(Photo by Chris McGrath/Getty Images)

When I think back at what got me interested in sports, there's one answer that's always first in my mind: my dad. I remember as a kid playing a board game with him and having a game on in the background, and I'd sometimes get bored. I would wonder how he could sit there and watch it for so long, especially during football season.

But now I understand, and ironically I probably watch even more so than him now.

With time my process of exposure and connection to the sports world came fully and enthusiastically through my dad. I was always a competitor growing up. There wasn't anything that I didn't want to be the best at or win, and I'm still like that to this day. But winning wasn't enough.

If I won something but had a sub-par effort, I felt not as good. My dad taught me through sports that always trying as hard as you can, no matter what the score, the sport, or the part of life, is always the best thing to do, because in doing so you can ensure that you never have to look back and wonder on what might have been.

This stuck with me through my growing years, and it helped me immensely. I was always a small, skinny kid, so I never really had a size advantage on anyone in athletics. But my drive and dedication was my equalizer.

Whether it was a pickup game with some friends or inter mural sports, I made myself a contributor and could take over the game seemingly by sheer power of will and boundless energy.

It became apparent to me in high school that I could well enough compete on a competitive HSAA level, but I had another opponent standing in my way. Since I was 11, I've been suffering from full blown Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

I've really had a form of it all my life, but from that point onward to the present it has been a different species entirely.

I spent hours analyzing and contemplating what the specs could be on walls, and wondering if I hit them, even though in reality I was likely two feet or more away. I would spend hours in the bathroom cleaning up after a bowel movement, and in the mandatory shower that followed.

Everything became a chore, washing my hands, brushing my teeth, flossing, going to the grocery store, the school day, everything.

The OCD took a toll on me, and I barely managed to get through the school day and have a minimal social life. There was no way I would be able to handle the complications that athletic involvement would bring. As the OCD progressed, it bothered me to sweat and be outside, so that further hampered my chances of being able to play a sport.

However it was at this point in my life that I learned my most valuable lessons from sports. My mom is also afflicted with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, so she always knew what I was going through and understood fully.

When I first got real bad though, my dad struggled to understand, as he had never had experience with anything like it before. I struggled to explain how it wasn't my fault, and that I couldn't control the things I was compelled to do.

Through the years, my dad has learned about the disease, and he is now understanding and fully supportive, and I respect him tremendously for that. As he learned about the disease, he used the same lessons from sports to try and help me through.

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