‘When the going gets rough, the tough keep going”

I have always been one to push limits. Not the ones placed on me by others for I go to great lengths to avoid getting in trouble, but the limits that I place on myself and the physical limits that a human body can endure. If I step on the treadmill intending to run only two miles, and the thought happens to cross my mind that I should really run four, I will push myself until I complete all four miles without stopping or slowing down. I feel obligated by myself to accomplish whatever absurd goals I set; I feel that if I fail at the nearly impossible, I am mentally weak. I convinced myself that even though I was pushing these limits and setting these nearly unattainable goals, everything would be okay in the end. Until a certain point, I was living in this world where I was willing to push myself to a dangerous brink because I believed nothing truly terrible would happen to me.

Throughout the past four years, I have had several visits to the emergency room or the urgent care resulting from sports injuries. For each ailment, I was informed that if I had not kept playing and if I had not pushed myself so hard, the damage done would not have been so bad. For example, if I had not kept playing after bruising my spleen and rupturing part of my kidney, my time off would have been three days and not eight weeks. If I had not kept playing after hurting my rib, it would have only been bruised and not broken. Each time after learning this news, I would feel regret that I had not been smart enough or disciplined enough to know when to quit and accept the concept that I am not Superwoman. But at the same time, part of me does not regret my choice because by making the choice that I did, I was getting to do something that I loved and because I believed I was making myself a stronger person for sticking with it. I was always a firm believer in the phrase, “when the going gets rough, the tough keep going.” By quitting, I was displaying a weakness, something that I do everything possible to avoid.

Until last spring, I still had this feeling of invincibility. I believed nothing worse than a brief rehabilitation period would ever happen to me. After an injury would bench me for at least six weeks, I was always confident that I would bounce right back and be in prime shape the second that my timeout expired. This feeling continued after I got the first of three serious head injuries in a period of three months. After suffering the usual array of symptoms for approximately a week, I lied to the athletic trainer and denied the presence of any symptoms. I wanted to play soccer so bad, I was willing to risk another head injury. With the belief the first concussion was a result of a fluke, I refused to accept that I was in any danger. At the time, I believed the chance of another concussion was so slim, that it was actually nonexistent. Then, a mere week later, the impossible happened. I sustained another concussion with only three minutes left in the game. Afterwards, even though I could not remember the day of the week and even though I suffered from symptoms for over a month and a half, I believed it was all worth it because I had gotten to do something I loved and because I had not submitted to the fear that I would be injured again. Having this fear would make me a weak person.