A consistent adage in my senior seminar this year has been that you can never really ruin your life — unless you start committing crimes or doing drugs, those are the exceptions. But, even if it’s hard to ruin your life, you can change it pretty fundamentally in a moment or two. For me, that happened the first time I dislocated my knee when I was 14, pretty much forever destroying my dreams of playing college soccer, set in stone when I dislocated it again two years later. 

While being an athlete is no longer a defining part of my identity, sports have still stayed a central part of my life in many ways. Just this year, this has looked like committing to calling every men’s and women’s soccer home game, taking on a fair share of PA announcing and playing as many intramurals as I am able. Even still, it doesn’t stop a feeling of disappointment from lingering. 

In the past weeks, this has been exemplified by a feeling of being betrayed by my own body, bringing back unfortunate memories of my injury history, including my third dislocation from just a few years ago. 

On Jan. 31, when Goshen College played Marian University in a basketball doubleheader, I had very much an out-of-body experience. While all of the other strangeness that happened in that game was a bit off-putting, it wasn’t until after the final whistle was already blown that I really got involved in the action. 

After the line for handshakes, a fight broke out between the opposing teams on the floor, and with the referees already in the locker room, it came down to game day personnel from both schools to break up the brawl. 

I had been PA announcing, and once I said the final score I was just gathering my things, initially not even realizing the fight had begun. I realized soon enough though, as the noise in the gym escalated and fans of both teams poured onto the floor. It was soon after this that the Marian assistant coach, who had taken over as head after Pat Knight was ejected, approached the scorer’s table, slamming his hands down on the table right in front of me, and demanding to know who was in charge. During the exchange, he repeatedly used intense and upsetting obscenities, and I had a very visceral reaction. 

As much as I’d like to believe that I’m an entirely rational person who knew that he wasn’t really going to hurt me, in that moment reasoning was out the window. I have never been so aware of my socialized body as a woman, sitting in front of a man more than twice my age, shouting obscenities at me and becoming physically aggressive, close enough that he could have easily turned it on me. 

I froze up, and it was only thanks to the support of the athletic staff and fellow students that I made it out to my car to let it out over the phone, crying to my parents about my fear. Though it wasn’t an injury, my body had once again betrayed me, and sports had let me down. 

Thankfully, I have had enough good sports experiences in the recent weeks to patch our relationship up a bit. Winning the intramural volleyball championship, despite another injury setback from running, and obsessively watching the United States win gold in team figure skating and silver in mixed doubles curling has done good work to remind me why it is that I have always loved sports: that poignant combination of determination, talent and bringing people together that can get your heart pounding like nothing else, whether you are on or off the field.