By Anna Von Kennel
For most of my life, I never really questioned why I played sports. Practice was simply part of my routine, as ordinary as school or homework. I loved being on a team, rushing to after-school practices, and working toward something bigger than myself. I rarely paused to realize how fortunate I was to have the opportunities I did.
I began playing lacrosse in fifth grade and, from the start, I felt behind. Year after year, I was placed on the B team, constantly trying to catch up. Soccer was my main sport at the time, yet something about lacrosse kept pulling me back. Even when progress came slowly and setbacks felt discouraging, my love for the game never faded. I kept showing up, believing that the effort would eventually be worth it.
Everything changed during my sophomore year. Right before the spring season, in a single moment at tryouts, I fell, and my shoulder was out of its socket. Suddenly, the sport that I thought I had built my identity around was slipping away. I chose to play through the injury with a brace, but the pain and fear lingered. Every movement carried the risk of injuring myself more. I pushed through the spring and into the summer, convincing myself that if I could hold on just a little longer, everything would work itself out.
By the midpoint of recruitment summer, my shoulder began dislocating repeatedly. I was terrified of falling behind, of losing everything I had worked for. Surgery was no longer optional. On September 26, I said goodbye to my junior soccer season and to any sense of normalcy. I spent weeks isolated in my room, sleeping in a chair, barely able to move my arm. I hated every moment of it. Yet the anchors and screws in my shoulder didn’t just repair the injury; they reshaped my mindset and forced me to realize what the game truly meant to me.
Rehab was slow, frustrating, and humbling. Still, nothing was more difficult than standing on the sidelines watching others play the game I loved, cheering instead of contributing. For the first time, I understood how quickly it could all be taken away.
What I didn’t expect was what the injury gave me in return. It showed me perspective. It revealed the strength of my relationships and the unwavering support of my coaches, teammates, and family. Most importantly, it taught me that playing sports is not something I am entitled to; it is something I am fortunate to experience.
When I finally returned to the field, I wasn’t the same player, and I didn’t want to be. I played with gratitude. I learned to appreciate the small moments every practice, every rep, every opportunity to compete. My “why” had shifted. Trophies and validation are no longer my only motivation. While winning still matters, competition will always be part of who I am. It is no longer the only driving force behind my work ethic.
I play because I get to. I play because my body allows me to. I play because I love the game.
Now, every time I step onto the field, I think about the girl who was afraid it might all be for nothing, who feared she would never return the same. I play for her with gratitude for the journey, for the people who never stopped believing in me, and for the simple joy of playing the game I love.