I recently had the honor of emceeing a celebration at my wife’s high school, marking 50 years of Title IX in girls’ sports. Picture this: me, a microphone, and a room full of former athletes who could probably still outrun me—even with my new knee still learning the ropes. But somehow, between the jokes and the microphone mishaps (note to self: it’s “mic drop,” not “mic toss”), we managed to shine a spotlight on the incredible journey of women’s sports over the past half-century.

One of the true highlights of the weekend was staying with my wife’s former basketball coaches, a pioneering woman and her supportive husband, who stepped up to lead girls’ teams when Title IX was still just a number and a dream. They shared stories from those early days—tales of triumphs, mishaps, tough workouts, and the sheer absurdity that comes with blazing a trail where none existed before.

“Fresh out of college, Coach thought the school had hired her to teach swimming. Imagine her surprise when they handed her a basketball instead of a whistle and stopwatch!” They recounted arriving at the gym only to find someone had double-booked it. Undeterred, the coaches focused on conditioning and fundamental skills, pushing the girls to excel despite the obstacles. My wife’s mother often drove the team bus. “We didn’t have an athletic trainer,” Coach laughed. “So I had to learn everything myself—which wasn’t nearly as easy as today because YouTube tutorials didn’t exist back then!” What the coaches may have lacked in experience, they more than made up for with rigorous training, simple yet effective strategies, and practice, practice, practice.

In fact, those who blaze new trails rarely notice that they are doing something significant at the time. They were too busy forging ahead, focused on giving their girls the opportunity to play, to realize they were laying the groundwork for future generations. It’s fascinating how those who blaze new trails rarely recognize their own significance—they’re too busy creating the path for others to follow.

My wife, having lived through these experiences, nodded knowingly at each anecdote, her eyes reflecting both nostalgia and a hint of exasperation. “We didn’t think about making history,” she said. “We just wanted to play the game we loved.” As for me, I had only ever heard snippets of these stories at family gatherings. But sitting there in their cozy living room, surrounded by faded team photos and yellowing newspaper clippings, I could almost hear the echo of cheers and the squeak of sneakers on polished wood. I felt as though I traveled back in time. By the end of the weekend, I wasn’t just hearing the stories—I was living them alongside these incredible women and the men who supported them. These early challenges weren’t just hurdles; they were the very experiences that instilled resilience—a trait that serves us all well beyond the court.

These stories got me thinking about all the coaches who have shaped us—not just in how to perfect a layup or nail a dismount, but in life. I remember when one of my coaches would yell, “Embrace the suck,” which, at the time, felt like an inside joke we didn’t quite get—but now, it’s practically my life’s motto. My wife’s coach once told her to stop eating a sandwich when she would camp out in the lane—a not-so-subtle hint to keep moving. Little did we know that years later, those mantras would help us navigate office politics, family dynamics, and group projects where one person does all the work (we see you, slackers).

And let’s not forget the humorous life lessons. Like when Coach insisted that wind sprints build character. Spoiler alert: they mainly built a profound appreciation for sitting. Or when they told us to “walk it off” after getting hit by a ball, advice that turned out to be surprisingly applicable after stumbling in both literal and figurative ways in adulthood.

The celebration wasn’t just a trip down memory lane; it reminded us how far we’ve come and how the lessons from our athletic youth continue to serve us. The perseverance we learned on the field helps us tackle challenges at work. The teamwork instilled in us helps us build communities. And the humility from turning the ball over with a bad pass that lost the game? Well, that keeps us grounded.

As the evening wrapped up—without any further microphone incidents—I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Not just for the smooth flow of the event (though let’s give credit where credit is due—it wasn’t all me), but for being part of a legacy that continues to empower and inspire. Though I held the microphone, the collective effort of many truly made the evening shine. Here’s to the coaches who led without playbooks, to the athletes who played without precedent, and to the next generation who will undoubtedly outrun us all.

So, the next time someone tells you to “give 110%,” maybe don’t question their math skills. Instead, remember that sports taught us more than just games; they taught us how to live, laugh, and perhaps most importantly, how to properly hold a microphone. Perhaps the greatest lesson we’ve learned is that while the game may end, the impact of those who played and coached continues to resonate through generations.

Here’s to all of us—may we continue to honor the past by championing the future of girls’ sports everywhere.