Spring was near, which meant I was looking forward to playing softball: my freshmen year of softball at Ayersville. I played softball ever since I was little, and during this time I have learned that I can be an extremely aggressive person when it comes to winning and competing. I will mentally beat down on myself in order to make myself a better athlete. With that being said, I am an aggressively competitive person.

            The first game of the season, finally, and my “coach” started me pitching. Thank God, right? Apparently not, he thought since I was frustrated with myself meant that it meant I was shutting down in front of everyone. He was gravely wrong. When I get mad, I pitch harder, faster, and more precise from my spin to my strike zone. It is almost like I became a completely different person. My “coach” thought it was okay to yell at me during my first high school softball game, to say I was being pulled because I walked one girl. It felt like the whole world was staring into my soul. Apparently, he expects me to be happy when I fail at what I do best. Softball was my life, and he ruined it for me. He ruined the sport I loved with every fragment in my body.

            After he pulled me from the game, I was beyond livid. I felt the rage inside me begin to fester. I wasn’t put into play the on the grimy grey field, so I just sat and watched. Then the girls on my “team” decided to yell at me, too. My heart was shattered, this was not a team, not one I wanted to be on.

            Finally, the game ended. I grabbed my black and grey softball bag and my purple Louisville Slugger bat and walked out to go see my family, but my “coach” gripped my new bag as I was walking to my family, yanked me back, and yelled at me more. He declared, “Teryn, until you get more confidence in your pitching, you will only be dressing varsity and playing full time JV.”

            After that game, I focused on track, which I earned a trip to state in for the 400-meter-dash. Next spring was not any better. The beginning of the year started off well, but soon it went bad awful quick. Before the scheduled softball games started, every player had an individual meeting with the coaches to express their roles to the team. Since last year went the way it did, I recorded mine. My “coach” decided to pull track into the script of his splurge during my meeting with him, and he explained, “You will not be playing in all games since you are also in track. The team will need to be able to function without you when districts is here.” The season from there went almost exactly the same as last year, and I hardly touched the crunchy gravel fields during games. Given that I was also in track, I ended up grudgingly waking up early at 5 a.m. quite a few more times than I would have liked to during the spring season, just to get my track workout in, so I could play in the softball game on those days. I decided to focus my efforts more on track, and by the end of my track season, I secured a trip to state, again, in three events and placed sixth in the girls 400-meter-dash. Easily said, my track season was a monumental success compared to softball.

            Finally, summer was back after the long wait. I would be able to be on an extraordinary softball team, but it turned out to be like spring ball. Half way through my summer travel softball season, I knew that deep inside that this sport was not as fun as it used to be and that I would have a better opportunity to succeed in my running career. Making the decision was devastating for me. I had played some form of softball since kindergarten, and I was in love with the sport and personally I considered it my favorite. Regardless, with the past two years to reflect on, I had to have an extremely difficult and long talk with my parents. In the end, we all agreed that it would be in my best interest to not to continue playing for this team, though I was still on the brink of deciding for sure. The very last game of my softball career made my decision crystal clear.

            I pitched the entire game. There were two outs, bases had runners on first and second. The count was 3-2, and the batter kept fouling off the ball one after the other. Smack, foul ball, crack, foul ball, and it went on for what seemed like a century. I was getting tired and messed up big time. I threw a pitch low and inside where this girl could hit dingers. I knew as soon as the ball came off my callused fingertips that it would be right where she liked it. After I released the ball, it felt like it hung in the air forever. Finally, the ball entered the strike zone. She swung her heavy blue Louisville Slugger bat, and with a crack, she hit the ball. The ball sailed into center field but not far enough for it to go over the shiny chain linked fence for her to earn a dinger. I knew my short, but fast, center fielder would get the ball, but she hadn’t even made a move to go for the ball, and when I saw that, I knew the game was over. I trudged off the field as salty tears filled my eyes, streamed down my face, and a dark heavy feeling loomed over me. It was a walk off double. They won by a single point, and everyone blamed it on me. I was a mess after that game, but my “coach” clearly could have care less about how I was feeling because she went ahead, in front of the entire team, and announced, “Teryn, you pitched a hell of a game, and I wish you luck on your next team because I know you aren’t coming back.” Then she added, “Your dad already sent the email to the team you will be on next year.” This set me on fire! I was a mixed emotion ball of mess. I was depressed, sad, hurt, and just livid with everything that happened to me, and I wanted to go home. I felt my entire body shaking with the rage that had been festering inside me for so long.

            After that, my decision was beyond clear. ‘Why did it have to end like this?’ I thought to myself, ‘why after all my mind numbing, back breaking, and long hours of hard work, did it have to end like this!’ Even though it was such a hard decision, I knew I had to make it. I knew deep down that this sport was no longer mine, and it was time to give it up for good.

            In the end, that game was the trigger that made it clear to me why I had to quit doing one of the sports I loved most in the world, and it was as if God had seen something better for me to do. He pointed it out to me, and He turned out to be pointing me in the direction for my running. He knows what is best, and He will lay it out there just as He did for me. It may be disappointing once it happens, and sometimes hard decisions have to be made and for me that involved quitting the sport I loved most in the world, so I would be able to focus on my running career more than ever.