Tough times don't last, tough people do.

It's a saying as old as time, almost patronizing in its way. But it belies a kernel of truth: there are going to be moments in your life that, if you can find a way through them, you'll be able to find your way through anything.

This year has put that notion to the test; we've all faced trials and journeys that few could have conceived this time a year ago, when the weather began to turn and our biggest collective worry in Clarksville was, "After losing to Tennessee State, is the dream of a conference title dead this year for the Govs?" At the time, Josephus Smith was having an incredible season, one that put him on the national map and caused regret among recruiting coordinators across the south who wrote him off as too short to be an effective Division I defensive lineman. A testament to toughness and tenacity, Smith believed getting his Division I opportunity, after transferring to Austin Peay from Division II Miles College and paying his own way the first semester in Clarksville just for the chance to play was the biggest hurdle he'd ever face.

"I had to go through a lot due to being undersized," he said, once more trodding ground he's walked in numerous stories during his breakout campaign last year. "I'm not the typical 6-foot, 6-3 defensive lineman. I had to go Division II before I got to Austin Peay, and I had to pay for school my first semester here. It's been a long road to get here.

"You could say there's a chip on my shoulder. So many people told me I wouldn't be able to play Division I football… I like being able to show that this is where I belong."

Yes. Well. About that hurdle… no, we'll get there in a minute.

The pandemic was one thing; if nothing else, the isolation from football was mitigated by his family—wife Shermiria and two-year old Skylar—and the knowledge that across the country, the routine of spring football, the humdrum of summer workouts and dog-days of summer camp were being, if not canceled outright, then limited in their scope and scale. A shared experience that is awful is still being shared, and there can be comfort found in that sometimes.

Family is, has and always will come first for Smith. He lights up talking about his girls, regaling people with stories about how smart Skylar is, how she gives him a second wind when he comes home from practice, how much Shermiria sacrificed to move from South Alabama to Clarksville so they could be a family together. Being a father and a husband and a Division I student-athlete isn't for everybody; Smith knows he's unique, that his situation is one unlike that many would be comfortable manning at such a precocious age.

An old soul himself, Smith loves his status as husband, daddy and All-Ohio Valley Conference lineman.

"I enjoy being a dad, going home, playing with my daughters," he said. "It's not hard [to do both] when you enjoy it. It makes me a better man, makes me sacrifice, shows me I can do both. You've got to manage your time. Put your work in but when it's family time, focus on them."

Now. Imagine trying to worry about your family, your final season of college football and classes in the middle of a pandemic. Now add in the stress of a daughter, born early with a Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH) and facing long odds and a longer fight, born in the middle of all this. A wife, suffering severe preeclampsia during the latter stages of her pregnancy and the harrowing drive to Florida, to the specialist they trusted to deliver their second daughter.

That's the world Madison Smith entered May 20, 2020. She's doing well. She's tough. A fighter. Like her daddy. She's gaining weight, unlike her daddy—Shermiria has Josephus on a vegan diet—and proving that small origins aren't enough keep a Smith down. Some people thought her dad wouldn't make it in Division I, and some doctors had her chances of thriving like she has at slim.

Here's to overcoming all those hurdles life can put in front of you.

COVID-19 presented an additional hurdle for the Smith's, even after Madison was born and they were able to come back home. As plans were made to return to football, albeit a shortened fall schedule under highly controlled conditions, they faced a choice: was this too big a chance to take with all the health scares they had already experienced this year?

There were concerns, at home. There were worries in the locker room, even. But Smith, hyper-vigilant and ever-mindful of his role as patriarch and locker room leader, was comfortable enough with the protocols in place to believe the opportunities outweighed the risks.

"Me and my wife and my family talked about it a lot," he said. "If I felt like it wasn't the best thing for us, I would have opted out. But I feel like the protocols our staff has in place were good protocols.

"It's been a little overwhelming, never knowing what's next. Even with the three games we had, you could never tell what the next day would bring; you could be practicing one day, and the next day you'd be in quarantine. You could practice all week and not be able to play in the game. It's weighed on the guys [COVID]. We've managed to keep it together as a team because we realize it's bigger than football and we have to be safe."

Bigger than football? If there's one person in that locker room who knows too well what that phrase means, it's Josephus Smith.