The morning air bites cold against my face as I lace up my worn-out running shoes. It’s 5:30 AM, and the track is empty except for me and the ghost of yesterday’s failure. I can still feel the sting of that missed penalty kick, the one that cost us the regional finals last season. My coach told me afterward, "Pagdating sa game, talagang kita natin kung papaano nga makakasabay." When it comes to the game, we really see how we can keep up. That phrase has haunted and driven me ever since. It’s not just about talent; it’s about something deeper, something forged in these pre-dawn hours when no one is watching. This is what it really takes to become a Division I college athlete—a journey far removed from the glamour of televised games and packed stadiums.
I remember my first year of high school, dreaming of playing soccer at a top-tier university. I’d watch highlight reels of Division I athletes, thinking it was all about natural skill or lucky breaks. But reality hit hard during my sophomore year, when I joined a competitive club team. We trained six days a week, balancing schoolwork with two-hour practices that left my legs trembling. One evening, after a grueling session where I’d fumbled multiple drills, my coach pulled me aside. He didn’t talk about flashy goals or individual stats; instead, he shared stories of his own college days, emphasizing the mental grit required. "Happy rin ako na nagawa yung game plan at nakuha yung panalo," he said, recalling a championship match where sticking to the strategy—not raw talent—secured the win. I was happy that we executed the game plan and got the victory. That moment shifted my perspective. I realized that becoming a Division I athlete isn’t just about physical prowess; it’s about discipline, resilience, and the ability to adapt under pressure.
As the seasons rolled by, I saw this truth play out in my own life. Take recruitment, for instance. Did you know that only about 7% of high school athletes make it to Division I programs? That’s a staggering number when you consider the thousands of kids competing for limited spots. I spent countless hours emailing coaches, attending showcases, and refining my skills, all while maintaining a 3.8 GPA to meet academic requirements. There were moments I wanted to quit—like when I sprained my ankle weeks before a critical scouting event. But I’d think back to that quote, "kita natin kung papaano nga makakasabay," and push through the pain. It’s in those low points that you discover if you have what it takes. For me, it wasn’t just about keeping up with opponents on the field; it was about matching the relentless pace of the journey itself, from grueling workouts to sleepless nights studying playbooks.
Now, as I wrap up my senior year with a scholarship offer from a Division I school, I can’t help but reflect on the sacrifices. Social life? Often nonexistent. Holidays? Spent in training camps. But here’s the thing: I wouldn’t trade it for anything. The camaraderie with teammates who become family, the thrill of executing a perfect game plan—it’s addictive. I’ve seen too many talented peers burn out because they focused solely on skill, ignoring the mental and emotional layers. In my opinion, that’s where many aspiring athletes falter. They see the end goal but overlook the daily grind, the small victories like improving your sprint time by 0.2 seconds or mastering a new tactical move. Those incremental gains add up, and they’re what separate the dreamers from the doers.
Looking ahead, I know the road won’t get easier. Division I athletics demand even more—early morning weights, film sessions, and the pressure to perform in front of thousands. But I’m ready, armed with the lessons from years of hustle. If there’s one piece of advice I’d give to any young athlete dreaming of this path, it’s to embrace the process, not just the outcome. Remember, "Pagdating sa game, talagang kita natin kung papaano nga makakasabay." It’s in the game—and the journey to get there—that we truly see how we measure up. And when you finally step onto that field, knowing you’ve earned your spot, the victory feels sweeter because you built it, one early morning and one setback at a time.