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"A Day In The Life of a Student Athlete"
I am thinking about starting a television series. I have been tinkering around with some possible television titles. One is, "True Life: I have none." Second, "Time... what's that?" Third, " College through the eyes of those practicing it." However, I will stick with a more conventional title, “A day in the life of a college student-athlete.” This television series will follow the life of a college student-athlete and any outside interactions with others. As a result, it will portray a realistic picture of what it is like in a day/life/week/month/semester as a student-athlete. So, take a seat and tune in as I doodle my way across the canvas of a twenty year old female college student and softball athlete.
(Brittney aka daughter) “Mom stop you're embarrassing me”
(Mrs. Hubbard aka mom) “Shh, sweetie. O hunny, our baby. Our baby's going off to college, can you believe it?”
(daughter) “MOOOOM, the plane's gonna leave. Let me go!”
(Mom) “Aww our baby's all grown up. I'm going to miss her so much.”
(daughter) “Oh my gosh, Mom, I'm going. Don't forget to put money in my account. Bye.”
...Sound familiar?
Well, not for me. As the daughter of The Guiness Book of World Records' “best parents to roam the land,” a girl who grew up in a small town, the eldest of three sisters, and a member of a conservative Christian household, I was the furthest thing from ready when it came to going off to college. I would have loved nothing more than to stay close to my home and family, but I knew that, if I wanted to be the best, I needed to spread my wings and live on my own. In fact, if I wanted to compete for a consistently top-ranked Division 1 softball program, then I was going to have to flap my wings 2,170 miles east to Athens, Georgia and hope that I would still find shelter under the feathers of all my loved ones in sunny California.
Hard to believe, but that was two years ago now. A lot has changed since then. It was here in college that I adopted a new nickname, Hubbs. To my softball team I am Hubbs. To the rest of the world I am Brittney. It created this split-identity as if I was two different people, the outgoing and independent person off the field and the tense and serious player on the field.
Now here is where the climactic anticipation rises. The audience has now gotten an inside look at Brittney, your typical teenager's life; A teenager with normal issues, trials and triumphs. By including some background information, the audience now has a connection with the main character of the show, Brittney. However, it is now time to (cough)... how should I saw this... "get down to business" and show the "juicy" details of her life as a college student.
Beep, Beep, Beep blares the boisterous alarm. It's 6am, Tuesday morning February 1, 2009. As I gracefully clunk out of bed, grab the closest articles of clothing I can find, unconventionally tie my heap of hair into a bun, and, with the slightest bit of ease, take a device and scrub the crevices of my plaque-stricken teeth, I proceed with my daily morning routine. Great it's 6:25 already. I have to be downstairs in 5 minutes or else the bus is gonna leave me. I grab my backpack and book it out the door.
Awaiting at the bus stop are six of my teammates and several members of the men's basketball team. As I look around at everyone's crust-stricken, sleep-deprived, droopy-dry eyes I think to myself, 'This is the life.' As I trample my way onto the bus, and my ears adjust to the serenading tunes of the Temptations, I wonder how our bus driver has the nerve to bump such cacophony so early in the morning. Over my shoulder I hear a basketball player say "Man, I have never been so tired. I didn't know it was possible to be this tired. My tired is compounded by tired compounded by tired. Not only am I sick of practice but I gotta wake up to this nonsense." And then, as I look over my shoulder I see two meek eyeballs peek out at me under a baseball cap and layers of puffy sweatshirts say, "I'm so tired today Hubbs, This schedule is just crazy. I hate this early morning study hall. If we could just do our study hours on our own timing like the rest of our team, life would be so much easier." I nod my head at her in agreement as we unload off the bus and trek through the coliseum into the warmth of the Rankin-Smith center.
Rankin is the study center for all student-athletes at the University of Georgia. As many of us call it: our second home. It is a state-of-the-art facility comprised of two stories where we can go to study, print, and get tutoring. As if this facility doesn't sound great enough already, all of these services are offered free of charge. And depending on which team you're on, your study/tutor hours will vary. Regardless, each student-athlete is required to complete eight hours of study hall a week. If a student is late/misses/doesn't complete their study hours, they have to pay a fine. The same rule applies for missing class; if you have an unexcused absence from a class they reduce your playing time.
Math tutor, check. Psychology tutor, check. As I monotonously go through my daily tutor sessions, I look at my clock and see the time. 8:45. If I don't leave now I won't have enough time for sure. Phshew is the sound of me running out of room 101 and heading straight for Snelling dinning hall. My strategy: whatever I touch, I take. My result: a poptart, banana and coffee. Mmmm, the breakfast of champions. I know that if I don't eat now, then who knows the next chance I'll get. 9:05, class starts. Shoot, I arrive ten minutes after the posted start time and my class-checker marks me as "late." What is the deal with these stinkin' class-checkers anyway? It's as if they don't know what's it like to be busy and just maybe occasionally late. Everyday they sit. Waiting outside each of my classes with their little clipboard and pen. As a student-athlete, I am required to sign their paper verifying that I came to class that day. I just hope my advisor, Lynn, doesn't find out.
Yes! Class is finally over. Only two more to go. It's 10:10, political science, and I'm struggling to take notes. My attention is wavering between thoughts of squishy pillows and sheets. 11:15. Sweet, last class of the day. What is it we learn at practice? O ya, mental training and positive reinforcement. I can do this! Class is out and it's 12:05. I gotta take the bus, get back to my dorms, and leave for practice within 30 minutes; that doesn't leave me much time for lunch.
Push open the door of my dorm, grab my practice stuff, a granola bar and go. Unfortunately, I don't have a car on campus so that makes life a little more difficult. I hitch a ride with a teammate; it's 12:40 and we're rushin'. Individuals from 1:30 to 2:30. Team time from 3:30 to 5:30 and weights from 6 to 7. This is what an average practice schedule looks like. As we pull into the softball/soccer complex, located on the southeast end of Milledge near the botanical gardens, we peer over at the gigantic billboard that we've passed by so many times: a picture of Schnake running on the field, sticking her tongue out. The perfect description of Georgia softball: intensity and fun. Schnake is my role model on the team. Not only do we play the same position, but she is also the hardest worker and biggest team player I've ever met. It is my goal to one day play like Schnake. And then, one day, maybe I'll be on a billboard sticking my tongue out at everyone that passes by as if to say, "I did it." At this point I can't imagine being in that position or what it'd feel like. It's hard as a freshman to come up and earn the position of a respected upperclassmen. Coach Lu-Harris Champer doesn't give me the time of day, which is ridiculous considering that I'm at the field practicing for four hours a day. That leaves a very stressed and frustrating relationship between the two of us.
Crish, Crackle, Crack: we are experiencing some weather difficulties and will be back shortly. Please enjoy a few moments from our sponsor. (Elevator music here)
"Hello, Lu-Harris Champer here. Do you blead red and black and enjoy 60 mph yellow balls coming at you? If so, come out to the Georgia softball team's game this Saturday at 7pm. Gooo Dawgs!"
Ok, we're back and zooming in on practice.
Blizzard winds strip the sweat stained across my pink cheeks. I open my mouth to yell but like a trapped prisoner no words can escape. "Everyone drop and hit the fence. Hubbs can't seem to communicate loud enough." Shoot. Dangit. Here we go again, running for my mistakes. Come on, get it together Brittney. It's not that hard, think confidence. "Everyone, go again. Hubbs didn't run hard enough" I hear a disgruntled "Huuuubs" from our third baseman next to me. I know they're getting fed up with me now. Ok, we're back and I take my position. Smack. Ground ball up the middle. I dive to my left, leap up, and shoot it to first base. That was smooth I think to myself. "Hubbs!!! Did I say look at the ground after you throw the ball. Everyone go again and we're gonna keep running until Hubbs has some idea of how to play softball." At this point I'm fighting back tears. And then I feel like a sissy. Who cries at softball practice? But then a picture of my mom paints my mind and a nostalgic wave crashes over me. I want to go home. I'm sick of this. I miss my sisters. I miss my friends. I miss, I miss, I miss. "HUBBS, are you present today?" A quick snap back to reality and I'm in the moment. Game on, be a competitor. I chose to play collegiate softball. I chose to go thousands of miles away from everyone I know. Why? Because I love the game. Because seeing that ball fly over the scoreboard after I knock it off of an opposing pitcher and hearing the screams for the crowd is what I live for. "Bring it in. Time for goal books." We gather around in a circle, and go around one by one as we grade ourselves on the day and say who we are proud of. This is what I leave the field with everyday. A feeling of loneliness, lack of purpose, and complete sense of unworthiness.
Tenderness. That's what we just captivated. Brittney is now in a vulnerable state. And as she leaves practice we zoom in on her face as we intermix a sideshow of pictures from home and regular college students having fun and partying it up. As she walks to the east campus dinning hall (better known as, the athlete dinning hall), she is joined by six of her teammates but seems in a world all of her own. As they gossip about softball, school, and partying she wonders if she fits in. Her teammates talk about not remembering the last chance they got to go downtown now that they are in season. Brittney wonders if she's the only one that is not into going downtown and getting drunk. She knows that she's here to play softball and takes that seriously. Really that's all she wants, yet it's the only thing she doesn't have.
A huge empty square. Large enough for three huge entree's. Enough to make any linebacker full. This is what is placed into my hands every day as I walk into the dinning hall. Great, I just sucked at practice and now I'm going to get fat as I eat my anxieties away. Rows of tables. In front there are a few cross-country runners huddled around a green and white table. A strict diet of salad and water for them. Then I walk over and say hi to my friend on the gymnastics team, better known as a gymdog. As I say hi, I look at the silver utensil in her hand to see what it is paired with. A bowl of green beans, and a half full bowl at that. I think I've developed an unhealthy habit since I came to college. When I see an athlete eating and I don't know who they are, I immediately examine their body type and decipher which sport they participate in. Same goes for food. I can guess what type of athlete someone is by looking at what they eat. It is completely judgmental, but then again that's how the world of athletics is. Whether we are being judged but our coaches, fans, or friends peer pressure in looking/performing/acting a certain way is a huge part of our lifestyle.
I quietly leave the table of gymdogs and am stopped by a loud yell. I look over my shoulder, this has to be the base ballers. Indeed it is. I stop by and say hello as we exchange flirtatious looks. The dinning hall is one of the biggest social networks we get as an athlete because it is a time that we are all permitted to have. We all aren't able to sneak in a few hours of occasional downtown (aside from many football and baseball players who do this quite frequently) so we exchange fellowship at dinner. Athletes are very cliquey. Imagine being in high school all over again. Certain teams do not socialize outside of their team, like the swimmers. Certain teams are known for partying and hooking up like football, baseball, tennis, and volleyball. While others have a more unique stereotype like being gay, softball. Although is is a world of stereotypes and judgment we are all combined by a fellow bond. Our rigorous schedule and common passion. The passion to compete and win. Regardless of our different backgrounds, we are all brought together by the common thread of being a student-athlete.
As Brittney walks back to her dorm with some of her track friends. They joke about their day. She is now in a more light-hearted mood. She realizes that she may be thousands of miles away from home, but she has found a new home here in Georgia. And as Brittney walks back to her dorm we portray it not as a big building with many rooms but as a home away from home. The last image you see is Brittney walking into her dorm with a smile of revelation on her face. In closing, the audience walks away with an idea of what it is like to live the life of a student-athlete.
If I was a little rough around the edges before I came to college, they have definitely been smoothed out by now. Many experiences have sharpened my ability to decipher between wise and unwise. After such a trying year I learned one main thing. I don't play for me. I don't do it for the fame and the glory. I don't do it for the crowd and the fans. I don't do it for the pleasure of my coach and teammates. I do it for the love. I do it for the daily drainage that I feel once I get home. I do it for the competition. I do it for the pride. I do it for the one and only person that I live for, Jesus Christ. I play, for an audience of one now. And I'm gonna keep working, so that He may see glory through my daily efforts.
...To Be Continued
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