Sports have certainly played an outsized role in my life since I was very young. In fact, I would say my journey as an athlete could be seen to accurately mirror my overall journey in life. The sport that I have stuck with since my youth and the sport that has had the most impact on my life has been soccer. I have had a bit of an up and down journey in the sport and have certainly had my fair share of struggles. I play goalkeeper which comes with some inherent physical and me

Fencing used to be something I did for fun. I remember the satisfaction of landing a clean touch, the way time would fly by when I was on the strip. But as time went on and I began competing more seriously, that joy slowly disappeared. The sport became a chore. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I dreaded the end of the school day because it meant three more hours of fencing—three hours of going through the motions, feeling like I was stuck. It took up so much of my time, yet I felt

My name is Myles, and I’m a student-athlete at Lick Wilmerding. I haven’t been a “sports guy” for most of my life. Sure, I played a few here and there—soccer in elementary school, tennis in middle school—but I never felt a deep connection or sense of identity through any of them. They were just things I did, not things I loved. That started to shift when I joined cross country during my freshman year. Over the next two years, I kept exploring, basketball, track but nothing re

For me, sports have always been more than just competition. They’ve been a way to relax, decompress, and escape. When I’m on the field, everything else fades. The noise in my head, the pressure of school, the complications of relationships, they all take a backseat. Soccer gives me one thing I struggle to find elsewhere: presence. When I’m playing, I’m not in my past mistakes or future anxieties. I’m just there. In moments where I’ve felt emotionally stuck or overwhelmed, soc

The summer before my sophomore year, I broke my ankle. At the time, it felt like my world had come to a halt. Soccer wasn’t just a sport to me—it was my thing. My identity. The game I fell in love with when I was ten. It gave me joy, confidence, and a sense of purpose. And suddenly, in one instant, it was all taken away. As I sat sidelined for months, I clung to one thought: Once I can walk again, once I can run again, once I can play again—then I’ll finally be okay. I poured

There’s a rule in sports that no one really talks about, but every boy seems to learn: You can cry after the final whistle. But not before. And definitely not during.  When a team loses a championship game, it’s okay to cry. When a senior plays his last match, it’s okay to cry. When your whole season ends in one final shot or missed play, suddenly the tears are allowed to fall. They even get praised, “That just shows how much you care.” Coaches hug you. Teammates pat your bac

There’s a reason I flinch when people call me a “jock.” Not because I’m ashamed of being an athlete—but because I’ve seen what that word can mean. And I know how it can trap boys/young men into a version of masculinity that leaves no room for honesty, mental health, or growth. The term “jock” comes with baggage. It suggests someone who is obsessed with winning, disconnected from emotional intelligence, and constantly proving their worth through dominance. A jock isn’t just so

When I first started watching Ted Lasso, I thought I was turning on a lighthearted soccer comedy. A quirky American football coach trying to manage a Premier League team? Sounded entertaining enough. But as the show unfolded, something surprising happened. I wasn’t just watching to laugh. I was watching to learn—about leadership, vulnerability, and what it means to be a man in a world that still tells boys/young men to toughen up and stay quiet. Growing up as a boy in sports,