4. Savannah #2
More importantly, I approach sports medicine holistically, considering not just the physical aspects of injury and performance, but the mental and emotional components as well.
I believe that effective treatment requires understanding the athlete as a whole person, not just a collection of symptoms.
Why do you want this position?
I pause here, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. This is where I need to be honest without being too personal.
I want this position because I'm passionate about helping athletes perform at their best while staying healthy and injury-free.
Too often, players ignore early warning signs of injury because they're focused on performance or afraid of losing playing time.
I want to be part of creating an environment where players feel supported in taking care of their bodies and minds.
I also want to gain practical experience in sports medicine while contributing to the success of the hockey program. I believe that my knowledge of the sport, combined with my academic preparation, would allow me to make meaningful contributions to player health and performance from day one.
I read through my responses, making small edits and checking for typos. It's honest without being too revealing, professional without being stuffy.
"How's it looking?" Jess asks, reading over my shoulder again.
"Like something a person who knows what she's talking about might write."
"Because you do know what you're talking about."
"Sometimes I'm not so sure."
"Well, I am. This application is great, Savannah. You sound competent and passionate and exactly like the kind of person a hockey team would want taking care of their players."
I save the document and attach it to the email portal. All I have to do is hit submit.
"What if they don't want me?" I ask.
"What if they do?"
"What if I get in over my head?"
"What if you don't?"
"You're just going to keep doing that, aren't you?"
"Until you submit the application, yes."
I take a deep breath and click submit before I can change my mind.
"Done," I say, immediately feeling like I might throw up.
"DONE!" Jess cheers. "This calls for celebration ice cream."
"It calls for me hiding in my room until I hear back."
"Absolutely not. We're getting ice cream, and you're going to tell me everything about your coffee shop conversation with Colin."
"There's nothing to tell."
"There's definitely something to tell. Starting with how you went from 'I don't think the trainer position is a good idea' to 'I'm definitely applying' in the span of one three-hour coffee date."
"It wasn't a date. It was homework help."
"Homework help that changed your entire perspective on your college experience."
She's not wrong. Sitting with Colin, talking about hockey and his shoulder and his family pressure, felt different from anything I've experienced since starting college.
It felt like I was actually useful, like my knowledge mattered, like I was more than just another pre-med student trying to survive Biology 101.
"Fine," I say. "Ice cream. But I'm not calling it a date."
"We'll start with 'meaningful conversation' and work our way up to 'date' gradually."
"We'll start with 'ice cream' and see where it goes from there."
As we're walking across campus toward the dining hall, my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
Unknown:
Hey, it's Colin. Got your number from Darby. Hope that's okay.
My heart does that fluttery thing again, and I try to play it cool.
Me:
That's fine. How did the trainer appointment go?
Colin:
Better than expected. She wants me to get an MRI, but she doesn't think it's anything too serious.
Me:
That's good news. When's the MRI?
Colin:
Tomorrow morning. I'm trying not to freak out about it.
Me:
That's totally normal. MRIs can be scary even when they're just precautionary.
Colin:
Have you ever had one?
Me:
No, but I've read about them extensively. Want me to tell you what to expect?
Colin:
Actually, yes. That would be really helpful.
I stop walking, and Jess bumps into me.
"What?" she asks, then sees my phone. "Oh my God, is that Colin?"
"Maybe," I whisper.
"Text him back! Tell him you'll explain everything over dinner!"
"I'm not telling him that."
"Then tell him you'll explain everything over coffee again!"
Me:
I could explain the process if you want. Maybe over coffee tomorrow after your appointment?
I hit send before I can chicken out, then immediately panic.
Colin:
That would be great. Same place as today?
Me:
Sure. What time works?
Colin:
How about 2 PM? I should be done with everything by then.
Me:
Perfect. See you then.
Colin:
Thanks, Savannah. Really. You're kind of saving my sanity here.
Me:
Happy to help.
I put my phone away and look at Jess, who's grinning like she just won the lottery.
"So," she says. "Not a date, but definitely a second meaningful conversation."
"It's medical consultation."
"It's progress."
"It's two people having coffee and discussing MRI procedures."
"It's the beginning of something."
"You don't know that."
"I don't know that it's not."
As we continue walking toward ice cream, I can't shake the feeling that Jess might be right. Something is beginning here, something that started with Colin needing help with Biology homework and is turning into something bigger.
I don't know what it is yet, but for the first time since starting college, I'm excited to find out.
Even if it terrifies me.
Especially because it terrifies me.
My phone buzzes with one more text.
Dad:
How's the application coming?
Me:
Submitted.
Dad:
Proud of you. No matter what happens.
Me:
Thanks, Dad.
Dad:
Also, Colin texted me. Said he ran into you and you were incredibly helpful.
Me:
He texted you?
Dad:
Still has my number from when he was a kid. He wanted to thank me for raising such a smart daughter.
I stop walking again, and this time Jess doesn't bump into me because she's reading over my shoulder.
"Okay," she says. "NOW I'm convinced this is the beginning of something."
Maybe it is.
"Come on," Jess says, linking her arm through mine. "Let's get that ice cream before the dining hall closes. You can tell me more about this MRI consultation you're definitely not excited about."
"I'm not excited about it."
"Sure you're not. That's why you're smiling."
I touch my face automatically. "I'm not smiling."
"You're totally smiling. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."
We walk toward the dining hall, and I try to ignore the fact that she's probably right. About the smiling, and maybe about everything else too.