This Is Not A Comeback Story: Failing as an Olympic Athlete
In August of 2016, I went to the Rio Olympic Games; a dream I first had when I was 11 years old, sitting on my couch at home, watching Cathy Freeman sprint to gold at the 2000 Sydney Olympics. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to become an Olympian and feel the pure joy of achieving the biggest goal in the sporting world I could imagine.
Although, I quickly convinced myself that this was never going to be possible, thanks to my belief that I was never going to be good enough to achieve anything like that. But that’s a story for another time.
Because, there I was in 2016, living in the athlete’s village, representing my country at the pinnacle of my sport, surrounded by the best players in Australia, competing against the best players in the world.
Little did I know that it would be the last time I ever played for my country.
4 months later, after our shock exit in the quarter finals, marking the first time an Opal’s team didn’t win an Olympic medal since 1996, I saw the announcement of the players who would attend the first National Team camp since the games. My stomach plummeted as I read the list and failed to see my name on it.
It’s not a time in my life I have talked about much, because for a long time, it was steeped in shame. I was drenched in it. More than I care to admit.
Because I had failed.
I played for Australia, I was an Opal, a proud one at that. I felt a part of something bigger than myself, something special with my teammates and coaches, all working so, so hard to achieve our dreams together.
And then, I wasn’t.
This isn’t a comeback story; I would never be selected again.
But it is a come-home story.
Because although I never made it back to that level, I did find fun in basketball again, something that had been missing for a long, long time.
I went on to play in some amazing teams, all over the world. I’ve met the most unique and inspiring people, and formed life-long friendships. I’ve won championships. I’ve lived in different countries. I’ve explored truly special parts of the world.
I’ve started my own business. I’ve found a career I am so insanely passionate about sometimes I still don’t understand how I went so long not knowing this was what my purpose was.
And I am still playing to this day. Not because I have to, or because I’m tall and would be wasting it otherwise. Not because I’ve put so much into basketball already, so it’s the “right” thing to keep going.
Not because I’m searching for my worth and enough-ness in my performance on the court.
Not because it’s all I’ve got.
And certainly not because I enjoy calling myself an athlete and everything that comes with that.
No.
I now play because it’s still fun. Because I know I’m ok without basketball in my life; that my worth isn’t tied to what happens on the court, or to my identity as an athlete. I’m not out there to prove one single thing to anyone anymore.
I love that playing allows me to be a part of a community that turns into a family.
I love working together with my teammates to achieve a common goal.
I love the people I go to battle with.
I take pride in seeing my family in the crowd, knowing their support is unending.
I am clear on the way I want to play, the way I hold myself when out there on the court. And although I’m not perfect, and at times I’ll get angry at the refs and I’ll swear (sorry Mum), and things will get heated, I now have the ability to let it go, if not in the moment, then later upon reflection.
So, although I got lost for a few years there, although I carried the shame of not ever being selected to play for my country again for too long, it has all allowed me to learn a heck of a lot about myself along the way.
As I look back, I see with clarity that it was all leading me to this point one way or the other, through the highs and the lows, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
How can I not be grateful for that?
