I Am by Mary Episcopo

I am a softball player, or wait; I was a softball player.

So am I or was I?  How could such a simple question create such confusion?

It sounds insane that a sport could have such a profound influence on an individual’s life.  It seems like when I had softball, I had so much more.  I considered myself to be so many more things than just a softball player.  I used to love to write rhymes or poems.  I would write inspirational rhymes and share them with teammates before games. I used to enjoy scrapbooking and decorating whenever I could find some free time.  As a retired soccer player, running had become a favored activity of mine and before transferring to Lafayette; I ran my first marathon.  Also, I climbed Mount Washington and became quite the avid hiker.

Although the activities I enjoy doing are not activities I do on a regular basis, I still consider myself to be a runner, hiker, scrap booker, rhymer, and more. But recently, I have not stepped up to the plate and acted as though I enjoy any of these activities.  I admit it; I am scared out of my mind to start something.

As a student athlete, years of dedication go into a sport.  Dedication that potentially has major physical effects on an athlete and possibly even more emotional effects.  Softball is such a mental sport.  A softball player that can maintain a .300 batting average is often considered a great hitter, however, that still means they fail seven out of 10 times.  I guess this statistic makes this sport seem easy in some respects, but like I said, mental game.

My name is Mary Episcopo and I fell in love with this mental game. I am 23 years old.  Lafayette is my third college but first private University.  During high school, I accepted a full ride scholarship to the University of California Santa Barbara for softball; it was always for softball.  I left UCSB after two years and attended community college the following year in my native city, San Diego.  While at community college I was not playing softball, but I was determined to transfer to another division one school and continue playing.   Although I was not playing on a softball team during that year, I was coaching high school softball and constantly practicing with my dad.

When I visited Lafayette College in the fall of 2009, something just felt right. The folllowing year, I transferred to Lafayette and was now an enrolled Lafayette student athlete. As I was about to embark on my third undergraduate college, I remembered what my dad had always told me, “Three’s a Charm” which really meant, please let Lafayette be the place she graduates before graduate school begins.  Fortunately, Lafayette was just that charm.
I remember driving to Lafayette for move in day with my mom.  I probably checked the trunk of the car 25 times to make sure I had my softball equipment, and just in case anything fell out, I preceeded to check the car after each gas or food stop. Whenever my parents would ask me if I had everything, my response was yes, always yes as long as I had my softball stuff.  Everything was softball. Softball was not always the most important part of my life and actually, maybe it never was, but for a long time, it was a huge part of my life.
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As a freshman collegiate athlete, I never thought my career would end at another school across the country but then again, I never really imagined the end.  You work so hard for so many years that the end always seems so far away but eventually, the end creeps up.  As a collegiate athlete, you represent your school, dedicate your time, make a commitment to your team and your coach, and your life becomes a routine.  You train, practice, and compete, but then all good things come to an end.

A pivotal transition in a student athlete’s life and a celebration of their athletic commitment is highlighted at the end of the season but this period is short, brief.  After, you’re replaced.  You no longer go to the school and reality sets in that although you may be missed for your career setting records, you will be replaced.  I never thought about any of this and to be honest, if I was still playing, I don’t think I would acknowledge any of this.  Softball made me feel alive.  This game has always been so more to me than just a game.  Relationships, opportunities, emotions, lessons, mistakes, and moments happened on the field of play.   The softball field was a place I felt present and each new game was such a raw experience.  I never thought this experience would end before the end.  I never thought about not playing in my senior day game or last game.  I never thought about not experiencing the last time I would run out to my position, join the team for the last cheer, step up to plate for my last at bat, or put my uniform on for the last time. So as far as this game went, my mind went one way and my body another.  Somewhere along the way they caught up to each other, collided, and then negatively intertwined.  I never thought I would let the absence of softball become so detrimental to the person I am.
As a senior and prior Lafayette athlete, I now realize that I am experiencing an identity change, in which I am trying to figure out who I am without softball. In the midst of my identity struggle, I began to identify with my injury.  So instead of the center fielder, I was now “injured” and I had never before experienced being on the “DL” as in “disabled list.”  I did not want to come to terms with the notion that my time on this list could potentially be too long, in the sense that my last senior season was approaching and approaching fast.

For my following entries, I was originally going to talk about my experience with an injury that so many people could not understand and even myself was confused about at times.  An injury that left me with physical damage that inhibited my abilities to play softball.  Over a year after the injury, the physical damage and pain still persist but is far more tolerable and has been increasingly improving with a physical therapy program.  Initially, I was going to talk about the injury itself and all the doctors, chiropractors, acupuncturists, and physical therapists I went to during my quest to still compete.  I was going to discuss the painful treatments, mri scans, x-rays, and doctor’s opinions as to the various things I had going wrong with my body.  I was going to talk about spending winter break in the doctor’s office and on the computer, trying to find doctors or information that could be useful to my recovery.  I was going to talk about the tears and frustrations I shared with my family and close friends who were also a part of my softball career.  I was going to discuss how I changed my diet, purchased exercise tools, listened to healing tapes, slept on new pillows, and tried natural healing supplements in order to get better for the start of the season.  I was going to talk about all this stuff, and how ultimately, it was not enough.  I did not do enough or maybe, I did not find the right answer that could heal my injury.  Maybe I failed, gave up, and quit. Maybe, the answer that every single doctor gave me, I ignored.  I ignored it because time was not on my side and so, I refused “time” to be an acceptable answer; there had to be something else I could do.

Now that I have written my vent paragraph, I am going to write about the emotional pain that emerged after this injury, so much that it surfaced above the physical pain and maybe even created more.

As a student athlete, softball player, writer, student, educator, daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend, dog person, poet, hiker, scrap booker, truck lover, camper, star gazer, surfer, milkshake lover, diner fan, and as a human being, identity conflict can be a struggle faced by most people.  Transitions in life do not always come with instructions, warning signs, or expectations of what lies ahead.  I wish I could tell those of you reading this post that I have the answer.  I wish I could tell student athletes that are currently dealing with an injury or have dealt with injuries that you are not alone because I thought I was, but I wasn’t.  I shut myself out to the possibility that any one could understand and essentially, I  kind of stopped living, definitely stopped living in the moment.  Somewhere along the way, I forgot about the little girl who fell in love with this game.

I used to come home with the biggest raspberries, aka, HUGE, RED, GROSS, OOZING, scratches on your upper leg or hip from sliding on the dirt during games.  I’ve come home with a pretty scary looking black eye, which I deserved because apparently the eighth grade gossip was far more important than outfield fly ball practice…boom! I have broken all my toes but convined my coach to wrap them enough times, so I could still hit and run the bases. I have gotten hit by many pitches, knocked out in a run down, and bruised and scraped from multiple outfield dives.  Thinking about all these times, I do not recall having any pain or shedding any tears.  All these injuries must’ve hurt a little bit, but never as much as the end.

Coming to terms with my collegiate career ending short has turned me into the biggest cry baby ever. The tears have not completely ended and my constant search for meaning in life is not complete, but I am starting to realize that I never want it to be.  I am in this struggling transitional process and 14 months after the injury, I think I am finally learning to enjoy the struggle a little bit. I realize that I am not my injury.  I am still and always will be, a softball player and so much more. Most importantly, I am Mary and I am ready to live.