Hey everyone, Let me take you back to my first year of high school. I was 5ft 2in, barely 98–105lbs, fresh out of middle school, and ready to step onto the field as a receiver for the first time. To say I was green would be an understatement. I had zero experience, barely any hands, but I had one thing going for me: I was fast. Really fast. That speed was the only thing I could rely on, and I knew it would be my edge. I could outrun almost anyone, but I also knew that wouldn’t be enough. I needed to work on my hands—catching, focus, technique—everything that comes with being a skilled receiver. So, I put in the work. After school, I’d stay out in the backyard, throwing the ball against the garage wall to improve my grip. I was catching balls off a string in the garage to get my hands right, running drills, and studying game footage. I knew what I had to improve, and I wasn’t about to let anything hold me back. Tryouts came, and when I hit the field, I was ready. I was fast, yes—but what I’d worked on for weeks was finally paying off. My hands were improving, my catching was getting better. I remember catching a few deep balls that turned heads. I didn’t feel nervous, I didn’t second-guess myself—I felt like I had a purpose. My speed had my coaches’ attention, but my work on my hands sealed the deal. When the team rosters were posted, I saw my name on the Freshman A team. I knew it. I’d earned it. And at that point, I was one of the most promising players. It felt like validation for all the work I had put in. I was ready to go even harder. But that’s when things went sideways: Pride. I was on top, and I knew it. It felt like everything was falling into place—too easily. I thought I could relax. My mindset shifted. Instead of putting in the work at practice, I coasted. I let my cockiness get the best of me. I stopped putting in the effort I had been putting in before. I wasn’t working as hard in practice anymore, and it showed. The coaches moved me down to the B team.