Walking away

I arrived on the Robert Morris University campus on August 8th, 2006.  With new earrings, a shaved head, and an athletic frame, I was ready for college football.  I was an All Conference DB and Honorable Mention WR in High School.  I can't even admit that I was the best on my high school teams, but I had some fun moments that I'll always cherish.  My expectations were relatively low going into camp.  I wanted to prove I was in great shape, ready to do what was asked of me, gain respect from my elder teammates, and just survive that August heat in pads.  After my parents dropped me off that morning, reality kicked in.  There were no smart phones yet, myspace and instant messenger were the only real means of communication.  I was actually three weeks shy of joining facebook (proud to say I've been book free for 5.5 years.)  I had no laptop yet in my room, only my thoughts and a reality check were consuming my free time until team dinner.  I met with my position coach that night, needless to say, it didn't give me a confidence boost, but I figured I'd let my actions speak for myself.  I met some fellow freshman, the upperclassmen db's and headed back to my dorm around 9:30.  I called my girlfriend at the time on the walk back and she asked how everything was, and truthfully, I really didn't know yet.  I was probably short about it, and I do remember feeling a pit in my stomach while en route back to my dorm.  I was trying to be confident, but I figured nerves were playing a big role.

Maybe for some it's easy.  Maybe for most that really love the game of football, they embrace those moments.  Each day that passed during the August morning and evening heat, the more I questioned what the fuck I was doing.  I was in my own head so much that one morning, maybe a week in, I contemplated driving home and just calling it quits.  I had met some cool guys, felt outcasted by a few, but figured it was all apart of the process.  I came to grips with not quitting that morning before breakfast, as I didn't know how to face my parents, especially my father, or how to answer to a small town of friends whose lives revolved around football.

I stuck it out for camp, and while I've never run a 100 mile race, when I listen to ultra runners detail their experience, I feel as if my experience during freshman camp mirrored those brave, crazy souls. I had many low moments, very few high moments, and when I crossed the figurative finish line, I was lifeless.  I wholeheartedly admit, my showing was just bad.  I looked like shit in almost all drills, my mind wandered, I lacked focus, was in my coach's doghouse from day 2 onward, but I kept showing up.  I was a senior captain, all conference, well liked and respected athlete in high school, so my camp experience was about as polar opposite as I could have predicted, even for a freshman.  In hindsight too with the bigger picture, I know my blood sugars and overall health were far, far from desirable too. 3 weeks before camp, an a1c reading of 9.4 had my Dr very skeptical of my upcoming athletic endeavors, but really though, try rationalizing with a testosterone filled 19 year old embarking on college football camp, not happening.  

I found ways to make it through each week during the season.  I really enjoyed the strength training part of it all though.  I was a total meathead in those days.  As rough of an experience college football was for me, gaining respect from RMU's Strength Coach at the time was a lone highlight.  He was a tough as nails, drill sargent type, 6'4 and a solid 270.  Former NFL and D1 All American.  He had a shaved head and square jaw that would make Ivan Drago take a step back.  He respected me.  He pulled me aside on a few occasions and asked where I learned how to squat and engage my core, he was impressed and "respected the hell out of my attack in the weight room."  To this day, I'll never forget that.

The season came and went.  The holidays rolled through, and we were back on campus in January.  My mind felt fresh again.  I was excited for winter workouts and spring ball.  Well, our strength coach left after Christmas, and that winter was dark, cold, and unforgiving in too many ways.  A few coaches lead our workouts.  While I respected their effort on a whim, there was no real direction with our training.  Everyday was an alpha male showing, and it started getting old to me.  My roommate that winter/spring was a unique character.  To this day I love that dude.  He's a wild spirit, we bumped heads sometimes but deep down, I always knew his heart was in the right place.

One night in conversation he asked, "Hey Trbo, is everything alright, you seem off, honestly are you depressed?  I am worried man." Anyone who knows him is well aware of his antics and bizarre ways of interaction, but this moment though with me, he was sincere and genuine.  "No man, just tired and trying to figure all this shit out day after day, I'll be alright."  His face was puzzled, he wanted to believe me, but he knew something wasn't right.  I went to class, went to workouts, would come back and wouldn't leave my dorm room. I surfed facebook, longed for the "old days" of being around my friends, and the comfort of my parent's home.

If you'd told me just one year earlier that only after a year of ball, I'd be ready to throw in the towel, I'd punched you in the face.  I'd never do such a thing, I loved football, it was my identity, or so I thought.  After an awesome spring break in Clearwater with family and a few friends, I was ready to give football one more chance.  Spring ball began the last week in March.  Winter had passed, summer was near, my grades were good and honestly, I was ready to end my crazy freshman year on a positive note.

My first week of spring ball was just awesome.  I felt confident.  My footwork was coming around, elder teammates acceptance and approval, overall much more positive, I was feeling good.  I was doing well in drills and even my not so politically correct defensive back coach was praising me, I was in unchartered water week one.  While going after a deflected pass in a drill, I felt a familiar burn in my hip flexor.  I regularly dealt with hip flexor issues my junior year of high school, but hadn't had issues until that odd twist of fate play.  I could barely limp off the field.  I attempted to walk it off, but the pain was growing.  I sat there shaking my head in disbelief.  Just as things were coming around, this happened.  The trainer came over and was having me do basic stretches to gauge my mobility.  Not being able to lunge or squat, she gave me a stern look, "pads off trbo, see you after practice."  You've got to be kidding.  My coach walked over a few moments later, "you done?"  I nervously uttered back, "yeah for right now, my hip flexor is pretty jacked up right now.."  He didn't acknowledge anything, just walked away.

I was out of practice the next week.  My mood soured pretty quick after that.  I sat up in the coaches booth, watching practice, just reflecting.  My overall health was shit.  My blood sugars were regularly 200 +, and for a lack of a better term, I was depressed.  I experienced what had to have been an anxiety attack one night in my dorm after I sat and thought about everything and the bad vibes that continued to follow me.  Spring ball had come and went.  I had nothing to show for other than an inflamed hip flexor, and a bruised ego.

I met with my position coach the day before summer break began.  I had taken all my finals and finished the year with a 3.1.  Hey, not too bad amongst the nonsense.  We talked, and he was rather blunt with me.  He strongly suggested that being a defensive back wasn't in the cards. While blunt, I respect the position he is in as a coach, it's a pretty cut throat type of environment.  He did have words of praise for my character and work ethic that were very much appreciated.  The option to stay on the team the following year would require a position switch, starting back at square one.  Kinda hard not to have heavy eyes for a minute after that.  For a few moments all I could think was Football, the holy grail of athletics in Western PA, and I failed at it.   After a quiet drive home, I began to realize, this isn't my dream at all.  This whole scenario just wasn't working.  A dream is an endeavor you can embrace the good with the bad and believe in it's importance to you.  There was no more embracing for me.  It was over, and it was a relief more than anything.

I was playing golf with my Dad one night in late June.  He kept quiet about football because he knew I needed time to regroup and not think about it for awhile.  He asked, "so camp in 6 weeks, you excited?"  A little higher than a whisper, "I am fucking done, I am done.  I quit.  I've thought long and hard.  This isn't what I am mean to be doing.  I am miserable just thinking of it all.  I am moving on, and actually I feel pretty good about it." He stared back in disbelief, eyes wide, nodding his head. Nothing was said for a good minute, just silence.  "I am proud of you.  Believe in yourself and your worth, life's too short, I love you son."

Liberating.  I emailed the coaches and updated my friends.  I felt like a bit of an outcast the following semester but knew deep down there was zero chance I should be playing.  My friends stayed my friends and to this day, they're my adopted brothers.  Five of us lived together our last 2 years of school for some unique, and rather enlightening times.  After trying to convince myself for too long what I should be doing, I finally gave in to what I was supposed to be doing.  I had some tough feelings towards my coach for awhile, but without that experience, my life's trajectory would have most certainly been different.  It made me who I am today.  Be open to criticism, it may be the epiphany moment you were searching for all along.  Thank you, I sincerely mean that.