This essay was chosen for the 2023 UNE-St. Francis Alumni Council Scholarship.
A Chance to Grow
As many 17-year-olds do, I entered my junior year of high school claiming to know exactly what I wanted to accomplish after graduation. Burnt out from striving for achievement in the competitive, often cutthroat academic environment that my suburban high school was infamous for, I gave little thought to my major or future career path. Not that it mattered. After all, I reasoned, I wasn’t going to college to be a student, but an athlete. A Division I cross country runner, to be exact. From the moment I finished my first race in 7th grade, I had been completely dialed into the sport. It quickly became my life; my social identity; my obsession. And I was good at it, at least within our school’s conference and class, which, looking back, wasn’t particularly deep in talent. I was a big fish in a small pond, winning state titles and setting course records but never making an impact on the national scene. I was convinced that would change my junior year, when the potential of an athletic scholarship would surely push me to faster times; better accolades. By then it wasn’t so fun anymore, and I’d long lost the pure joy of the sport, but that was irrelevant. Running was so ingrained in who I was, and, more importantly, it was what everyone expected me to do, that there was little question as to whether I’d continue on to the next level. I filled out a handful of recruiting questionnaires and spoke to coaches by phone, cobbling together halfhearted answers when they asked why I liked their school academically. One coach showed a particular interest in me. She thought I could be a strong 10k runner on the track, and together, we decided I would run some races of that distance during the spring. If my times matched up to her standards, I would be a shoo-in on the team.
Then, well, Covid happened. Race by race, my thoughtfully crafted track season dissolved. Plans to visit the school and a number of others were canceled. I responded in the way that I always have to stressful things: by running more. I would log 13 miles before Zoom biology class, then go out for another six later in the afternoon. Without a race looming on the horizon, I felt free to train however I wanted. I explored local trails, ran up ski mountains, and pushed myself to go farther than I ever had before. Having been drawn to longer distances since I began running, I quickly found myself covering 80, then 90, then 100 miles per week. Somewhere in all of those miles, and to this day I can’t remember when, I decided that I no longer wanted to pursue collegiate running. Instead, inspired by those beautiful solo runs, I would create an athletic career based on my passion for the sport, a passion first born out of a deep love for movement and exploring the world around me, and tarnished only by the weight of pressure and expectation. I cold-called all of the coaches to tell them. Before contacting one school, which would have been a reach academically but a great fit athletically, my dad begged me to reconsider. He told me I was making a mistake; questioned how I could so quickly give up on a years-long vision. I made the phone call.
Outside of running, with the blessing of extra time on my hands, I developed two hobbies that quickly became much more. The first was farming. After spending my days parked in front of a computer for virtual classes, I was eager to get outside, dial off my brain, and work with my hands. That summer, I picked up a job at a farmstand half a mile from my home. The work, though menial in nature, felt immensely purposeful. As the pandemic led people back to their local farms in droves, the days were busy and rewarding. I washed and packed vegetables, stocked shelves, and weeded the fields. After work (and perhaps a second run), I would retreat to the plot I built at a local community garden, adding to the dirt under my fingernails. I read books about farming before bed; listened to podcasts as I harvested tomatoes or trellised peas. Sustainable agriculture fascinated and invigorated me in a way no class ever had. I dreamed of opening my own farm; built a vision for it on those long runs before the sun rose. Before I knew it, I had applied and accepted at UMass Amherst, with an intended major of Sustainable Food and Farming. The summer before college, I apprenticed on a 10-acre organic vegetable operation in the White Mountains, living in a 1960s teardrop trailer on the edge of the property and spending my days fully engaged in the business of running a farm. That fall, I packed my bags and moved into a tiny 4th floor dormitory in the middle of the sprawling Western Massachusetts campus.
The second hobby, developed alongside farming, was somewhat more unexpected, at least for me. I had heard of a farmer who volunteered with her town’s fire department, and immediately became enthralled. Upon realizing that my town didn’t have a volunteer squad, I decided, on a whim, to become an EMT. I hated blood, had always sworn I would never work in healthcare, and could lift 30 pounds above my waist on a good day. But I fell in love with the course material. Learning the anatomy; the pathophysiology behind what makes a human healthy or sick, captivated me. Due to Covid, the class was held mostly online, with only two in-person skills days, where I learned to assemble oxygen tanks and give CPR alongside a dozen burly, middle-aged men. I passed the national exam filled with new knowledge but woefully unprepared for the hands-on business of being an EMT. That didn’t matter. It felt as though I’d opened up a whole new world.
College began, and I found myself bored stiff. Botany was a snooze, permaculture was equally uninteresting, and I quickly became convinced that there was no place on earth where time passed slower than in my soils lecture hall, listening to the ancient professor drone on and on. Worst of all, I’d finished my summer internship on the farm feeling thoroughly burnt out. When my sustainable agriculture class went to visit and volunteer on various local farms, just the action of putting my hands in the soil brought back memories of the constant exhaustion and dissatisfaction of the summer. To distract myself, I decided to apply for the collegiate EMS squad, where I’d finally have the opportunity to put my knowledge and skills into practice. On the full-day entrance exam, I waited nervously with other applicants in a crowded lecture hall for three hours before being called into a small classroom and told I’d failed the skills portion. Walking back to my dorm, on the phone with my parents, I broke down. It was my ‘aha’ moment. That the idea of not working to help people in their time of need hurt so much made me realize this was what I was meant to do. With few doubts, I finished the semester at UMass and transferred to the University of New England to major in nursing. It would be one of the best decisions I ever made.
Writing and reflecting on these last few years, I realize, above all, how indecisive I have been. My path has not been straight, but instead jagged and zig-zagging from one extreme to another. But, if you look at it a different way, I have been given the space to discover who I am; to be creative and try on new ideas. Before the world – and my world – was upended by Covid 19, I had put my future into a neatly crafted, small-minded box of expectations. I have little doubt that this box would have remained without the time and freedom to explore, as well as freedom from self-imposed objectives and rigidly developed plans.
It wouldn’t be right to not acknowledge that I have been extremely privileged in this journey. Throughout the pandemic, myself and those in my family remained healthy, both physically and mentally. My parents kept their jobs; we lost no one close to us. My sister and I thrived in the virtual academic environment. Not all were so fortunate. Multiple studies, including one from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, found that mental health among students during this time largely plummeted, with mental-health related emergency room visits among teens rising by an alarming 31% (Yard et. al., 2021). Subsequent research revealed concerning drops in test scores; rising rates of chronic absenteeism; students picking up extra jobs to support struggling families. For so many, Covid-19 has been painful in more ways than one. But not all has been lost. Among the positive effects of the pandemic on students include, as I found, more time and freedom to explore both who we are and what we want to become. Like any major event in history, the impacts of the Coronavirus vary widely from person to person; group to group, especially among students. We can look back and make generalizations, but it is also necessary to look at the unique stories offered by each individual.
Today, I am a sophomore in UNE’s nursing program. My classes, though challenging, are never boring and always thought-provoking. I don’t know exactly what kind of nursing I’ll pursue, and that’s ok. Currently, I work as a CNA in memory care, and, during the upcoming semester, I’ll be completing an independent study to explore the role of the school nurse. Farming has a special place in my heart, and I still work at that local farmstand and keep up my garden. When I get my own place, I’ll probably raise chickens or sheep. Running is also a joy again. I finished my first 50k ultramarathon during my senior year of high school, and since then, have completed five more, plus four marathons and a 50-miler. This fall, I surprised myself by winning the Maine Marathon, running a huge personal best of 2:52:14. I never regret my decision to not run in the NCAA. Often, I can’t help but wonder how this story would be different had Covid-19 never hit. Would I be attending a school down south, majoring in something I wasn’t passionate about, forever running after my own expectations? I’m not sure, but I do know that Covid changed things. For better or worse, Covid forced all students on a path of self-discovery, allowing them to develop their identities both in and beyond the classroom. I feel fortunate that I like the girl who emerged on the other side.
