A law created 30 years ago -- ensuring gender equality in high-school and collegiate sports -- set my life into motion.

My soccer debut began when I was 8 years old, but it lasted only one practice. My father suggested that I join a soccer team, and I reluctantly agreed. It took me a good 15 minutes to realize I wanted no part in this soccer deal. I faked an injury in the first couple of minutes of the scrimmage. A loose kick nailed me in the hand and that was it; I was finished. I left the field bawling and insisted there was no way I could return to the field with an injured hand.

My father had played at the collegiate level and was invited to try out for the U.S. National Team, yet despite his success as a soccer player, he never pushed it on me. He respected my decision to call it quits that very practice.

When I turned 13, I picked soccer up on my own accord. By the time I was 15, I gained more motivation to play soccer -- boys. I played on co-ed parks and recreation teams and realized I could outrun many of the boys.

Finally, in my sophomore year, the Whitefish School Board added soccer as a school sport. Whitefish and Columbia Falls were the only two Class A teams, and therefore, we had to play against all AA schools. We lost -- a lot. But I learned a lot from being the underdog. I learned humility. I learned how to appreciate small success. And I learned the value of not being too proud to fight, scrap and claw for respect.

I was an above-average athlete when I graduated from high school, but technically I could not even kick a ball correctly. I could jump high and sprint fast, which turned heads. It even managed to turn the head of Betsy Duerksen, the head coach of the inaugural University of Montana women's soccer team. She recruited me to the Division I program that boasted only one in-state athlete. The rest of the roster was filled with out-of-state athletes who all started playing soccer when they were 5-years-old for big-name soccer clubs.

But I proved myself. I was one of two athletes out of the entire team to pass every fitness test. I had the fastest 40-yard dash. I was the only starting freshman. And slowly, slowly, I began to believe that I belonged. I developed a fierce competitive nature, not only on the field but off.

My freshman year, our soccer team won the award for the varsity sport with the highest grade-point average. Winning that award instilled in our team a whole new sense of pride, curiously mixed with competitiveness, that motivated us to push each other to excel in the classroom. We defended that title until my senior year.

Eventually, the line between our work ethic in school and our work ethic in soccer began to blur. We subtly discovered working hard for its intrinsic value transcended the value of working hard for extrinsic rewards. Our couch reinforced this ideal. She never pretended that soccer took precedence over school or family. Conversely, she encouraged us "to be good people first and good soccer players second."

I graduated in May 2000 knowing that the WUSA -- the first U.S. women's professional soccer league -- would begin. I feared failure, but it paled in comparison to regret. I refused to forever wonder "what if?" So I swallowed my pride and tried out for the Seattle Sounders Women's Team, a semi-professional team that feeds players into the WUSA.

Much to my surprise, I made the team, which was composed of mostly top-level players from the Pacific-10 Conference. But the experience was tainted. Work ethic, teamwork and commitment all were worthless currencies. I played for two seasons, my playing time dwindling to the last 15 minutes of games despite the fact that I was second-leading scorer. No matter how much I proved myself, I never gained my coach's respect. But I refused to quit and played four months despite a severely sprained ankle that eventually led to surgery and a bitter reminder -- three inch-long, worm-like scars.

Before my surgery, I dreaded the physical permanence of these scars. However, maybe it was the mental and emotional permanence that I feared the most. I feared they would forever be this imposing reminder that I failed. But nine months have passed since my surgery.

Surprisingly, I am quick to take off my shoe, peel back my sock and flash the three bloated worms to any willing viewer. They all cringe. Sometimes I invite them to touch the scars. Right as they do so, I yell, it scares them, and I am humored. Better a scar than regret, I figure. I would not be willing to scare unsuspecting viewers with my regret.

Starting next fall, I will be the freshman English teacher at Corvallis High School. In addition, I will be the head girls' varsity soccer coach and an assistant track coach. Being new to the Bitterroot area, people are quick to inquire, "So what brought you to the community?" I used to answer that it was my husband's job. However, I think that I can now answer with a clear conscience, "Title IX brought me here."

Because Title IX ensured girls' and women's athletics would get equal treatment, I was afforded the opportunity to pursue higher education. Because of higher education, I was afforded the opportunity to teach when playing soccer did not work out for me. Because of my teaching position, I am able to coach -- bringing me full circle. One more Title IX opportunity created for me again in girls' high-school soccer -- only this time as a coach.

The first lesson I plan to instill in my players? "Aspire to be good people first and good soccer player second."

Michele Zentz is a former soccer student-athlete at the University of Montana. This article previously appeared in The Ravalli Republic (Hamilton, Montana).