Julius Caesar and I have very much in common. He was prideful and arrogant and eventually fell victim to his tragic character flaw. And so did I, except, I just fell. To my knees. Three times.

I know what you are thinking. “You didn’t fall just once. You didn’t fall twice, but three times you fell. How?!” And my answer is simple, “I have no idea.” I’ve tried to explain what happened to me, but it brings back too many tragic memories.

Of all the tragic tales of this world, mine teaches more of trials, tribulations, and suffering more than any other. I had to have suffer through pain, not just once, or twice, but three times. I knew rehabilitation couldn’t help. I had to go through this on my own. Band-aid after band-aid I struggled. Skinny jeans were impossible, squats were unbearable. But I recovered, only to fall again, literally.

It was frustrating. I knew that it happened for a reason but I knew I could never be the same. My cross country coach suggested volleyball knee pads. I would be the first ones to wear them, but I knew I had to get through this on my own and without something as vile as a volleyball players’ coverings.

There was pain. And sometimes, I thought I would just fall again and never recover, which, as you know, I did fall again. All hope was lost.

I was suffering. My friends laughed, my mom laughed harder, and my cat was still fat, and that is what hurt the most (he is 16 pounds). I did have supporters through my tough times, but nothing hurt as bad as my heart (and my knees, because they hurt pretty bad). The mental tribulations I have faced are a sign of hope. If you do fall, you can get back up.

When you fall, jump up and tell the world that it can’t stop you today. No matter how many times you fall, get back up, put some band-aids on your knees, maybe some knee pads, and keep going.

Now, at the time that this story is posted, I will be heading off to the district track meet. I will keep you updated on the amount of knee injuries I pose after my event concludes.