For the love of the game

I am a woman.
I am a college student.
I am an athlete.
I am 19.
I am a mutt.
I am artistic.
I am in love.
I am a part of an amazing family.
I am blessed.
I am a Yankees fan.
I am from New England.
I am a psychology major.
I am religious.
I am confident.
I am friendly.
I am helpful.
I am shy.
I am a volunteer.
I am independent.
I am always in the mood for fun.


I took the 20 statements test in Cross-Cultural Psychology about a week ago. My professor told us to write “I am” 20 times and then fill it out according to who we were. I wrote the words “I am an athlete." Some people may not see why this fact is so important to me, but in being an athlete I am become a better person.

The fresh smell of fall, and the color of the leaves, hanging on for the last few moments due to the chill of winter that is in the air; it is field hockey season. I am obsessed. I can admit it. I love field hockey. Field hockey is what I grew up with and everyday I yearn for the freeing feeling the game gives me. The over whelming sensation of peace that holding my stick can bring; though worn and chipped it is a perfect fit in my hands. The turf beneath my shoes, the shelter I seek when everything is too much. Happiness comes over me when I am alone on the field with a stick and ball.

I am in control of this.

This is where I reign.

No one can get in my way, because this is where I can be me. Loud, confident, and at times even cocky, but thats ok because I am the boss here. I can’t be brought down, everything runs on my time.

It is not just a feeling.

It is the sounds.

The sound of a perfect shot hitting the backboard, the shrill double whistle when a goal is scored. The tapping of the stick against the ball, a clean click clack that keeps to a tempo that is always right. The empty thump of a ball hitting the hard foam of a goalie’s pads and sound of the one heartbeat of a team that works together. The silence before a corner, and then the rush of the play that follows the initial hit.

…The rush...

The undying desire to win.

The smell of victory.

A reverse chip that hits the top right corner, or a stroke sailing into the bottom left. The images of the goalie flying across the goal like superman, or the sweeper sacrificing their body to save a goal; I cannot get enough. I could play all night, and not have adequately sufficed my craving for the game.


Field hockey is my drug, and I am addicted.




I want my feet to feel home again inside my turf shoes, my shin guards wrapped around my lower legs, and the bandana tied around my head. I am ready to play, to take on the world, because I have learned so much from field hockey.

“Field hockey is a great deal like life in that it teaches that work, sacrifices, perserverance, competitive drive, selflessness, and respect for authority are the price each and every one of us must pay to achieve any goal that is worth while.”

I am afraid though, of what will come when in two years I will no longer be able to play. I will always have a stick and ball, but feeling the support of the team, the excitement of the fans and the proud smile of a coach when the team actually played well is something I will miss greatly. I hope and pray that I will find something as exhilarating and stress free as field hockey for when I am not longer able to stand on the turf barefoot feeling the rubber and plastic ground beneath me; my stick in my hands and a ball at my feet.