“Does anyone know how many balls we let hit the floor at this weekend’s volleyball tournament?” said Coach Sarah, pacing back and forth on the gymnasium floor.

The team stayed silent. 

“Fifteen,” she said, “and do you know what that means?”

Once again, no one said a word.

“Fifteen suicides. Line up at the end of the court and start running. If I see you walking or standing still, I will add another suicide for the whole team.”

My teammates and I trudged towards the black line underneath the basketball hoop and began to sprint. First to the three-point line and back. Then to half-court and back. Then to the three-point line on the other side of the court and back. Lastly, to the other side of the court and back. Now repeat fourteen more times. 

By the end of my eighth suicide, I could barely breathe. I could feel my lungs start to close and I began to hyperventilate. 

“Coach Sarah,” I panted, “could I please take a break to use my inhaler? I’m having trouble breathing.” 

She glared at me. 

“Can’t you just do the running like all of the other girls instead of trying to get out of it?” she said accusingly. 

“I swear I’m not trying to get out of it, I just really need to take a break,” I pleaded. 

“Fine,” she said, “you can use your inhaler. But you’re not sitting down. While you’re taking your inhaler, jog around the court so it’s fair to the other girls.” 

“Is this even legal?” I thought to myself. “Can she really deny me medical care?”

I began to jog around the court anyway; I didn’t feel like getting screamed at today. While jogging, I heard two of the girls on my team laughing with each other.

“If she can’t even run, why is she playing a sport?” said one of the girls, giggling to her friend. “How did she manage to even make the team?”

I knew that I wasn’t the best player on the team, but I wasn’t the worst either, and hearing my teammates talk about me like that made me feel defeated. 

This occurrence happened during the sixth practice of the year, and many more like this occurred at the following practices. Coach Sarah seemed almost sadistic when punishing us for simply not winning, and my teammates continued to turn against each other, gossiping and insulting each other for simple mistakes. 

After a full year of practices like this one, I decided to quit. I used to love volleyball and found joy out of playing it, but Coach Sarah sucked all of that love away. I dreaded going to practice every weekend and was genuinely afraid of Coach Sarah. This was three years ago, and I have not picked up a volleyball since the last practice of the season.