As I said, it was my junior year of high school. Big shot. I had finally gotten to the status of “upper classmen”, away from those pesky sophomores and freshman. This would be my most stressful year ever. AP classes, sports, and the dreaded college search. This workload was challenging, but by the time spring rolled around, I had gotten the hang of it. Spring also brought baseball season, or so I thought. The school decided to hire a new head baseball coach, one that I had no interest in playing for (that’s a story for another day). But, with a dad like mine, it would not be acceptable to simply “not play a spring sport”. So, one day I decided to walk myself down to Mr. Berzonski’s office and sign up for spring track. I didn’t know what event I wanted to try, but all I knew was that there was NO WAY IN HELL that I was running. My eyes drifted down the event list and landed on the final word on the page: javelin. My mind began racing. Yeah! Javelin! Like those ancient Roman Spartans defending the castle- totally badass. I was good at baseball, how different could javelin be? I have to be somewhat decent.

The next week had to have been one of the slowest weeks of my life, as I was anxious for my first track practice. As the final bell rang and chattering students flooded the halls, I began my long walk outside to the track. We were put into groups based on our events. I was with giants! I found out that I was pretty much the exact opposite body type as professional javelin throwers. Long and lanky provided the best advantage for javelin throwing, but I was 5' 6" looking to become a starter. In a track meet, only three throwers start, and all three starters at the time were seniors.

​

​