He came into the classroom with crutches, again. He couldn't believe how dumb he was. Going up against that large man-child in lacrosse might have been the stupidest thing he could have ever done, and look where he ended up: all of the tendons in his right knee had snapped. Surgery was his only option if he wanted to walk normally again. His friends didn't even take a second glance, at this point it had happened too many times before for them to get concerned. They just sighed and asked, "What is it now?". granted, he didn't want the attention, but he wanted someone to care or even sympathize with him. It's hard not being able to do what you love. Sitting on the bench the next practice, his leg twitching to bring him on the field, but locked down in the brace. Being held back by an invisible source, imagining himself running drills. The pain of being on the side was excruciating. On top of that, he had to go to physical therapy three times a week. The therapy helpful, sure, but one of the most painful experiences of his life. Going from squats, sprints, pushups even, to barely being able to extend or lift his leg. It was sad is what it was. Limitations worse than the injury himself. His physical therapist said that she understood how hard it must be for him, he just nodded, not entirely convinced. The third major injury in four years, the third time he had to go through these exercises, the waiting, the hating himself for it all. He knew there was nothing he could have done to predict it, but he hated himself for it still. In the back room, the ice and electricity pulsing through his leg from the "whatchamacallit" machine, he made a promise to himself. He was not only going to get better like he had a hundred times before, but he was going to get stronger. He was going to work to strengthen his leg everyday until he could get back on that field without fear of bones breaking or ligaments separating. He was going to do it. As nice as his physical therapist was, he never wanted to have to see her again. He was going to do it. He sighed and laid down on the table, finally unclenching his hands that had been in fists since the injury. Never again would he be forced to the sidelines.