The High School Gymnasium

My alarm clock blares into my silent room. It’s time to spend the early hours of my Saturday morning at the same place I spent the late hours of my Friday night. Groggily I get dressed and leave without breakfast. When I arrive, it is dark, empty and cold. The lonely feeling replaces what was bright, full and warm just hours ago. This place is the gymnasium at my high school. For four years, I have exerted sweat, tears, and even blood in this place. On this stage, four years of my growing up and maturing were played out for anyone willing to pay two dollars.

I have been everywhere in this gym, from standing high on the bleachers with a bird’s eye view, to lying on the ground debating whether to rise only to get knocked down again. Those who have left a part of themselves in this place can breathe deeply and inhale experiences. Experiences of glorious victories and experiences of embarrassing defeats; both experiences I have left in that gym. Friendships were made and lost on that court, and other ones strengthened when my friends from outside came with their support and encouragement. It is here I learned perseverance, hard work, determination and loyalty. It is not here that I found who I was, but more who I was not. It is here I had to not settle for mediocrity, but strive for excellence.

When I think back to the long hours I spent in this gymnasium, the most prominent memory will be my final game there. It was a night of emotions. I was surrounded by encouraging teammates, supportive family and friends, and finally I received my reward for the energy I had spent there for four years: I made the game winning shot.

While my name will soon be taken down from the wall, and another person will wear number thirty-three in that gym, I have left a piece of me there, which is the beauty of the place.