Playing through pain is a universal concept in sports. I am positive for every story I have where I sucked it up, put my nose back in place and just carried on – I have a male counter part who can recount his own wounded warrior saga. But the thing is, right or wrong – well most probably wrong, especially in this day in age – the female athlete always feels more pressure to prove herself. There is still a part of us still fighting to change stereotypes and perceptions that should have been put to rest a long time ago – that we are weaker, more sensitive to pain, or lacking the endurance which sports demands. So, we double down. I’ll play through it all. Broken bones, torn muscles, ruptured ligaments, jammed fingers, massive bruises with every shade of blue purple and red, cuts that never heal, extreme fatigue, endless training sessions…bring it all on. There is no quit – in fact, there is a burning desire to shove it in the face of perceived doubters. Let me show you just what I can do. Warrior girl.

There is something extremely empowering in knowing that you can take the pain – to plant your feet firmly on the ground as a massive athlete is barreling toward you, take the charge, absorb the pain as your body is thrown to the floor and then just get up. To know that the pain is fleeting, it will pass, and you will go on playing. Of all the skills and life lessons I have learned through sports – leadership, work ethic, teamwork – knowing that I can take it – that has served me well time and time again. When I have gone through particularly rough times, I would put my game face on. I would look into my own eyes through the mirror and frantically search for the voice that told me – I’m not hurting. And even if I am – I can take it, I can go on. Warrior girl.

But there is a danger in this too. Sokolove points out that ACL tears in young girls and women are “overexposure injuries” – the more often a girl plays, the greater her odds are of suffering a tear. You keep going and going and going. There is no stop because you aren’t supposed to, you aren’t allowed to – that doesn’t fit into the mentality we are expected to maintain.  But then something happens – you land the wrong way, you pivot too quickly – and it all comes crashing down. Game over, season finished sometimes before it even began…because we thought, because we were indoctrinated to believe – that our capacity to withstand discomfort and pain is limitless. And then we learn that’s not actually the way it’s meant to work. Something is going to snap sooner or later. We are actually weakened by the grind.

I’ve found myself struggling recently with the trials and tribulations I meet off the field. Not that I want it – but these days a smashed nose or sprained ankle or twisted knee – they don’t seem so difficult to manage when I think about the complexities of life. I’m a parent, I’m a single parent at that and a mother to a child with special needs – the obvious struggles are inherent within that statement itself. But there are also other constant and continuing stresses in my life which aren’t so obvious – which make me nauseas just thinking about – and these certainly take a toll. On one hand, the athlete in me pushes me to play on through life’s daily challenges – to absorb the hardships, the frustrations, at times ya – the pain, and keep going. On the other hand, I also find myself saying it doesn’t have to be like this, to admit the day-to-day grind can be punishing. Overexposure, again and again. Am I really meant to just fight through it? To live like that? I am told that the answer to this is unequivocally no. I don’t have to power through everything in life all the time. Logically I believe this – I even preach this same thought to friends when they are going through challenges. But I find it so hard to strike that balance between gutting it out and saying it’s just too much. Because if I said it’s too much – what would that make me? So much of my strength is self defined and wrapped up in my ability to keep going. How can I be a competitor in life if I give into the difficulty? Would I still be a Warrior Girl?

Maybe the answer lies in understanding the mechanics of prevention. Sokolove offers a comprehensive preventative program that can help our female athletes avoid an ACL tear and other devastating injuries. The ideas are based around the physiological differences between men and women and therefore developing more suitable training programs. Equally important he urges an elimination of constant overexposure and encourages coaches to teach their players to speak up about pain – even minor discomfort. Prevention. I know I can play through pain – but I don’t have to. There’s a better way. There are steps and methods I can implement in my life to avoid the emotional turmoil before it even begins. More than that, giving myself permission to say I’m even minorly hurting – eventually, I may even acknowledge this is the more responsible thing to do.  It might make my life easier. It might make me stronger.

Everyone loves the image of the wounded warrior. Its more exciting, more dramatic, more marketable. Kerri Strug lands on one leg to grab the gold. You can do it! Abby Wombach gets her head stapled after splitting it open in a nasty collision. #badass. You can’t help but respect their gritty performances.  But then what happens after the wounded warrior drags herself across the finish line? What’s left of her for the next fight? Maybe the real sense of empowerment comes from prevention and preparation because you are anticipating the challenges ahead. You are recognizing that you can get hurt, that you might even get hurt  – but you have mechanisms in place that will prevent you from completely crashing. Maybe you won’t make headlines. Blood and guts sells better than smart and sensible but that’s ok because you invested in the process, because you took control of your own fate, because you came to truly understand what you need… because you can actually go on the next day. You have redefined your strength by cultivating your weaknesses. Warrior Girl.

I ran through the desert last Friday morning. The race started early – like 3 AM early. The idea was to run a half marathon along a winding, twisting road that ended at the foot of Masada in time for sunrise. It was a beautiful run. The silence of the night, the looming mountains illuminated by the full moon, the quiet rhythm of the runners. Perhaps my best run so far.

I was never a runner. I did my fair share of 10ks, but nothing more than that. And then about two years ago I started taking it more seriously. I signed up for my first half marathon.  It is absolutely no coincidence that it coincided with my decision to get divorced. I have always used sports as an outlet for stress, and I needed something to just let it all out. Short of starting my own fight club, the running certainly helped. Nothing like pressing forward up the hills of Jerusalem to release everything inside of you. But more than that, as I began to train – it was like I was running back to myself.

I’m not sure if I ever experienced the runners high, but I do know that with each kilometer I tacked on I felt better about where I was in life. I could hear my voice coming back. Pushing me, pulling me, sometimes dragging me to just keep going. To take everything and just say – screw it, it can’t break me. I started to believe myself again when I said I could do anything – and I no longer felt like a phony when I told Amichai that he too could do anything. I was finally showing him who I was, he could see me now…and more than anything, that is what has driven me to continue running.

Running is all about you vs. you. That’s what I enjoy. I’m an average runner at best. I can do a half marathon in under 2 hours and my first full marathon I did in a little over 4 hours (rookie mistake of starting too fast…its not a sprint, it’s a marathon…) Nothing special. No doubt, I’ve improved and gotten faster over the past two years but I’m not breaking records here. Its just me testing myself each time. Can I keep going even when I am miles past my breaking point? Every long distance run will inevitably present challenges, will inevitably present a certain degree of pain. How much am I willing to endure to reach my goal and how deep can I dig? Do I have it in me. And that’s what I want Amichai to see.

I want him to see that its ok to struggle. I want him to see that I struggle… specifically with something physical…because while I can sink a foul shot with my eyes closed or break an opponent’s ankles with a cross-over (or at least I used to in my younger days…) it doesn’t mean that everything is easy for me. I’m not a natural runner in any way, but you know – I can still try. I want him to see that its ok to commit to something that might be very hard and even at times downright unpleasant. I want him to see that that even in those agonizing moments – when your body is screaming and cursing at you to quit – you can retreat to the peaceful solitude of your mind that tells you to just. keep. going.

And then suddenly, when you think that this is really it, that you have nothing left to give – you turn the corner and see the sun rising.

You see it Amichai?

Amichai and I travelled to the states for the Passover holiday. There were many highlights of the trip. Amichai is generally treated like a rock star by my family. He is showered with gifts, his cousins mob him, his aunts and uncles compete for his attention, and my parents are simply thrilled. He relishes every minute. But there was one moment that has stood out for me from this trip – when Amichai slipped down the stairs. Bear with me.

We were at my sister’s house and Amichai called me into the living room to help fix one of his lego-men that had come apart. Since I’m Amichai’s trusted associate (I started using this term after I saw this amazingly accurate commerical a few years ago) and he knows I will place it back together, he had better things to do than wait around – so he ran off with to play with my nine-year-old nephew. I guess Amichai wanted something from upstairs, and he started up the staircase. I should point out the staircase is actually quite steep, and the steps themselves are big. Nonetheless, Amichai had really managed his way and up and down masterfully so I wasn’t worried. Two points for PT!

The next thing I knew I saw Amichai slipping down the last three stairs and bumping his head.

You know that split second of silence after kids fall – as if they are deciding am I hurt or am I really ok? Amichai decided on hurt. I jumped up and ran over. Tears, screams – the works. I picked him up and took him to the couch. My bother in law followed us to the sofa and my sister was already bringing the ice pack. My parents came with the tissues. Iroinically, it was me who ended up needing the kleenex.

Amichai was ok, I knew he was ok. He fell – not the first time, won’t be the last. There was no blood, there was no cut, there was no bump. I had picked him up and comforted him hundreds of times before. I knew the routine. But suddenly, I felt tears running down my own cheeks. What?

My father came over. You know he’s ok, right? Ya I know Dad – thanks. You know you can’t fall apart over this, right? Ya I know Dad – thanks. You know Amichai must see that you’re ok, right? Ya I know Dad – thanks.  But the tears kept coming. I hated feeling like I was failing as a parent in front of my parents. Mom and Dad – if you figured out how to “open the internet” and are reading this, these are my projections, not yours so don’t feel bad…read on, I figured it out.

To be clear, my Dad never ever discouraged me from crying as a child, but my father is nothing if not logical. Have you ever heard an adult telling a small child – It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness. I have been hearing this since I was four. So, growing up it was important for my Dad to discern for my sisters and I what really warrants tears. Crying because you can’t figure out where the peice goes in the puzzle does not warrant tears. Crying because your sister bit you does in fact warrant tears…my younger sister I swear had fangs, she bit through winter jackets. (Note: She got a hold of her biting problem and turned out to be a fantastic sister and friend.) What my father ultimately tried to teach us was that there are certainly good and valid reasons to cry but don’t lose it over the small, insignificant things – that simply does not make logical sense. Just light the candle.

I think when my father saw me crying after Amichai fell, he logically couldn’t understand my tears. Amichai was fine. He stopped crying within minutes and was already eating an ice pop and playing with his cousins. Why was I still crying? To be honest, I couldn’t understand the logic either. Totally out of character for me – to just lose it over something that I had dealt with thousands of times before? The apple does not fall far from the tree, and I too am nothing if not logical. I needed to unpack the incident and get to the reason behind the tears.

I replayed the events. I replayed hearing the thump and jumping up – no tears from me yet. I replayed picking him up and taking him to the couch – still no tears. I replayed asking Amichai what hurts and telling him its ok – still no tears. I replayed my brother-in-law coming into the room…my sister bringing the ice pack…that’s it. That’s when the tears started…and suddenly I understood why I was crying.

I’m a single mom. This is actually the first time I’m writing these words. Being a single mom was not something I ever envisioned for myself, nor wanted. But I was in a bad marriage. Very bad. I tried to make it work. I tried and I tried and I tried because quitting meant failing. Stay in the game no matter what, screw the pain. But I was losing. I was losing myself each day, and it just became too much, too dark. I had to confront my own fears and definitions of divorce. I had to draw on the lessons Amichai taught me about changing perceptions. I realized that true failure would be staying. I would be failing myself and Amichai if I stayed. Staying actually meant quitting in this case. I learned that divorce can be a blessing and I am thankful for the courage I was granted to get up and leave. So today, I am not complaining that I am a single mother – I am grateful and as Sheryl Sandberg says, I’m trying to “kick the sh*t out of Option B“- but I can still acknowledge the challenges it presents.

Without a doubt, I have an insanely amazing network of friends and family who constantly extend their support and help on every level – it is my own lacking that I do not always take them up on their offers. I can never escape the feeling that it always has to be me. I have to be strong. I cannot bend, I cannot break. If Amichai falls, or gets upset, or gets frustrated, or is just having a bad day – it is my responsibility to be the pillar he leans on even if the walls around me are crumbling themselves. I have enough self-awareness to recognize that maybe – just maybe – I set impossibly high standards no human being can attain…I should let myself off the hook once in a while…I’m working on it.

In that moment when Amichai fell, when my brother in law came rushing in and my sister had the ice pack ready to go and my parents had the tissues – it suddenly just wasn’t me. I had support and help in real time. I didn’t have to ask – it was just there. And it was so comforting… and maybe Amichai doesn’t need to see the pillar of strength all the time. Maybe he can and should see that I can be vulnerable, and I also need a little help. Maybe he should see that even the tiniest of gestures – like bringing an ice pack -provides such great assistance, a moment of relief where I could just breathe. So, I breathed – and the tears of gratitude came rolling down.

Seems logical to me.