleats. The soccer cleats I ran thousands of miles in. The soccer cleats I tied before each practice and game. The soccer cleats I scored and assisted goals with. The soccer cleats I celebrated several regional championships in. And while that orange Nike swoosh serves as a reminder of all of those wonderful memories, it is also a reminder of the pain and discomfort I felt while wearing those same soccer cleats.
My soccer career began at age 4. My parents signed me up for the local soccer league and while I didn’t know it at the time, I slowly began to fall in love with the sport. At the end of each season, I couldn’t wait until the next. I looked forward to putting on my jersey every weekend and running around the uneven elementary school field. Of course, my favorite part was the orange slices at halftime but that tradition was quickly dismantled as the years went on.
When I turned 10, soccer became the one main thing I did, other than school. I dropped all the other sports so I could pursue soccer. After a few years in the local league, I eventually moved on to play for a club team. My best friends were on the team with me. I grew as a player, a teammate, a friend, and a person. When I got to middle school, I decided to join the school team in addition to club soccer and the local league. For me, adding one team didn’t mean I would leave another; It simply meant I would get to play in more games and have more practice time doing what I loved. What was so wrong with that?
When I turned 13, I, unfortunately, discovered the answer to that question. I had been complaining about a sharp pain in my knees and resisting my mom’s suggestion of going to the doctor for months. I knew what would happen if I went to the doctor. There was no way anyone could be in that much pain and be cleared to continue playing. I didn’t want to take time off but it got to the point where walking from my room to the kitchen was painful. So, I finally gave in.
We went to several doctors to figure out what was wrong and to hear their differing opinions. The ultimate result was that I had patellofemoral syndrome, meaning I had overused both my knees. With that diagnosis came all the treatment options. I could either take a few months off or stop playing completely. This didn’t come as a shock to me. I knew it was coming but hearing it out of a professional’s mouth made it so much more real.
My brain went straight to thinking about all I was supposed to be doing. I was supposed to be playing soccer all summer in order to make my high school team. I was supposed to play soccer all throughout high school and then go on to play in college. I was supposed to be on the field for 20 hours a week like I had been for the past 9 years. I spent years looking up to Alex Morgan, Carli Lloyd, and Hope Solo thinking one day I could be like them. Along with all of those thoughts came the flood of emotions. I didn’t know what I was going to do. The thought of waiting months to most likely still be in pain wasn’t an appealing option but never being able to play soccer seemed terrifying.
After much deliberation with myself, I decided I needed to start looking for something new. I had to let go of the sport I once loved and find a way to love something else.
The summer before my freshman year, I tried a rowing camp. My older sister had been rowing for two years and I was absolutely horrified by the early mornings and the agonizing blisters she always complained about. But, I had nothing to lose and tried to keep an open mind.
I ultimately decided to join the rowing team at the start of my freshman year and began to feel that same love I had for soccer again. It felt strange. I will never understand how I could love a sport that puts its athletes through so much. I went on to take four trips to the Regional Championship and three trips to Youth Nationals. I’m now a member of the Women’s Rowing team at Dartmouth College and could not be more proud of my journey.
At the doctor’s office, I was absolutely terrified to stop playing soccer and felt like everything that I was familiar with was being ripped away from me. If I had known where I would be today, I would make the same decision 10000x again. I was able to learn that the end of one thing leads to the beginning of another and new, interesting opportunities. I now know that what I may think will happen in the future is completely subject to change, whether it be moderately or drastically, and sometimes that is for the better. And most importantly, I have to listen to my body.
Throughout my rowing career, I have thought back to playing soccer. I still remember the smell of the wet, freshly-cut grass each Saturday morning. I remember the way my feet would burn on the turf and how I thought my cleats were melting beneath me. I remember the feeling of the sunscreen burning my eyes as I looked up for the ball flying through the air. I remember the smiles on my parents’ faces when they cheered me on. I remember the overwhelming joy and exhaustion I felt at the end of a successful tournament. And I will never forget the endless love I felt for the sport of soccer.
