My junior year in college, I blew out my left knee in our first game. Torn medial collateral and meniscus. My season and - though I didn’t know it at the time- my career was over.

I insisted on staying on the sidelines for the game, and then was transported to the hospital where I underwent surgery the next morning. I have vague recollections of that hospital stay, brief flashes of memory. The nurse shaving my leg. The IV penetrating my arm. The way the room shifted when the sedatives kicked in.

And waking up. My mom was there. The first thing she said to me when I opened my eyes was “Is it worth it?” She was never thrilled with the fact that I played football. I understand.

It took me a moment to hear what she said. I mean I heard it right away, I just hadn’t heard it. A couple moments must have passed. I answered the only way I knew how.

Yes, it’s worth it.

I still limp a little on my left leg. My knees are trashed. I’ve had three surgeries since that first one 19 years ago.

And yes, it’s still worth it.

I was bigger than everyone else growing up. It just made sense that I’d play football, but I never had until my freshman year in high school. That was the first year I looked around and noticed I was a full two heads taller than everyone else.

So, football it was. I was soft, out of shape, and a bit of a baby. I cried the first week, sure that I couldn’t do it. It was unbearable. The work- not just physical but mental- the plays, the sprints, the lifting, the collisions.

As camp went on it got easier. I got into shape, the game started making sense to me. I started at tight end early in the season. I even caught a touchdown pass. Strong right, Tight End Quickie. At the snap I took two steps and turned to look for the ball. Our quarterback threw a perfect pass and I caught it. I was hooked.

I played basketball that year too, and my position as an athlete was cemented. Coaches said I had “good feet” even thought I really didn’t know what that meant until later.

My sophomore year was the first time coaches told me I had the tools to play at the next level. I was huge, that helped. 6’7” 260 pounds in 10 th grade. Don’t laugh, at the time that was big.

I loved it. It became my identity. I played basketball in the winter and even played tennis in the spring to work on my conditioning and my footwork. When I graduated, the guy who was elected class jock told me I should have won that vote.

Stick with me here, I do have a point. I entered college and played football, starting at offensive tackle as a freshman.

Two years later I was recovering from my second serious knee injury and contemplating giving up a huge part of who I was.

When I woke up from the surgery, there was a cast on my left leg from the toes to my hip. That was sobering. Classes started the next week and here I was on crutches with a cast that must have weighed a thousand pounds.

I rehabbed intensely but couldn’t come back until the spring. I got my starting position back, and that summer decided I was done. My knees hurt, and in the spring I had spent more time worrying about contact to my leg than I did blocking the man in front of me. That was a red flag. A couple weeks before camp I notified our head coach that I would not be coming back.

And suddenly, a huge part of my identity was gone. I no longer played football. My college experience would never be the same.

Time went on and I developed a new identity, away from football. But here’s the thing- where it all comes together.

It was ok. I could still love the game, and watch the game even though it no longer flowed in my veins. And I carried with me a toughness I definitely didn’t have before football, and I don’t just mean physically. I developed work habits, and a tenacity that was missing before, and for me might have remained absent had I not played football.

I am a better person now than I would have been had I not played football. I believe that. I have the ability to overcome nearly anything because I worked hard and competed and strapped on a helmet and ran gassers until I puked, and then ran some more. I understand what it means to work with teammates and appreciate the value of what every member of that team brings to the table- and what it must have taken them to reach where they are today. I also appreciate the value of the teammate who reaches to help me up when I’ve fallen- and how important it is to do the same when your own teammate is down.

So, yes, it’s worth it.