Focus.
Breathe.
Relax.
“Nice, Campbell!” Coach Aarons shouts from the sidelines as I’m jogging in the opposite direction with the ball in my hands.
Regular season begins soon and saying that I’m ready would be a bold-faced lie.
“Run it again!” I shout to Liam Evans, our quarterback.
“Again? We’ve done it a dozen times; you’ve got the route.”
He slings the ball into the slot one more time and I make an adjustment to come away with the catch.
“Make that a baker's dozen now.” Winking at him, he claps his hands at me and I toss him the ball before making my way over to the bench to have a seat.
“I’m heading in, you coming?”
Shaking my head at Liam’s question, I gesture for him to go ahead without me. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
As I lean forward, my elbows rest on my knees and I grab the playbook to take another look over it. Studying it, trying to memorize every single x and o on this damn thing.
The football field has always been the place I’ve excelled. The one thing I’ve always been exceptional at. I never used to question my ability on the field or my contributions to the game, but as of lately, that’s all changed.
Coming off of a Super Bowl winning season only adds extreme pressure going forward. All summer, any time I’ve stepped on this field I’ve felt mediocre at best. There’s no telling what’s going to happen day in and day out because every morning I wake up, already feeling defeated before the day even begins.
I love this game. Or at least I really used to. Deep down, I know that’s still the case, but recently I just feel… miserable. Although to the people around me, they’d never know. I’m still walking into the facility with a smile on my face, dragging my teammates in the locker room and wearing the charismatic persona on the field. It almost feels like Nate Campbell, NFL running back, is a role I’m playing. As if who I am in football and who I am behind closed doors are two completely different people.
Losing your love of something that makes up your entire life is like having a fucking identity crisis at the ripe age of twenty-seven.
The warmth of the sun hits my face as soon as I get up and head inside to the locker room. Practice has been over now forabout an hour, but taking time to myself to rerun plays and go over everything on my own has been needed.
After I get out of the shower, I notice a handful of texts on my phone. I swipe past the ones from the guys, but I can’t ignore the text from Coach Aarons.
COACH
Come see me before you leave.
Fuck.
As I’m walking down the hall to where his office is located, I pass countless pictures and plaques along the walls. Reminders of all of the great players who have also worn the same uniform as I do. It makes me wonder if any of them also felt how I’ve been feeling.
Did Henry Kurtis wake up every morning and have to will himself out of bed? What about Jimmy Jones? Did he get so anxious some nights that he’d spent the evening on a bathroom floor rotating between the shower and the toilet?
Did they also feel the crippling pressure of the game?
Coach Aarons’ door is ajar when I approach, so I tap two knuckles on the outside and peek my head in the open space.
“Come on in.” He summons me with his hand before pulling his glasses off of his face. “Saw you out there when all was said and done, everything alright?”
Lie. Redirect.
“Yeah, all good.” I plaster on a smile and prop my right ankle over my left knee, leaning back in this cushy office chair. There’s a newspaper article on his wall from last season when we won the Super Bowl. In the photo, everyone on the sidelines has erupted in cheers, pouring the bucket of water over his head in celebration. Fuck. I still can’t even believe I was part of that team, can’t believe that I have a ring. It feels like such a longfucking time ago, even though it’s not even been a year. Who I was six months ago versus who I feel like I am now couldn’t be more different and that’s… confusing.
Coach Aarons’ eyes narrow at me, something tells me he isn’t buying what I’m selling right now, but I don’t let my face falter. I keep the bright expression; I keep the light on.
“I’m ready for Carolina.” A redirect, to change his focus from me to our upcoming game. Even though it’s another lie because while I always love a division game, I have no fucking idea how I’ll be on the field.
