Peak

We are the superstars. We are the names on the A-list. We are the ones who get slapped on the back walking down the hall. We are above all else. We get all the girls, we go to all the parties, we are showered with respect and idolism. Fall is our season. The field is our throne and we are the kings. We are fast, agile, strong, coordinated. We are football players, musing off of our fifteen minutes of fame.

Ask any athlete of any sport, and they will tell you the same answer to the golden question: What's it like? 

Game day is all you think about. It consumes your life; your thoughts, your emotions, your mood whether you're at school, at home, or anywhere on God's creation. Nothing can distract you from it, and if it does your mind quickly snaps back to the game. When you suit up, the thoughts enswarm every wave of your brain and lifts you up. "Tonight, I'll show them who I am." "I'm not just another name." "My moment is now." That is, until the doubt sets in. "Will I really be great?" "What if I make an error?" "What if the coach pulls me?" That's where your teammates come in. They have your back like you have theirs, and as a team all doubt fades away. But when you step on the field, the court, whatever it may be, you know not only is your team there, but the faces you see everyday at school, the parents, the staff, everyone. It is at this moment you think you cannot possibly fail. No one can take you away from this moment. This, is known as the peak. 

Football was like breathing for me. It was a constant aura that surrounded my life and the lives of those in contact with the sport. My room was filled with trophies, pictures, medals, certificates, hoodies, and every other kind of memoir to the point that everywhere I looked was football. 

My mom was the supportive one. She lifted me up before and after every game and practice no matter what the outcome. She taught me it's okay to make mistakes and to let them go. I guess that's what moms are for in sports.

My dad on the other hand was the one who pushed me and drove me to my best everyday. He coached during youth league and absolutely worshipped the sport, maybe even more than me. If I wasn't practicing, I was conditioning, and if I wasn't conditioning, it was game talk. I can't remember one conversation with my dad that wasn't about football. I could wake up dead one day and he'd still tell me to get my lazy ass out on the field. 

If it wasn't for my brother, Tyler, I probably would be dead. He's a sophomore in college who plays football as well. My dad gave him the same preaches as me when he was in high school and still does. He doesn't stay on campus to save money, so he's usually home when he's not in class or at practice. My brother sometimes picks me up more than my mom, he analyzes how I play and coaches, well, more quietly than my dad. He's only yelled one time on record. Two years ago when I was preparing to try out for the varsity team as a freshmen I spoke the words no athlete should never dare say: "I can't do it." Tyler lectured the hell out of me and even played the cold-shoulder card. It's not just all football all the time with him, which at times can be like a vacation for me.

I guess we could be seen as the hardcore, fearless jock family. Nothing could stand in our way; not in mine, not in Tyler's, and certainly not in the way of my dad's dreams for us. But I don't believe in the word fearless. It's like a cancer, only appearing when awakened where fighting is the lone weapon in your arsenal that can put it to sleep. Fear doesn't always lose, though. For some, fear has the power to shut them down completely pushing them off of their mountain of hope leaving them with absolutely nothing.