Sidelined by ACL Tear, Wolgemuth Talks About Missing Paris 2024 Olympic Games
Few titles carry as much weight as “Olympian.”
It is an immortalized term young kids dream of, adults respect immensely, and I was hoping to make my reality. But then in my team’s second to last match before the Games, I tore my ACL.
We were in London playing a FIH Pro-League mini series versus Germany and Great Britain. I received the ball deep in our half, saw pressure coming from my left and took off hoping to find a pass. As I cut by an incoming midfielder, there was a distinct pop in my right knee and I hit the turf hard. Lying there on the pitch, clutching my knee, my first thought was, “It has to be my ACL. It was too good to be true.”
It would be too good to get my dream. Too good to play on the biggest stage in the world. Too good to stamp my future with “Olympian,” solidifying I had made it and am worthy.
The following few days were full of emotion, hiding my ruined dreams from my teammates because they had a match to focus on. Then falling apart in front of those teammates later that evening, unable to get out the words they too were dreading to hear. Later came sadness which was actually grief, and anger which was actually disappointment, and confusion, which was just confusion.
How, why? Then came reconstructing. Do I still have value? Who do I want to be during this period? How do I care for my teammates?
Fourteen months before qualifying for the Olympics, the team was in Argentina playing a series of friendly matches versus Argentina and The Netherlands. We were terrible, and they were destroying us each game.
One evening I was on a call with my Sports Psychologist aware of how much work was necessary to get us to the Olympics, and I wondered aloud if I could handle the Olympic Qualification journey we were about to begin.
It is incredibly risky to put your entire self toward something not guaranteed. We could leave ourselves out on the pitch everyday for the next year, put every ounce of energy into this game, and still fail: not qualify.
Fast forward to Ranchi, India, January 2024. We must win to qualify for the 2024 Paris Games. It is the middle of the third quarter and Japan scores to go up by one. I am on the bench and oddly feel an abundance of peace. I am so confident our team will score. I know how this story ends.
Fifteen minutes later we are leaping onto one another. For the first time in eight years, we had done it. We were going. Twenty-five years of dreaming, 15 years of playing, and three years with this specific goal in mind and we had reached the light at the end. Or so I thought.
I do not know why ACLs sometimes tear off femurs. I don’t know why this happens weeks before the Olympic Games. I am realizing I never will.
What I do know is it sucks. It sucks to realize you are not the center of the team and they will move forward without you. It sucks watching your best friends actively experiencing your dream. It sucks to reconstruct your role on the team. Instead of a staple to the defensive line, you are now a cheerleader on the other side of the ocean.
More than sucking though, it has been reformative.
Already in the last six weeks of this reality, I have gained more than I imagine I would have from a two week Olympic experience. This game which has shaped my character – taught me conflict resolution, patience, discipline, passion – does not define who I am.
The world of sport uses a measuring stick labeled “Olympian” to determine if I am worthy. I have reconstructed my framework of validation.
Instead, my God who knows my soul, my family who knows my heart, and my friends who know my character define my worth. I am proud of the work I have put in, every last rep, despite not seeing it come to fruition.
I will likely cry when I see my teammates belt out the national anthem without me on Saturday and then play in some of the biggest matches of our careers.
But more than that, I will be proud to have helped them get there.
The Olympics is just another tournament. There will be more opportunities to compete at the highest level, to collapse on the turf after a running session, to be in the thick of it with my teammates.
In the meantime, what matters is the team.
There’s the group standing out on the pitch in Paris. There are the three reserves in Paris who show up each day with positivity and a killer work ethic – knowing they likely will not be Olympians. And there are those of us at home, who have put in every ounce of effort and heart as those competing but will not get to experience the glory of it.
Together, we are a group of women who care deeply for one another. Not taking ourselves too seriously but all respecting and driving toward a collective goal. We are silly, determined, humble athletes who all deserve every ounce of recognition the Games bring.
The week before the team left for Paris, I was sitting on a bike at the edge of the pitch watching them train, commiserating about my situation when a friend reminded me, “There are hundreds of girls who would kill to be in your position.” I am devastated, but I am so, so proud.
And there is more good to come.