To Diabetes,

I was just nine years old when I was diagnosed. It was the first time I ever saw my dad cry. You forced me to grow up quickly. I was suddenly counting carbs and calculating the correct insulin dosage while my classmates looked forward to lunch. What other fourth-grader knows that much about what’s happening in their body?

That first soccer game after my diagnosis, I scored three goals before halftime. My parents and I knew then that you coming into our lives wouldn’t stop me. It would only make me more resilient. My pre-game ritual was the same, just with one extra step: checking my blood sugar levels with a fingerstick. As the years passed, I felt confident in my diabetes management and ready to take anything thrown at me on and off the field.

And then you threw me a curveball. During my freshman year playing football at the University of Oklahoma, I experienced my first hypoglycemic incident, which caused me to lose consciousness. I took a nap after a long day of practice, and my roommate found me unresponsive and called 911. The terrifying reality of you loomed once again: despite doing everything right, despite the discipline and the monitoring and the sacrifice, you could still mean life or death.

The scariest day of my life then gave me my greatest tool. My doctor introduced me to a continuous glucose monitor, and the numbers I agonized over as a kid were suddenly in the palm of my hand. My teammates may think they know what patterns help them perform at their best, but I have the charts and data to prove it. I am stronger emotionally, mentally, and physically because of it.

What I’m most proud of is the platform you gave me. Nearly every single game, families of kids with diabetes reach out to me. They want to meet me and know that their kid can still play sports. I remember learning about you and thinking my days of playing sports might be over; now, I get to learn the stories of kids who are just like me and tell them that they can still dream big. Yes, this is hard. Yes, it requires everything they’ve got. But anything is possible.

My goal was never to be the best tight end with diabetes. My goal is to be the best tight end. Period. And every single day I'm walking into that stadium, checking my glucose levels, managing my insulin, doing the invisible work people in the stands can’t see. I'm doing it not just for me, but for every kid who carries you with them, too. Diabetes, you don’t get to sideline me; instead, I’m in the starting lineup.

Mark