When will I know that I'm an athlete?

By Robin L. Bernstein

I am thirty-eight miles from home. I enter a large concrete building through the glass double-doors and take a moment to become acquainted with my surroundings. The air is moist and thick with the smell of sweat. The high ceiling does not eliminate the pervasive feeling of enclosure. No windows. No natural lighting. No fresh air.

This sportsplex is full of life—mostly adults, mostly male—and the mixture of multiple languages: Spanish, French, and some English. I pass net-enclosed soccer fields, echoing basketball courts, and a football field. Above me, the steel catwalk allows spectators a bird's-eye view of the various games. As I sidestep young men tossing a football in the hallway, I wonder if any of these people realize what is going on down at the last court on the right.

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