Hurt or Injured?

Some lessons shape your whole life.

One of mine started with a trumpet, a baseball field, and a father’s quiet wisdom.

During my senior year in high school, I was invited to compete in my state solo contest.
One of my dearest friends, a phenomenal piano player, agreed to accompany me.
We picked an ambitious, beautiful piece: the Haydn Concerto by Joseph Haydn. Sue and I practiced two hours a day after school and on weekends, grinding away until we had it perfectly locked in.

Everything was set.

Before I was born, my dad played professional baseball for the Chicago White Sox and Cincinnati Reds organizations. Baseball (and all sports) are in my blood. Dad knew what it meant to push through pain — and when to step back.

One afternoon, he told me something simple that stuck:

"In sports, and in life, there are two kinds of pain: If you’re hurt, you can still play. It’ll be distracting, but you can push through and help your team. If you’re injured, playing will only make it worse. That’s when you step off the field, heal up, and protect your future.”

I didn’t know it yet, but that mindset was about to get tested.

It was a warm Tuesday during baseball season.
I played second base.
The scent of fresh-cut grass filled the air — I should have felt electric.
But something felt… off.

In the first inning, a slow roller bounced my way.
My instinct said, “charge the ball!”
But I could barely move.
No power in my legs. No drive.

The batter was safe and the play was over.

I picked up the ball, tossed it underhand back to our baffled pitcher, and slowly walked off the field without a word.

The ER tests confirmed what my body already knew:
Viral pneumonia. Three-quarters of my left lung filled with fluid.
The solo competition? Four days away.

The doctors told me to rest and forget about playing in the competition.

I could’ve accepted it.
But deep down, I knew:
I wasn’t injured.
I was hurt.

There’s a difference.
And sometimes, when you’re just hurt — you can still choose to show up.

That Saturday, I took the stage, trumpet in hand.
Sue and I played the Haydn Concerto.
Was it perfect? No.
Was it enough? Absolutely.

We took third place.
I also witnessed the most jaw-dropping piccolo trumpet solo I’d ever heard — the girl who won first place deserved every bit of it.

But even more than the award that afternoon, I learned a lifelong lesson:

I learned that showing up matters.
That Tenacity isn’t about being perfect.
It’s about knowing when you can still fight — and fighting anyway.

In business, in life, in every damn thing that matters —
there will be moments when you’re hurting.
Moments when you feel like giving up or backing down.

You have to know the difference.
You have to choose wisely.
And you have to summon the grit to keep moving when you still can.

Because the winners?
They’re not the ones who never get knocked down.
They’re the ones who know when it’s time to fight through pain — and when it’s time to heal smart.

That’s what Tenacity means to me.
That’s why I’m here inside the STRIDE Squad.
To remind you that your best days aren't behind you.
They're still ahead — if you're willing to show up and fight for them.

Let’s go hit our stride.