When my mom was a freshman in high school, she made varsity volleyball. She was 5’ 10’’ and broad shouldered, just like me. When I was young, my mom told me about her games. Red, stinging forearms. Blistered feet. Deep bruised hips. But, I didn’t understand why my mom smiled when she thought of this game. But I could feel the excitement—and I wanted it.

In eighth grade, I tried out for club volleyball. My parents—both excited I was going to play—had doubts in me. I felt nervous since I have never played in a club sport. Letting my parents down since my siblings were athletic. I noticed the girls that have came back from previous years. They knew what they were doing to make the team and I thought to myself, how can they be confident? With the anxiety flowing through my body, it clicked to me that I could achieve this goal.

A whistle blew and I hustled for the next four hours. My mom stayed so she could encourage me. Half way through it, I fell behind. I heard her shout, “I believe in you Maddie!” I went from exhausted to an All Star. Those last few hours, I played better than Misty May-Treanor in the 2012 Olympics. I wanted it.

At the end of try outs, I sat by my parents while they selected girls. During that time, I assessed how I did. I hit hard. I served smart. I set spot on. “How could I not get picked?” After they talked, we were all called over. I put doubts in my head. But I knew that would bring me down. The coaches began to tell everyone they all did great that day, but I didn’t care.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, they called “55.” Is that me? It is me!! I bolted to the front of the group, and I could hear my mom crying. I did it.