They say that making the transition from high school to
college is a difficult one. It is a big leap from dependence to almost complete
self–sufficiency, in every sense of the word. And this goes without saying that
personally, I make everything difficult anyway. So it would be no surprise that
I made the move to college especially challenging. But this entire move is
actually rooted in my elementary school years.
When I was five years old, my dad signed me up for t-ball. I
continued to play through softball for many years. In that time, I also played
various other sports, including basketball, figure skating, horseback riding,
golf and karate. With the exception of the eight years I played softball, I had
fairly short stints in all of the other sports. Softball was my sport, and I liked to experience
other athletic fields, simply for the love of being active.
This was a commonplace in my life until high school, when I
decided to be very serious about my academic standing. School occupied a great
deal of my time and I had recently taken up the clarinet. Naturally then, the
other free time I had was devoted to the marching band. As a member of the
marching band, I started to develop a particular state of mind: I was NOT
athletic; that’s why I’m in the marching band, of course—I don’t do sports. In
conjunction with the views of my friends, I quickly shed the idea of excelling
at physical activities, despite my entire childhood.
This trend continued for my entire high school experience.
But the summer after my senior year, as I prepared to start a life anew, my
friend made a joke to me. We were casually kayaking along the Delaware River,
when she said, “Wow, Ashley, look at all the work you’re doing! You should play
sports in college!” I laughed, because at the time, it really was a typical
joke. I practically walked the mile in high school. Every year. Those words
stuck with me though. What if I tried joining a team? It had been a private
thought I had all throughout high school anyway; I always missed being active. So
I took her suggestion one step further and researched the club sports at Penn
State. I looked through them again and again, but always came back to the same
sport: crew.
This sounds ridiculous. My family laughed when I told them
my ambitions. It should be known that they have and will always support me in
whatever I decide to do, but it was just THAT out of character for me. And
their initial reaction set me in my ways: I was going to accomplish this. I
would be a member of the crew team. And I would be good.
Then I got to practice and had to overcome yet another set
of doubts. The coaches and the other girls did not think I could do it. There
are no official tryouts for crew, it is a “cut yourself” kind of sport. In
essence, if you keep showing up, after two weeks, you’re on the team. So when I had the gaul to keep coming back for more, everyone was absolutely shocked. I kind of was too,
but I just told myself that there was no quitting. Before I knew it, the
two-week “trial” period was up and I was still attending practice. I was an
official member of the crew team.
I am happy that I got through my first semester on the team, but all I did was get through. I was average. Every score, time, test, I came
up almost exactly in the middle. That's all well and good, but I want more. I want to be in the best boat
and I want that for the upcoming spring season. This is my first real in-season time on
the team. I want to be the best high school band nerd, who through pure
self-motivation, turned rower that this crew team has ever seen.
Before Winter Break, my coach pointed out to me that I am
always pushing myself. It was never intentional on my part though. I just
worked until I hit my outermost boundaries. Considering how that was a fairly
limited experience for me prior to this year, I can see how to the outsider it
looks like I am working myself. Unfortunately, that is just fallacy; I have
always known that, and I have always ignored that. But I am done ignoring that.
Yesterday I pushed myself so hard at practice that I got sick. I found my
boundary, stayed there, and then pushed past it. And it felt great. So I broke
through one boundary. I made serious progress in my training. But how many times can I break
through and progress like that? I plan to find out this semester. I want a seat
in that top boat. I can already feel the rhythm the other girls’ ores. I want
to be there, in time with them on the water.
