Post by DiamondThief on Nov 24, 2015 21:44:55 GMT -8
November 24 --
I do not like talking about myself. I loathe it. What I mean is that there are regular conversations, more of a one-on-one, that I have in the first person with others and that is natural.
When it comes to major events; those are where I do not want to be fussed over or a big deal to be made.
All of that being said, I know there are some close friends and acquaintances here who want to know about what happened to me on November 13. I think some know the basics, but nonetheless, I feel as if I should start at the beginning.
I do not have a college scholarship. One day I would like to earn that. Of course, you all know that means I want to make my college's softball team, and to make an impact. You know my screen name here is based on what I call my specialty when it comes to softball. That is base running. Specifically, that is stealing bases. That is where I thought I could get noticed and earn a roster spot on my team.
I have worked out with some of the team's veteran players since early October. I should say "We" worked out with them, as I was a handful of freshmen who were all hoping for the same thing. There were other base runners. There were sluggers. There were fielders. There were pitchers. Pretty much anyone who could have a goal was there. Our workouts are included practices, weight and conditioning and even a couple of scrimmages.
I was loving every second of it.
For those unfamiliar with softball or baseball, a "hotbox" is when a base runner is stuck between two bases, with the corresponding fielders trying to tag the runner out. Meanwhile, the base runner is desperately trying to find a way to get safely to a base. The base runner is cutting back and forth, pausing and looking for her opening. This dynamic is not quite happenstance, but not quite uncommon.
During one of these scrimmages, I found myself in one of these hotboxes. I am fast. That is not conceit; it is a fact. Over a decade of learning and training in tae kwon do has given me an instinct and quick jump. On the other side of it, I am a freshman running against an experienced first baseman and an experienced second baseman. College fielders who have no time nor patience during an informal scrimmage for some kid who thinks she can beat them.
The second baseman ran toward first with the ball. A couple of stutter steps by me in the same direction and she tossed the ball to the first baseman. This was my opening! I had them! I turned and planted my foot.
Pop.
I cannot recall hearing it. The fielders said they did and each said that made them come to a dead stop as they saw their would-be teammate for the 2016 season fall to the ground.
As I found out later from a Magnetic Resonance Image, that pop was the tearing of the anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) in my left knee. It was the type of thing I had never considered, though subconsciously I think I feared it. Why should I think of such things? I am 19 years old. I am indestructible. I am the Diamond Thief.
By 7:30 that night, my mom and youngest brother had made their way to be with me. I was already crying at the idea of missing the season and missing what I felt was an opportunity of a lifetime.
I now cry because my mom made it so fast and that my brother insisted and begged (I am told at the same time) that he be able to come with her. I guess Keith just knew that his sister, a shade over 15 months older than he, would be a basket case. I have not had the guts to ask him if that is true, but he was there for me, and continues to be.
Nearly five years ago, when my father had a minor heart scare which ended up in doctors performing an angioplasty, my family members were lost. It was right before Christmas and many of us were trying to make things as normal for the family at that time. My oldest sister was the cerebral one (my next-oldest sister calls her "The Family Robot!"). She literally kept everyone calm as best as she could. Keith followed her around at that time, learned what was happening to my father and spent as much time as he could with him. How my youngest brother learned how to deal with family issues like this is beyond me. I do not care how he does it. I am just glad he does and, in every instance, I am thankful for it.
I needed every ounce of that saneness I could get over the past couple of weeks.
Lord knows I was not the sane one. I was upset, angry, discontent and, well, fill in your imaginative synonymous blank. I felt sorry for myself. I lashed out unfairly to others. I am still apologizing to my orthopedist for telling him to "get the *blank* out of my (hospital) room" after telling him I "didn't give a *blank* if he cut my *blanking* leg off since I did not need it anymore."
I know. Not so ladylike.
I am ultra competitive. I strive to be a leader. I strive to be an example.
Upon hearing about my tyraid, my father, while trying to instruct me in how a young woman should act, laughed a couple of times. He can get away with that because he knows how important making the softball team was -- and is -- to me. He knows I am not done. He also made sure to make sure that I know I am not done.
I had surgery on November 18 to repair the ACL. My orthopedist said it was successful. He vaguely informed me that the timeline for a full recovery about six- to-nine months. I will be walking soon, but to be able to run, spring and cut. By my own interpretation, a full recovery would come right about the time the softball season ends.
Remember those veteran fielders from earlier? Both, and others, have come to see me nearly every day. One has told me that I had already made the team in her eyes. The other agreed. That one, a junior this season, told me she can't wait to play along side me in 2017. "Nothing can stop us, Angi!" She said.
In a matter of less than two weeks, I have gone to anguish and despair, to hope and intent.
I met my physical therapist this morning and I have an appointment with my orthopedist in the morning. From there, my brother and I will drive home to Portland for Thanksgiving. My mom has already flown back to Portland.
This has been tough, but I can see a little light at the end of the tunnel of optimism.
I will be thankful for that.
- Angi
Angi Says is a periodic blog written by the general manager of the Sports Coast to Coast forum. It generally features topics from the sports which are covered on the forum.
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I do not like talking about myself. I loathe it. What I mean is that there are regular conversations, more of a one-on-one, that I have in the first person with others and that is natural.
When it comes to major events; those are where I do not want to be fussed over or a big deal to be made.
All of that being said, I know there are some close friends and acquaintances here who want to know about what happened to me on November 13. I think some know the basics, but nonetheless, I feel as if I should start at the beginning.
I do not have a college scholarship. One day I would like to earn that. Of course, you all know that means I want to make my college's softball team, and to make an impact. You know my screen name here is based on what I call my specialty when it comes to softball. That is base running. Specifically, that is stealing bases. That is where I thought I could get noticed and earn a roster spot on my team.
I have worked out with some of the team's veteran players since early October. I should say "We" worked out with them, as I was a handful of freshmen who were all hoping for the same thing. There were other base runners. There were sluggers. There were fielders. There were pitchers. Pretty much anyone who could have a goal was there. Our workouts are included practices, weight and conditioning and even a couple of scrimmages.
I was loving every second of it.
For those unfamiliar with softball or baseball, a "hotbox" is when a base runner is stuck between two bases, with the corresponding fielders trying to tag the runner out. Meanwhile, the base runner is desperately trying to find a way to get safely to a base. The base runner is cutting back and forth, pausing and looking for her opening. This dynamic is not quite happenstance, but not quite uncommon.
During one of these scrimmages, I found myself in one of these hotboxes. I am fast. That is not conceit; it is a fact. Over a decade of learning and training in tae kwon do has given me an instinct and quick jump. On the other side of it, I am a freshman running against an experienced first baseman and an experienced second baseman. College fielders who have no time nor patience during an informal scrimmage for some kid who thinks she can beat them.
The second baseman ran toward first with the ball. A couple of stutter steps by me in the same direction and she tossed the ball to the first baseman. This was my opening! I had them! I turned and planted my foot.
Pop.
I cannot recall hearing it. The fielders said they did and each said that made them come to a dead stop as they saw their would-be teammate for the 2016 season fall to the ground.
As I found out later from a Magnetic Resonance Image, that pop was the tearing of the anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) in my left knee. It was the type of thing I had never considered, though subconsciously I think I feared it. Why should I think of such things? I am 19 years old. I am indestructible. I am the Diamond Thief.
By 7:30 that night, my mom and youngest brother had made their way to be with me. I was already crying at the idea of missing the season and missing what I felt was an opportunity of a lifetime.
I now cry because my mom made it so fast and that my brother insisted and begged (I am told at the same time) that he be able to come with her. I guess Keith just knew that his sister, a shade over 15 months older than he, would be a basket case. I have not had the guts to ask him if that is true, but he was there for me, and continues to be.
Nearly five years ago, when my father had a minor heart scare which ended up in doctors performing an angioplasty, my family members were lost. It was right before Christmas and many of us were trying to make things as normal for the family at that time. My oldest sister was the cerebral one (my next-oldest sister calls her "The Family Robot!"). She literally kept everyone calm as best as she could. Keith followed her around at that time, learned what was happening to my father and spent as much time as he could with him. How my youngest brother learned how to deal with family issues like this is beyond me. I do not care how he does it. I am just glad he does and, in every instance, I am thankful for it.
I needed every ounce of that saneness I could get over the past couple of weeks.
Lord knows I was not the sane one. I was upset, angry, discontent and, well, fill in your imaginative synonymous blank. I felt sorry for myself. I lashed out unfairly to others. I am still apologizing to my orthopedist for telling him to "get the *blank* out of my (hospital) room" after telling him I "didn't give a *blank* if he cut my *blanking* leg off since I did not need it anymore."
I know. Not so ladylike.
I am ultra competitive. I strive to be a leader. I strive to be an example.
Upon hearing about my tyraid, my father, while trying to instruct me in how a young woman should act, laughed a couple of times. He can get away with that because he knows how important making the softball team was -- and is -- to me. He knows I am not done. He also made sure to make sure that I know I am not done.
I had surgery on November 18 to repair the ACL. My orthopedist said it was successful. He vaguely informed me that the timeline for a full recovery about six- to-nine months. I will be walking soon, but to be able to run, spring and cut. By my own interpretation, a full recovery would come right about the time the softball season ends.
Remember those veteran fielders from earlier? Both, and others, have come to see me nearly every day. One has told me that I had already made the team in her eyes. The other agreed. That one, a junior this season, told me she can't wait to play along side me in 2017. "Nothing can stop us, Angi!" She said.
In a matter of less than two weeks, I have gone to anguish and despair, to hope and intent.
I met my physical therapist this morning and I have an appointment with my orthopedist in the morning. From there, my brother and I will drive home to Portland for Thanksgiving. My mom has already flown back to Portland.
This has been tough, but I can see a little light at the end of the tunnel of optimism.
I will be thankful for that.
- Angi
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