This is for all the BU athletes who spend their weekdays at practice and their weekends at games. It’s for those whose most common excuse is “Sorry, I can’t. I have (insert sport name here) practice.”

It’s for those who have broken bones, torn ligaments or woken up the morning after a competition with bruises and no explanations. But mostly, it’s for those who, like me, knew their time as a student-athlete was ending, and somehow they would have to find a different way to define themselves.

For half our lives or more, our days have revolved around our respective sports. The miles run, hills climbed and lines touched have accumulated to incalculable numbers. The drawers full of practice clothes and uniforms have overflowed. Knee braces have become a go-to game day accessory. Actual blood, sweat and tears have fallen on the field, but it’s all worth it. We love the game.

For those of us who started playing sports at a young age, it became something we not only grew into, but they grew on us as well. From the day you tried on your older brother’s oversized helmet, wrapped your shin-guard straps twice around your calves because they were just a little too big, or fastened yourself to your dad’s shoulders to dunk a basketball, your childhood revolved around growing into the sport.

The older, stronger, faster, better, you became over the years, the more the game began to shape you, not just physically but mentally. Brutal practices, 6 a.m. workouts, and suicides for running late showed us the importance of endurance, willpower and timeliness. Schoolwork, practice and extracurriculars taught us how to balance priorities. Teammates, coaches and fans showed us the importance of teamwork, dedication, and appreciation. Each practice presented a challenge, and each game held a lesson.

When throwing a baseball, setting a volleyball or hitting a forehand volley comes as natural to you as breathing, it’s hard to imagine that feeling ever ending. When you step off the playing field, throw your dirty uniform in the washer and hang up your bag for the last time, it’s like looking in the mirror and not seeing a clear reflection back. You’re still you, but a part of you is missing. A part of you that you’ll never get back.

There’s a feeling that at this exact moment in your life – at this time and this place – you’re leaving behind something you love, and you will never be the person you are at that moment ever again. Whether your time comes to an end prematurely due to an injury, earlier than expected due to quitting the team, or at the tinny blow of the final whistle, you’re transitioning into the unknown world of a “former” athlete.

The biggest lesson learned from sports is sacrifice. You sacrifice your time and talent for the sake of the team. You pull all-nighters and miss out on fun times with friends. But in the end, you learn another lesson when your time as a student-athlete comes to a close. You recognize that your spot on the team will soon be filled by the next kid running up and down the shortened field in an oversized uniform and flashing a toothless smile.

Again, this piece isn’t for everyone. It’s for those of us who need a little extra push to realize our time is ending, but it’s the beginning of something else.