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  • Every birthday party missed—every late night staying up doing homework because I was at practice the entire afternoon—every broken limb—every ass chewing—every time I was told that I sucked and needed to quit—every ounce of sweat—every time I degraded myself because of a poor performance on the field—only made me stronger for moments like these. I’m not the one trying to sack the girl in hopes of her dropping the ball. I am the one in the gear who looks like her right leg is about to snap but doing all she can to hold on to that ball. It’s moments like these when my adrenalin starts rushing through my veins. I feel empowered—that nothing can hold me back. Right after we collided and fell to the ground, I threw her off of me and sent her crying to the dugout. Softball is my outlet from reality. Moments like these are the only times I can exert all of my negative energy—all of my anger that has built up and disguise it as just playing the game. It’s the one thing in my life that I can truly pour my heart into without even realizing it. I am not alone. Many athletes can relate and so can many other passionate people who pour themselves into something that seems to offer so much more than what reality can…

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