It was August 22, 2016, the day before my freshmen year was to start. My mom approached me asking if I wanted to play lacrosse for the first time, with one of my best friends. I didn’t think much of the question, because she had just berated me with other questions I didn't pay too much attention to, so I just replied “yes”, and so I was signed up for the fall lacrosse season later that day. My oldest brother Dominic was thrilled that I had chosen to play because he had played before. Later that month, I went out to the field  to the first practice. I was met with sweat and disappointment. The sport was much harder than I imagined. I was out of shape: I couldn't run much and to catch and throw the ball was a problem of its own. Practice went on for a couple of weeks and it became increasingly obvious that the coaches really disliked us, the new players. They didn't like having to work with kids who didn't know the game, so they just neglected us and made us watch from the sidelines. At the end of one of the practices, one of my favorite coaches gave us all a speech. Coach said that if you hit the wall (passing the ball back and forth between your stick and the wall), you will get better. I soon realized I needed to take matters into my own hands and stop relying on practices to make me better. Every day after school I went to the DHS south gym and painstakingly hit the cement wall for hours on end.  I knew that every time I heard the thump of the rubber ball hit cement wall, that I just got a little bit better at lacrosse. I slowly but surely made my way onto the game roster. I had finally gotten game time, but that wasn’t enough. Winter came and along came Christmas break. I was at DHS for six to eight hours a day hitting the wall profusely, and making sure that everyone around the high school heard the banging of my lacrosse ball on the south gym. Pre-spring season practices began,and I showed improvement every time I slung the pearly white ball out of my stick. Eventually, tryouts for the spring season started, but I was sick. I went to school with bronchitis because I had to go to school if I wanted to partake in the tryouts. Later that night, I got out of the car and stepped onto the cold damp cement and walked onto the field for tryouts. I could barely run a lap without coughing my way into stopping. Eventually my coach sent me home. The car ride home was brutal, because I thought that I had worked so hard for nothing. The next day I got a text from my coach after telling him I wouldn't be able to go because of my illness. The text read that I had made the team because of all of the determination and work that I had put into the game. I was so happy in that moment, but I couldn't talk to express my happiness without a brutal cough cutting  me off. I soon found that my hard work didn’t just give me a ticket to the team: I also got a good amount of playing time. I was playing for half of the game. There was a saying I lived by during this period of hard work and determination: “Work is temporary but success is forever, so hit the wall.”