The feeling of adrenaline rushing through my veins as I see the ball fly straight between second base and short stop while running like my life depended on it was one of my favorite things about softball, when I was playing at least. Growing up, it seemed as if I tried every sport known to man- basketball, cheerleading, gymnastics, competitive swimming- but only one of them stuck. Softball. A game was the highlight of my week. I loved the feeling of being out of breath and exhausted as I went into the dugout after scoring a run. I loved being the team’s line drive hitter and the third basemen. I loved every part of the game. I lived and breathed softball. Every year, I would bring my airbrush helmet to show off at school. I thought that helmet was the coolest thing in the world. It was pink with two yellow softballs  encased in a streak of purple fire, and on the bill, my name written in bold, black letters. I wore that helmet every game of every season. I loved going to school and having debates with my other softball buddies (who were on a different team) about who would win that night’s game. It broke my heart when I found out that my age group’s season had been canceled, and then, my mother forgot to sign up the year after, and since I was two years out of practice, I never returned to the game I loved so much.

To feel the hole that was left in my heart, I dove completely in my education. I disconnected with my softball friends and became Cassie Martin, the smart kid. Even though I focused on my schoolwork, I still had a competitive need that had not been satisfied. I saw myself not being able to look forward to something every week. I found myself living day to day with the same events happening every day. I found myself diving too far into my education and not taking any time for myself. To fill this need, and to take a break from the same day to day, I joined the academic challenge team. This also ended after my two middle school years, and I never signed up in high school, until this year. We had our first match of the season last week, and it brought a surge of memories. I had forgotten what it felt like to be under pressure to make the right move, what if felt like to have a team depend on you. I had forgotten what it felt like to be a part of something. I also wondered why I ever stopped competing. Competing was something I was good at, something I loved, why did I give it up. I may never know this answer, but I am sure glad that I got back into friendly competition.

I still think about my softball years often, and I have reconnected with some of the people I used to play softball with. It feels good to have old friends that I can share old memories with. It feels good to be able to show what exactly I am made of.