My Safe Place

The start

I’ve always been at home on a perfectly cut green field, and inside those faded white lines, I was safe. The field was my way of escaping. That was the case until March 1st, 2022.

Exhaustion 

It was my junior year of high school and tryouts were nearing. I had yet to play a single season of high school ball. My freshman year our season got shut down because of COVID. Sophomore year I had just torn a ligament in my ankle. Now here we are, junior year and I was ready to play high school ball. Over the course of the last three months soccer has taken over my life. In December, we started back with the club team to train for our annual Arizona tournament. In January, we started fitness days every day of the week in addition to starting the indoor preseason for high school. February was nothing but grueling work for that one short week we spent in Arizona. I worked my butt off, day after day after day. Whether it was at practice or not I was always doing some type of training to be on top of my game for that one short week in Arizona. I was at my peak, I really was. Mid February and Arizona comes and passes like the cool breeze I felt during those night time games. To say the least, I was done. I was physically and mentally drained from all of the strenuous work I had been putting in. I was ready to be done, but this was just the beginning.  

“No! You can't be done” I would sit there and tell myself every time I was ready to quit, “You are finally at that place that you've always wanted to be." I’d sit in the comfort of my soft bed, still in my sweaty practice uniform with tears streaming uncontrollably down my face as I just couldn't push myself anymore. I was physically and mentally beat down. Covered in deep purple and green bruises and bumps. I was sick of it.  

Two weeks later, tryouts were underway. YAY first year of high school soccer, right? No, I was done, I was exhausted, I was in pain, and all I got was two short lived weeks off. Day one was pleasant. The sun was shining but there was a cool breeze in the air leaving it just the perfect temperature. I stepped out there and I felt that I had really proved myself. My passes were clean and tight, my touches were crisp as the ball would bounce off of my foot setting up a beautifully planned play. I had gotten a stellar score on that day's fitness test. What could possibly go wrong now? I did everything I could do on day one, only four more days and I was more excited than ever to get out on that field for day two. I came out for day two with so much confidence and that was almost instantly crushed.

“Welcome to day two of tryouts. Today we’ll be starting off with the pacer test.” 

That one sentence was like a nightmare that I could not wake up from. 

“Oh no, not the pacer test,'' I thought to myself, “It's over, I'm done for” I looked over and said to my friend Hannah,

“You’ll be okay, just push yourself for as long as you can,” she answered back to me with an encouraging tone. Oh yeah, did I mention I had asthma? Yup, this is going to be rough. At first it wasn't too bad. I was actually doing better than I thought. To be fair it was only the third or fourth round. Next thing I know, my breathing becomes heavy and shallow. I was gasping for air every chance I got. I was also tasting the salty sweat that dripped down my face. 

“I can't breathe dude I need my inhaler” I whisper to Hannah as I try and grasp for air. 

“You're ok just keep pushing” she encouraged me to keep trying.

So I did. But I could only push for five more rounds. Ninth round and I was done. I physically couldn't push anymore. Some of the girls came out at the same time as me, some before, but some kept going and going. Even though I wasn't the first to drop, that completely threw me off my game.

 “I’m better than that, what happened?” I thought to myself as I fell to my knees desperately reaching for my inhaler. 

We were finally done with that stupid fitness test and it was time to split into drill groups. To no surprise, I got moved down after I completely botched the pacer test. I was so defeated and demoralized. I was breathing heavily trying to hold back the anger that was building in my stomach. I felt physically sick to my stomach and it was just the beginning. On mini goals, we began this simple passing drill. I was killing it over there. My passes were crisp, my ability to read the plays, everything was flawless. I was just waiting for the coaches to see that I was not fit for the level that they had put me at. Nope, it never happened. I was already so defeated as practice came to an end, as I could feel my breaking point approaching. 

“Mia, can we have a chat?”

I began to take off all of my hot, sweaty, turf filled gear when the coach approached me with that heart wrenching question. I could physically feel my heart drop into my stomach because I knew what that meant. I knew that I had blown it. My inability to be on the same fitness level as some of the other girls is about to get me cut. Why? I was too talented to be cut. It's not my fault that I have asthma, right? I was a starter on the top team for my club. I was good enough, but not good enough for this coach. 

“Unfortunately your tryout is over”

Those words rang through my head for the next few weeks, maybe even months. I was ready to quit. My confidence was completely destroyed. I wasn't good enough when I thought I was. I fell into a complete depression of defeat and let down. I had worked too hard to be set back to square one. 

“You’re physically just not ready.”

I came home that night from tryouts bawling my eyes out. I worked too hard to be cut after a simple fitness test. Everyone around me was surprised. My parents, my little brother, my club coach, my club teammates, even the girls I was trying out with. It just made no sense that one fitness drill could take away all of the field skills that I held. It was all downhill from that night. For the next few weeks, I felt as if a harsh storm was forecasting my world. 

“You’re a good kid…don’t let this stop you from doing what you love”

With a bit of help and encouraging words from my club coach, I somehow managed to pick myself up from the deep, dark depression that this put me in. So, I worked my butt off for months. A commitment to the gym everyday, working on speed, agility, touches with the ball but most importantly, fitness. After four months of constant work, I did it. I made the decision to stick with soccer and I tried out for a brand-new club team and guess what? I was offered a spot on the select one team! To everyone's surprise, I politely declined that offer. I wanted to continue on my journey with the coach who shined light, like rays of sunshine, on the horrific dark storm that was clouding my world. 

“If I’m going to be completely honest, I’ve lost my love for this sport and I’m not having any fun.” 

Not then did I know that slipping out those harsh words to the high school coach was going to shape me into something unimaginable. Not only did I become a much better athlete, but I became a much better person. In the course of the four months I spent thinking my soccer career was over, I found myself and became who I am today. Most importantly, I didn't give up. I realized why I had spent the majority of my life playing the game. It was my home, my safe place, and I loved it more than anything.