Hello friends, my name is Kelly, I’m a junior on the swim and dive team at Grand Valley, and I had big goals this year: break the school record in the 200 fly, make nationals for the third time, get all A’s, and balance a job on top of it all. And for a while, everything was lining up perfectly. I felt strong, confident, and in control of my routine. I truly believed nothing could stop me. Then at 4 a.m. on November 17, 2025, everything changed. 

I woke up with a pain that didn’t feel normal. My body felt off in a way that scared me. By 6:35 a.m., I was sitting in the ER hearing the word appendicitis. At that moment, my world froze. All I could think was, mid-season is next week. Surgery was the only option. I cried, not just from fear, but from heartbreak. The season I had worked so hard for suddenly felt like it was slipping away. But the bad news didn’t stop there. During surgery, doctors couldn’t remove my appendix because it was too inflamed. Instead, I was sent home with antibiotics and told to wait six weeks before trying again. 

Six weeks of waiting. Six weeks of watching my teammates compete without me. Six weeks of feeling like my body had betrayed me. That was my lowest point. I lost interest in things I used to enjoy. I didn’t want to be around friends. I felt sad, angry, and frustrated  even though I knew it wasn’t my fault. I kept asking myself, Why me? Why now? I felt like something completely out of my control had stolen the season I dreamed of. I even thought about quitting. Six weeks later, the day before Christmas Eve, I went back in for surgery. This time, it was successful. But healing physically didn’t mean I was instantly okay mentally. I had lost time, fitness, and confidence. Still, I made a decision: I was going to fight for the second half of my season. So I showed up. On the days I didn’t want to get out of bed, I did. On the long, exhausting days, I kept pushing. I trained for only three weeks before conference, knowing I wasn’t at my peak but refusing to give up. At conference, I surprised myself. I made finals every single day. 

One month out of surgery, I was doing something many people thought I couldn’t. On the third day of conference this swim would determine nationals again in the 200 fly. I swam a 2:05 in prelims and placed first. I felt hope again. I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could still do this. Then finals came. As soon as I pushed off the block and hit that first lap, I felt a sharp pain near my stitches. I had overextended my stomach. I had to finish the race in excruciating pain. When I got out of the water, I could barely move. Soon enough, I was back in the ER. Again. It would have been easy to let that moment define me. Easy to say, I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. For a long time, I felt broken physically and mentally. I let something I couldn’t control make me feel like I had failed. But through it all, I kept repeating one thing to myself: This too shall pass. 

My season didn’t go as planned. I didn’t hit every goal. But I did something just as important: I didn't give up on myself. I learned that my worth isn’t defined by one race, one season, or one setback. I learned that strength isn’t just about swimming fast. It’s about showing up when everything hurts. It’s about trying when the outcome is uncertain. It’s about believing in a comeback you can’t see yet. People asked me, “How can you still continue?” My answer was always the same: I won’t know unless I try. And I did. I came back from surgery. I made finals. I proved to myself that I’m stronger than the hardest moments of my life. Appendicitis didn’t define me. A shortened season didn’t define me. Pain didn’t define me. And whatever you’re going through right now it doesn’t define you either. The frustration, the sadness, the disappointment let it fuel you, not stop you. Hard seasons don’t mean your story is over. Sometimes they’re the chapter where you build the strength for your greatest comeback. Because no matter how heavy it feels right now… This too shall pass. And your best days are still ahead. 

Kelly Shortall

#LakersRiseTogether #AnchorUp