I should be considered for this scholarship because I am not simply trying to pay for college. I am trying to turn my education into a career of helping people move, recover, and live stronger lives. I am currently an Exercise Science student at Tennessee Tech University with a dual concentration in Pre-Physical Therapy and Exercise Physiology. My academic goal is to continue into graduate school for physical therapy, while also building knowledge in strength and conditioning and nutrition. I have maintained a 4.0 GPA at Tennessee Tech after earning strong grades at the University of Louisiana Monroe, where I began my college athletic career. In high school, I completed a demanding schedule of AP, honors, and dual enrollment classes, which helped prepare me for college-level work and put me on pace to graduate early. Academics matter deeply to me because I see them as preparation for service. I do not want to study exercise science only to earn a diploma. I want to understand how the body moves, adapts, heals, and performs so I can eventually help people through injury, recovery, and long-term health. I am a member of the National Strength and Conditioning Association and am working toward becoming a Certified Strength and Conditioning Specialist. I also plan to pursue a nutrition certification, such as Precision Nutrition Level 1, because physical therapy, strength, and nutrition all work together. My long-term goal is to open a facility that combines physical therapy, strength and conditioning, and nutrition under one roof. Athletics have shaped that goal. I started as a competitive artistic figure skater, earning national placements before COVID and financial circumstances forced me to leave the sport. I then began volleyball in high school, even though I was years behind many players my age. Through hard work, I became a varsity captain, earned All-District honors, and continued my career as a Division I volleyball player at the University of Louisiana Monroe. After tearing my ACL, having surgery, losing my scholarship, and transferring, I rebuilt my path again. I now compete in Division I beach volleyball at Tennessee Tech. That journey taught me resilience, but it also showed me how much people need support when their bodies fail them. Injury is not only physical. It affects confidence, identity, and sometimes the future a person thought they were building. Because I have lived that, I want to become the kind of healthcare and performance professional who helps people recover fully, not just enough to be technically cleared. My extracurricular activities and work experiences reflect that direction. During my senior year of high school, I interned at BioFit Performance, a sports performance facility where I shadowed strength coaches, helped lead group and semi-private training sessions, assisted with program design, tracked client progress, and supported facility operations. That experience showed me that coaching is not just writing workouts. It is observing movement, communicating clearly, adjusting to individual needs, and helping people believe improvement is possible. I have also worked summer beach volleyball camps at Tennessee Tech and helped lead youth volleyball skills workshops at The Master’s Academy “Junior Eagle” camps. Working with younger athletes has taught me patience and communication. You cannot coach every athlete the same way. Some need a correction, some need confidence, and some need someone to explain the same skill three different ways until it finally clicks. Service has also been an important part of my life. At Orlando Grace Church, I served on the audio-visual team during weekly and holiday services. I helped run equipment and presentations, troubleshoot lighting and projector issues, and proofread or modify presentation slides. It was not a public role, but it mattered. When the technology works, people can worship and participate without distraction. That kind of behind-the-scenes service taught me responsibility and humility. I also volunteered with special events for the Sanford Pregnancy Center from 2022 to 2025, helping with registration, hydration stations, cleanup, and event support. Those experiences reminded me that service often means doing whatever is needed, even if the task is small. Whether I was helping at church, supporting an event, tutoring younger students through honor societies, or teaching young athletes, I learned that impact is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is simply showing up, serving faithfully, and helping make someone else’s path easier. This scholarship would help reduce the financial pressure of pursuing a demanding education while competing as a college athlete. But more than that, it would support a student who is already working toward a clear purpose. My ambition is not only to succeed personally. My drive comes from wanting to use what I have learned through sports, injury, academics, faith, and service to help others. I believe movement is deeply connected to quality of life. For an athlete, it may mean returning to competition. For an older adult, it may mean staying independent. For someone recovering from injury, it may mean trusting their body again. My goal is to build a career that helps people recover, rebuild, and keep going. That is why I believe I should be considered for this scholarship.

Social media is replete with nutrition advice, some good and some bad. One video may have a doctor warning people about food dyes, while the next shows someone preparing an entire recipe in a sink because, apparently, a bowl would not do. Patients and families are surrounded by information, but information is not the same as guidance. The real challenge is helping people understand what matters, what applies to them, and how to build patterns they can actually sustain. That is why I do not want to be an encyclopedia. Anybody can access information from ChatGPT. I want nutrition to be part of how I help people through ongoing relationships. Relationships build trust. Trust builds patterns. Patterns build habits. Habits become sustainable. Nutrition is already a major part of my education and athletic life. As an exercise science student at Tennessee Tech University, I study how the body moves, adapts, recovers, and performs. Nutrition is not separate from that. It affects energy, inflammation, tissue repair, immune function, cardiovascular health, body composition, and recovery from injury. As a Division I beach volleyball player, I also live with the daily reality that food is fuel. What I eat affects how I train, how I recover, and how prepared I am to compete. My own experience with injury and rehabilitation shaped how I see patient education. Recovery is not about one appointment or one exercise. It depends on many small choices repeated over time: training, sleep, hydration, nutrition, stress management, and whether the person understands why any of it matters. That same principle applies to patients and families facing chronic disease. Nutritional choices can support healthier weight, better blood sugar control, reduced inflammation, improved cardiovascular health, and better quality of life. But information only helps when it becomes a habit. My short-term goals are to graduate with my exercise science degree, continue into graduate school, earn strength and conditioning credentials such as the CSCS, and pursue a nutrition certification such as Precision Nutrition Level 1. My long-term goal is to open a specialized facility that combines physical therapy, nutrition, and strength and conditioning under one roof. Each of those services can help people on its own, but together they can create something stronger. Physical therapy can help people recover. Strength and conditioning can help them rebuild. Nutrition can support energy, healing, and long-term health. The real power is in combining them so patients are not left to piece everything together alone. The common weakness in all three areas is consistency. People often do what they are told until they feel better, then stop. They finish physical therapy but do not keep building strength. They start eating better but slowly return to old habits. They understand what they should do, but daily life gets in the way. An ongoing relationship can change that. My first step would be to listen. Before telling patients what to eat, I would want to understand their lives. Who buys the groceries? Who cooks? What is affordable? What foods are connected to family, culture, comfort, or routine? Does the patient live alone? Are they tired, stressed, or in pain? A nutrition plan that ignores those realities may look impressive on paper, but it will fail in the kitchen. From there, I would focus on simple, repeatable changes and include families when possible. Better nutrition cannot control everything, but with trust, repetition, and support, it can give patients one more way to participate in their own health instead of feeling powerless.

Everyone is talking about the future of artificial intelligence in their industry, and strength and conditioning is no exception. AI is useful, to be sure. It can help track workloads, analyze wearables, and identify patterns in performance data. But AI is not the foundation of strength and conditioning. Research is. The future of this field is the same as it has always been: research shaping how athletes train, recover, prevent injuries, and return to competition. That matters because research is only as strong as the athletes it studies. In June 2026, FIFA announced its Female Health and Performance Project after recognizing that much of the research shaping training and recovery has been built around male athletes. A review of more than 5,000 sports science studies published between 2014 and 2020 found that only 34% of participants were female, and only 6% of studies focused exclusively on women. That gap matters. If female athletes are underrepresented in the research, then the training models, recovery strategies, and injury-prevention programs built from that research will miss the mark. I relate to this personally because I had ACL surgery and went through extensive physical therapy. As an athlete, I learned that being medically cleared is not always the same as being ready. Returning to sport requires more than healing. It requires strength, confidence, movement quality, and a plan that connects rehabilitation to performance. For athletes in sports that demand jumping, cutting, and quick changes of direction, that bridge is critical. My experience was that I did not always get that bridge. Too often, my rehabilitation felt like a one-size-fits-all approach instead of a plan built around my sport, my goals, and the movements I needed to trust again. That experience did not discourage me from the field. It made me want to improve it. At Tennessee Tech University, I am a Division I beach volleyball player majoring in exercise science. I am also a member of the National Strength and Conditioning Association and am working toward becoming a Certified Strength and Conditioning Specialist. My goal is to continue my education after graduation by pursuing physical therapy, where I hope to be involved in research related to athlete performance, recovery, and injury prevention. I have already started moving toward this career path. During my senior year of high school, I interned at BioFit Performance near UCF, where I had the opportunity to train and help teach classes. That experience showed me that strength and conditioning is not just about designing workouts. It is about watching how people move, communicating clearly, adjusting to individual needs, and helping athletes understand why they are training a certain way. My long-term goal is to open a center that combines physical therapy and strength and conditioning under one roof. I want athletes to receive support before injury, during recovery, and after they return to competition. I also want that center to contribute to research, so athletes are not only benefiting from better information but helping create it. Better research should not stay trapped in journals or only reach professional athletes with large support staffs. It should shape how everyday athletes, high school athletes, college athletes, and injured athletes are trained and cared for. The future of strength and conditioning will not be defined by technology alone. It will be defined by better evidence, especially for athletes who have been understudied, and by professionals who know how to turn that evidence into real world training. I want to help build that future by better connecting research, rehabilitation, and technology so all athletes can be more prepared to last.

On paper, my journey to collegiate beach volleyball makes very little sense. I did not grow up diving in the sand or chasing sunsets with a volleyball in hand. I grew up in sequins. At seven years old, I laced up figure skates and spent the next decade chasing perfection. I competed nationally in team dance and finished one point shy of representing the United States at the World Championships. My childhood involved early mornings, rhinestones, and very cold rinks. Beach volleyball was… not the plan. Then COVID hit. Rinks closed. Ownership changed. Finances shifted. The sport that had defined me ended abruptly and painfully. So naturally, I decided to start over in one of the most competitive team sports in the country—as a sophomore in high school. Years behind everyone else. Perfect timing. I had no résumé. My coach wasn’t very encouraging about my recruiting prospects. But I persisted. I attended every camp and lesson my family could afford, studied YouTube videos, and practiced in my backyard under the hot Florida sun. Somewhere in that grind, I realized I loved being outside. I loved the wind altering the ball’s path. I loved that nothing was controlled. I also loved spending time with my dad, who ordered a stack of budget volleyballs from Amazon and spent his evenings chasing down the ones I shanked all over the backyard (and occasionally over the fence into the street). Thankfully, no cars were harmed in the process. That’s how beach volleyball quietly became the right fit. Unlike indoor, beach exposes everything. Two players. No substitutions. No hiding in rotations. If serve receive falls apart, it’s yours. If the wind shifts, you adjust. The partnership reminds me of team dance—two athletes completely accountable to one another who form deep friendships. Recruiting was not smooth. My high school had a beach team but it lacked the competitive depth I needed, so I initially accepted a Division I indoor roster spot at the University of Louisiana Monroe. After one season and a partial ACL tear that required surgery out of state, I faced another pivot. I entered the transfer portal and chose to pursue beach volleyball fully—even though it meant giving up a portion of my athletic aid. Beach is not as well funded as indoor. Scholarships are limited. Switching required sacrifice. I made it anyway and transferred to Tennessee Tech. I am majoring in Exercise Science with plans to earn my Doctor of Physical Therapy degree. My ACL rehab changed the way I see sport. My own injuries introduced me to sports rehabilitation from the patient’s side. I became fascinated with how the body rebuilds itself after setbacks. My goal is to open a sports performance and rehabilitation clinic specializing in injury prevention and return-to-play programs for young athletes. I want to offer movement screenings for youth beach players, develop strength programs tailored to sand athletes, and create affordable access to injury prevention tools before small issues become season-ending injuries. I also plan to coach. Beach volleyball is expanding, but growth requires infrastructure: knowledgeable coaches, facilities, and sponsors. I want to help build that foundation. My career will allow me to serve athletes not just when they are injured, but also to share my athletic experience to expand the sport and train athletes. From skating rinks to sand courts, my path has never been straight. But rebuilding taught me something the sand reinforces every day: instability builds strength. The scenic route didn’t just make me a better athlete. It prepared me to invest in the future of the sport that gave me a second beginning.

I've gone to church my entire life and served in many ways, including being the only teenager on my church’s A/V team. But there is a difference between talking about faith and having your faith truly tested. Mine was tested in ways I never expected. My dad served as a law enforcement officer for 25 years. That job gave him purpose and identity, and it allowed him to protect and serve others every day. When he was injured in the line of duty, everything changed. The injury did not look severe from the outside, but it forced him into early retirement. Suddenly, he was navigating endless medical appointments, physical therapy, and the loss of the role that had defined him. His retirement also led to my first test. I had been figure skating since I was seven years old. Early mornings, constant training, and competitions shaped my life. I became a national champion and missed making the U.S. National Team by just one point. Skating was not just something I did. It was who I was. After my dad’s injury, however, we could no longer afford the training that elite levels required. Training at that level was no longer possible, and I had to walk away from the sport entirely. Along with it went dreams of world championships and the Olympics. I questioned everything. In hindsight, it felt selfish to grieve my athletic career while my dad faced a life changing injury, but the disappointment was real. I had to ask myself whether my faith could endure when success was taken away. What carried me through that season was putting my faith into action. I began volunteering at a crisis pregnancy center, initially to fulfill service hours. That experience quickly became transformational. I met women who were overwhelmed, afraid, and facing unimaginable decisions. Their needs put my own struggles into perspective. I could not fix their circumstances, but I could listen, organize donations, help with fundraising, and simply be present. Serving there taught me that true faith in God must be shared with others both in word and in deed. Eventually, I decided to try volleyball, which felt intimidating and unfamiliar. I never played a team sport and had to learn to be comfortable being a beginner. Over time, I grew to love the teamwork and sense of belonging. Just as I began to find my stride, I suffered a serious injury. It felt like history repeating itself. Rehabilitation, however, changed me. I met others recovering from injuries, including people whose careers and independence had been taken from them, much like my dad’s. I saw how deeply injury affects not only the body but also a person’s identity and hope. I listened, encouraged them, and shared my faith when it felt natural. I learned that healing requires more than physical treatment. It requires belief, patience, and support. When I returned to volleyball, I was stronger physically, but more importantly, I had clarity. I knew I wanted a career that allowed me to walk with people through recovery and restoration. Physical therapy and medicine offer a way to serve the whole person, not just the injury. The Jim Maxwell Memorial Scholarship matters to me because it reflects this holistic view of care, addressing physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual needs. My experiences with loss, service, injury, and faith have shaped who I am and where I am going. This scholarship would help me continue my education at Tennessee Tech University, where I hope to serve others by combining medicine, compassion, and faith, and by offering not only physical healing, but true hope.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been surrounded by strong women who push through obstacles they never should have had to face in the first place. Growing up in competitive sports, I saw how often girls and women were overlooked, underestimated, or treated as an afterthought. Resources were thinner, expectations were lower, and injuries were brushed off as “just part of being an athlete.” It didn’t take long for me to realize that women in sports are asked to prove their worth twice as often while receiving half the support. Those experiences shaped the reason I’m pursuing a degree in Kinesiology with an Exercise Science/Pre-Physical Therapy concentration. I want to be the person who helps change that reality. Women athletes deserve more than encouragement—they deserve science that centers them, training that protects them, and healthcare professionals who listen when something feels wrong. My interest in sports medicine deepened during my time at BioFit Athletic Performance. Working with athletes showed me the stark differences between how male and female athletes are treated. Female athletes face significantly higher ACL injury rates, yet most training programs are built around male biomechanics. It’s not just unfair; it’s dangerous. Seeing girls push through pain because they were told they were “fine” made me realize how badly the field needs practitioners who take women seriously. It isn’t just sports. In healthcare, women are often dismissed, misdiagnosed, or made to feel dramatic for advocating for their own bodies. I’ve watched women I care about get brushed aside when they needed help the most. I want to be the kind of professional who treats female patients with respect from the start—no minimizing, no second-guessing, and no forcing them to convince someone that their own pain is real. I’ve been fortunate to have mentors who showed me what powerful women can do when they support each other. Coaches, teachers, and trainers—most of them women—taught me that confidence grows when someone believes in you. Their guidance pushed me through moments when I doubted myself, and their example taught me what true leadership looks like. I want to pay that forward. I want younger girls, especially those in male-dominated sports, to look at me and know that they deserve a safe training environment, a supportive team, and a future in athletics if that’s what they choose. My goals extend beyond athletics. Women in the military, law enforcement, and other physically demanding careers also face preventable injuries because their training programs are designed around male standards. Their lives depend on their bodies, yet their needs are often ignored. I hope to help change that by advocating for safer, more thoughtful training programs that recognize the unique biomechanics of women. Whether someone is stepping onto a field or stepping into a dangerous job, they deserve to be protected—not placed at a disadvantage because of outdated assumptions. Education has given me direction by showing me how I can turn my experiences into impact. Every class I take, every athlete I work with, and every barrier I see reinforces why I chose this path. I want to build a career that lifts women up—not just by treating injuries, but by preventing them, advocating for them, and helping build a world where female strength is recognized instead of doubted. I’m still becoming the woman I want to be, but I already know the kind of difference I want to make. And I’m ready to fight for it.

When I look back at the last few years, the biggest shifts in my life didn’t happen in loud, dramatic moments. They happened quietly—walking into a classroom I never expected to be in, meeting a mentor at exactly the right time, or discovering that what I thought was an ending was actually the beginning of something better. My education has given me direction, confidence, and a sense of purpose that I didn’t always have. It helped me rebuild when I lost the thing I cared about most, and it continues to shape the person I am becoming. For most of my childhood, I was a figure skater. It wasn’t a hobby—it was everything. I started at seven, practiced four hours a day, and worked my way to being one point shy of qualifying for the U.S. National Team. I thought I knew exactly who I was and where my life was going. Then COVID hit. The rink shut down, my coaches moved, and the financial strain became too much. Almost overnight, skating was gone. I remember sitting on my bedroom floor with my skates in my lap, feeling like someone had erased my entire identity. My dad told me, “Effort never goes to waste. Skating may be over, but life isn’t.” At the time, I didn’t believe him. But I held onto his words anyway. Months later, when I joined the volleyball team my sophomore year—years behind everyone else—they became the foundation I rebuilt myself on. I was inexperienced, undertrained, and surrounded by girls who had been playing club since elementary school. I decided that if I couldn’t change how late I started, I could control how hard I worked. I went to every clinic, camp, open gym, indoor and beach practice I could find. There were nights I stayed on the court until someone turned the lights off. By senior year, I earned All-District honors and a preferred walk-on opportunity at the University of Louisiana Monroe, a Division I program. But pushing myself that hard came with consequences. I ignored pain until my legs felt like concrete every time I walked up stairs. My dad eventually forced me to see a physical therapist named Dr. Greg. I expected to be told to quit. Instead, he asked real questions—about my training load, sleep, stress, and why I was pushing myself so relentlessly. For the first time, someone looked at me and saw not just an athlete but a person who was trying too hard to hold everything together. He taught me how to train smarter, not just harder. He helped me feel like myself again. And without realizing it, he introduced me to the field that would give me a new direction. At ULM, I chose to major in Kinesiology with an Exercise Science/Pre-Physical Therapy concentration because I wanted to understand the body—the mechanics behind movement, strength, injury, and recovery. But my education quickly became more than anatomy charts or lab assignments. It became the first time I felt myself moving toward a future I chose, not one I inherited or stumbled into. Every class, every internship, and every mentor helped me understand who I want to be and how I want to show up for others. My internship at BioFit Performance deepened that understanding. I originally expected to shadow, but because I showed up early, stayed late, and took initiative, the coaches trusted me with real responsibility. I helped lead classes and learned what genuine leadership feels like—not being the loudest or most talented, but being the person who is consistent, caring, and invested. I saw how people return to coaches and trainers not just for workouts, but because someone believes in them. That idea changed me: people heal when they are supported, heard, and guided, not just corrected. That lesson follows me everywhere—into school, into sports, and into the future I’m building. My education has shaped my goals in a way I never expected. I once thought I would grow up to be an elite athlete. Now, I want to spend my career helping others—especially people whose lives depend on their physical abilities. Athletes, yes, but also military personnel, law enforcement officers, firefighters, and first responders. These are people who can’t simply “rest” an injury. Their performance affects their safety, identity, and sometimes their survival. I know what it feels like to lose something that defines you. I know what it feels like to be afraid that your body is failing you. My goal is to make sure the people I work with never feel like they’re facing those fears alone. Education hasn’t just guided my career path—it has helped me rise above moments that could have broken me. Losing skating felt like losing a piece of myself. Starting volleyball late felt humiliating at times. Balancing Division I athletics with school is exhausting and requires sacrifices most people never see. But each challenge pushed me forward and clarified what kind of person I want to be. Someone resilient. Someone compassionate. Someone who uses their knowledge to make someone else’s life better. I’m proud of the direction I’m heading, but I also know I’m just getting started. My education is giving me the tools to build a future where I can support people the same way others supported me—my dad, my coaches, my mentors at BioFit, and Dr. Greg. As I work toward becoming a physical therapist, I want to help others rediscover confidence, purpose, and the belief that their story isn’t over. Because I’ve learned firsthand that sometimes the biggest transformations come from the hardest moments, and the right guidance can turn loss into direction. My journey hasn’t been easy, but it has shaped me into someone determined to rise higher—and bring others with me.

My shins ached with a throbbing pain I could no longer ignore. I thought I could juggle high school beach volleyball and indoor club volleyball at the same time. That meant two practices a day, and eventually, the toll caught up. The quick backstory is that I started figure skating at age seven and by ten, I was a national champion. By the time I entered high school, my skating career filled an entire wall with medals. My freshman year I missed being on the U.S. National Team by just one point. But in 2021, after COVID shut down the rinks, a combination of circumstances and family finances forced me to quit. It felt like my identity had been taken from me. My parents encouraged me to try volleyball. So in my sophomore year, I made the switch. Just a few months later, I played my first volleyball game. Going from a nationally ranked figure skater to a junior varsity athlete was humbling. I was behind my peers in every way, but I was determined to earn a college roster spot. That relentless pursuit, however, came at a cost. And that’s how I wound up with shin splints. While I wouldn’t call an injury “lucky,” the experience led me toward a new sense of purpose and my eventual major. My dad insisted I see a doctor, but I resisted; doctors seemed indifferent to my hopes of college recruitment. Fortunately, my dad found a physical therapist who genuinely cared about my injury and my future. It was there I discovered how my passion for sports could evolve into a viable career. During one of those visits, I noticed something: the therapist had charts and paperwork but didn’t ask about things like my nutrition or sleep—factors that clearly affect recovery. He asked how I felt, but there was no measurable data. As a female athlete, I recognized a gap. And that’s when I found my calling. Researching sports medicine, I came across startling statistics. For example, one in four athletes with an ACL tear won’t return to their prior level. My own experience echoed that lack of holistic care. No one asked about my energy levels or anything beyond “how does it feel today?” It felt like an incomplete picture. I began to wonder: what if we could change that? We already wear devices that track heart rate, sleep, and more. What if therapists could access that information in real time? I imagined a tool that could scan a week’s worth of data before a session, flag warning signs, and suggest an approach based on how an athlete is doing overall, not just feeling, but real data. To bring that vision to life, I plan to pursue a degree at the University of Louisiana Monroe that combines kinesiology, exercise science, computer science, and mathematics. Calculus will be foundational to my work. It offers a framework to model how the body responds to stress, motion, and recovery. Whether it's algorithms to predict injury risk or analyzing rates of muscle repair, I’ll need calculus to understand change, not just in theory, but in the day-to-day lives of athletes. Calculus is more than a course requirement; it links biology, physics, and engineering. In physical therapy, it models joint forces. In AI, it optimizes machine learning. In nutrition, it tracks metabolic changes. Like learning a new sport, mastering calculus takes practice and discipline, but its reach is powerful. I want to use it to create smarter, more responsive tools that empower athletes with science-backed care. That’s the impact calculus makes in the real world.

My shins ached with a throbbing pain that I could no longer ignore. I thought I could juggle high school beach volleyball and indoor club volleyball at the same time. That meant two practices a day, and well, the toll caught up. The quick backstory is that I started figure skating at age seven and by ten, I was a national champion. By the time I entered high school, my skating career eventually filled an entire wall with medals. My freshman year I missed being on the U.S. National Team by just a point. But in 2021, after COVID shut down the rinks, the combination of circumstances and family finances forced me to quit. It felt like my identity had been taken from me. But my parents encouraged me to try volleyball. So in my sophomore year, I made the switch to volleyball. Just a few months later, I played my first ever volleyball game. Going from a nationally ranked figure skater to a junior varsity team was humbling, for sure. I was behind my peers in every way, but I was determined to earn a spot on a college roster. That relentless pursuit, however, came at a cost. And that’s how I wound up with shin splints. While I wouldn’t call an injury “lucky,” the experience led me toward a new sense of purpose and eventually my chosen major. My dad insisted on seeing a doctor, but I resisted; doctors seemed indifferent to my aspirations of college recruitment. Fortunately, my dad found a physical therapist who genuinely cared about my injury and my future. It was there I discovered how my passion for sports could evolve into a viable career. During one of those visits, I realized something: The physical therapist had charts and paperwork but didn’t ask about things such as my nutrition or other metrics that would affect my therapy. He’d ask me how I felt but there was no measurable data. As a female athlete, I recognized a huge gap. And that’s when I found my calling. Researching sports medicine, I saw some startling statistics. Take, for instance, one in four athletes with an ACL tear won't play at their prior level again. Then there was my personal experience. When I was going through therapy, I noticed something odd: no one asked about my nutrition, my energy levels, or anything beyond “how does it feel today?” It felt like an incomplete picture. I started thinking, what if we could change that? We already wear devices that track heart rate, sleep, and more. What if therapists could use that information in real time? I started imagining a tool that could scan a week’s worth of data before a session, flag warning signs, and suggest an approach based on how an athlete is doing overall — not just based feelings but actual data. To realize this vision, I plan to pursue a degree at the University of Louisiana Monroe, blending kinesiology and exercise science with computer science and mathematics. I aim to develop AI systems that analyze biometric, dietary, and performance data, transforming it into actionable insights for therapists. Mathematics, including statistics and calculus, will enable me to build predictive models that adapt to each athlete’s recovery patterns, particularly for women, whose needs are often underrepresented. Like William Griggs, who encouraged his daughters to embrace science and math, I will use AI programming, biomechanics, and data analytics to create tools that make therapy more effective. These tools will shorten recovery times, reduce reinjury risks, and empower female athletes with personalized, science-driven care, inspiring more women to pursue STEM.

My shins ached with a throbbing pain that I could no longer ignore. I thought I could juggle high school beach volleyball and indoor club volleyball at the same time. That meant two practices a day, and well, the toll caught up. The quick backstory is that I started figure skating at age seven and by ten, I was a national champion. By the time I entered high school, my skating career eventually filled an entire wall with medals. My freshman year I missed being on the U.S. National Team by just a point. But in 2021, after COVID shut down the rinks, the combination of circumstances and family finances forced me to quit. It felt like my identity had been taken from me. But my parents encouraged me to try volleyball. So in my sophomore year, I made the switch to volleyball. Just a few months later, I played my first ever volleyball game. Going from a nationally ranked figure skater to a junior varsity team was humbling, for sure. I was behind my peers in every way, but I was determined to earn a spot on a college roster. That relentless pursuit, however, came at a cost. And that’s how I wound up with shin splints. While I wouldn’t call an injury “lucky,” the experience led me toward a new sense of purpose and eventually my chosen major. My dad insisted on seeing a doctor, but I resisted; doctors seemed indifferent to my aspirations of college recruitment. Fortunately, my dad found a physical therapist who genuinely cared about my injury and my future. And ironically, it was there I discovered how my passion and love for sports could evolve into a viable career. During one of those visits, I realized something that stuck with me: The physical therapist had charts and paperwork but didn’t ask about things such as my nutrition or other metrics that would affect my therapy. He’d ask me how I felt but there was no measurable data. As a female athlete, I recognized a huge gap. And that’s when I found my calling. Researching sports medicine, I saw some startling statistics. Take, for instance, one in four athletes with an ACL tear won't play at their prior level again. Then there was my personal experience. When I was going through therapy, I noticed something odd: no one asked about my nutrition, my energy levels, or anything beyond “how does it feel today?” It felt like an incomplete picture. I started thinking, what if we could change that? We already wear devices that track heart rate, sleep, and much more. What if therapists could use that information in real time? I started imagining a tool that could scan a week’s worth of data before a session, flag warning signs, and suggest an approach based on how an athlete is doing overall — not just based on a feeling but actual data. If we use tech the right way, I believe we can help players recover faster and smarter. Therapists could focus more on the person in front of them, instead of spending half the session writing notes. Athletes would feel more connected to their therapist. That’s what I want to work on. I want to help build the systems that make that kind of care possible, combining programming with what I’ll learn in kinesiology, physical therapy, and nutrition. AI is a tool, but it needs the right goals behind it. My goal is to meld STEM fields to make AI responsibly to give physical therapists more data and time to get athletes back into action.

My shins ached with a throbbing pain that I could no longer ignore. I thought I could juggle high school beach volleyball and indoor club volleyball at the same time. That meant two practices a day, and well, the toll caught up. The quick backstory is that I started figure skating at age seven and by ten, I was a national champion. By the time I entered high school, my skating career eventually filled an entire wall with medals. My freshman year I missed being on the U.S. National Team by just a point. But in 2021, after COVID shut down the rinks, the combination of circumstances and family finances forced me to quit. It felt like my identity had been taken from me. But my parents encouraged me to try volleyball. So in my sophomore year, I made the switch to volleyball. Just a few months later, I played my first ever volleyball game. Going from a nationally ranked figure skater to a junior varsity team was humbling, for sure. I was behind my peers in every way, but I was determined to earn a spot on a college roster. That relentless pursuit, however, came at a cost. And that’s how I wound up with shin splints. While I wouldn’t call an injury “lucky,” the experience led me toward a new sense of purpose and eventually my chosen major. My dad insisted on seeing a doctor, but I resisted; doctors seemed indifferent to my aspirations of college recruitment. Fortunately, my dad found a physical therapist who genuinely cared about my injury and my future. And ironically, it was there I discovered how my passion and love for sports could evolve into a viable career. During one of those visits, I realized something that stuck with me: The physical therapist had charts and paperwork but didn’t ask about things such as my nutrition or other metrics that would affect my therapy. He’d ask me how I felt but there was no measurable data. As a female athlete, I recognized a huge gap. And that’s when I found my calling. Researching sports medicine, I saw some startling statistics. Take, for instance, one in four athletes with an ACL tear won't play at their prior level again. Then there was my personal experience. When I was going through therapy, I noticed something odd: no one asked about my nutrition, my energy levels, or anything beyond “how does it feel today?” It felt like an incomplete picture. I started thinking, what if we could change that? We already wear devices that track heart rate, sleep, and much more. What if therapists could use that information in real time? I started imagining a tool that could scan a week’s worth of data before a session, flag warning signs, and suggest an approach based on how an athlete is doing overall — not just based on a feeling but actual data. If we use tech the right way, I believe we can help players recover faster and smarter. Therapists could focus more on the person in front of them, instead of spending half the session writing notes. Athletes would feel more connected to their therapist. That’s what I want to work on. I want to help build the systems that make that kind of care possible, combining programming with what I’ll learn in kinesiology, physical therapy, and nutrition. AI is a tool, but it needs the right goals behind it. My goal is to meld STEM fields to make AI responsibly to give physical therapists more data and time to get athletes back into action.

As a female volleyball athlete, I became a fan of LeBron James through his Nike shoes, which I’ve worn for three years. Their grip and support power my jump serves and quick lateral moves, blending performance with style. LeBron’s on-court dominance, from his soaring dunks to his selfless playmaking, mirrors the versatility I strive for on the volleyball court. His off-court work, like the I PROMISE School and advocacy for equality, inspires me as a young woman to use sports for positive impact. What stands out most, though, is LeBron’s longevity and his unique journey of playing alongside his son, Bronny, in the NBA—a feat that fuels my hope for a lasting athletic career. Is LeBron the greatest basketball player ever? As a volleyball player, I hesitate to name a GOAT, knowing each generation builds on the last. Comparing LeBron to legends like Michael Jordan, Julius Erving, Kobe Bryant, or Kevin Durant—a fellow forward—feels unfair. Jordan’s relentless competitiveness and six championships defined an era, but modern training wasn’t available. Erving’s aerial artistry revolutionized the game, yet he lacked today’s physical therapy. Bryant’s scoring brilliance and clutch mentality were unmatched, but medical advancements have evolved. Durant’s scoring versatility as a forward rivals LeBron’s, but his career arc is shorter. Advancements in kinesiology, recovery techniques, and medical care allow today’s players, like LeBron, to sustain elite performance longer, making cross-era judgments tricky. LeBron’s 22-year career, still thriving at 40, is a beacon for me. His ability to adapt, from Cleveland’s scrappy leader to Miami’s all-around star, shows a commitment to growth that I emulate in volleyball. Seeing him share the court with Bronny in 2024–25 is incredible—it’s a father-son story that humanizes his legacy and makes me dream of a long career where I can inspire the next generation. While Jordan, Erving, Bryant, and Durant each shaped basketball, LeBron’s enduring excellence and family milestone give me hope that with dedication and modern training, I can extend my volleyball journey and leave a lasting mark.

A Houston-born Texan, I first cheered for Zoe Jarvis at a Houston volleyball camp, awed by her hustle as a star tied to my state, playing for LOVB Austin and the Texas Longhorns. Her maiden name, Fleck, marked her early career, but her rise from a walk-on at UC Santa Barbara to a national champion and Team USA Olympian makes her my favorite athlete. Zoe’s journey, crowned with a 2022 NCAA title and 2023 Pan-American Cup medals, gives hope that my underdog story as a high school senior committed to walk on at the University of Louisiana Monroe (ULM) can soar. My volleyball journey began late, forced by circumstance. A national champion figure skater, I stood atop podiums, but life’s unpredictability led to volleyball in my sophomore year. Trading a national stage for a junior varsity team was humbling, trailing peers signing with D1 schools. Catching up demanded extraordinary effort. My father, eyeing college recruitment, enrolled me in every clinic and camp. One summer Tuesday, exhausted, I argued to skip a sparsely attended clinic, calling it “just one session.” He pointed to our backyard wall: each clinic was a brick, essential to a strong foundation. Missing one could leave a gap, like a missing stone. His words drove me to show up, even drained. This paid off when a top team’s coach picked me over veterans, citing my work ethic, leading to All-District honors and a walk-on roster spot at ULM, where I’ll start in August 2025. Perseverance built recognition—a lesson for a female athlete in a world often overlooking women’s achievements. Zoe’s story mirrors mine, fueling hope. At Sierra Canyon High School, she wasn’t a top recruit but walked on at UCSB, a mid-tier D1 school. Her relentless hustle transformed her into a key player, earning accolades at UCLA and Texas, where she won the 2022 NCAA championship. Her Olympic path with Team USA, competing globally, shows what’s possible. Like Zoe, I’m no star recruit, but I’m committed to ULM, inspired by her determination and work ethic. When I dove for a clutch dig in a high school game, heart racing, I channeled Zoe’s defiance of doubters, proving women can shine through grit. Our shared walk-on roots intertwine our dreams. Zoe’s Texas ties—Longhorns champion, Austin pro—resonate with my Houston pride, making her victories feel personal. I’m preparing to study kinesiology at ULM and volunteer, aiming for sports medicine to help athletes recover, inspired by Zoe’s resilience. Her journey from walk-on to Olympian, praised by teammates like Logan Eggleston for leadership, echoes my father’s “brick by brick” mantra. When I’m exhausted or defeated, her story reminds me dreams are possible, pushing me to keep working. Her global triumphs inspire me to dream of representing Team USA. Her Team USA success gives hope that my upcoming D1 journey at ULM could lead to bigger stages. Zoe Jarvis is my favorite Team USA athlete because her walk-on rise to national and Olympic glory parallels my journey, inspiring hope. From cheering her Texas games as a Houston native to admiring her global triumphs, I see my path reflected. I, too, aim to prove mid-tier D1 walk-ons can build towering legacies—brick by brick, dig by dig, dream by dream with relentless grit. Cheering for Zoe, I cheer for every underdog chasing greatness.

My volleyball journey began very late, forced by circumstance. As a national champion figure skater, I stood atop podiums, but life’s unpredictability led me to switch to volleyball in my sophomore year. Trading a national stage for a junior varsity team was humbling, placing me far behind my peers. They were signing with Division 1 schools, and I was playing my first game. Catching up required an extraordinary work ethic. My father, aware of the stakes for college recruitment, enrolled me in every clinic, camp, and lesson he could find. One summer Tuesday, exhausted and tempted to skip a sparsely attended clinic, I argued it was “just one session.” My father, gesturing to our backyard’s cinder block wall, delivered a metaphor that changed my perspective: each clinic was a brick, seemingly insignificant alone but essential to a strong foundation. Missing one could leave a gap, like a missing decorative stone in an otherwise perfect wall. His words drove me to show up consistently, even when drained or discouraged. This dedication paid off at tryouts for the next season when the top team’s coach chose me over more experienced players, citing my work ethic. My reputation drew inquiries from college coaches, earning camp invitations and, by my senior year, All-District honors and a roster spot at a Division I university. Perseverance built not just skill but recognition—a critical lesson for a female athlete in a world where women’s achievements are sometimes overlooked. The lessons didn’t stop at the gym. I learned to balance AP classes, community service, car maintenance, family obligations, and team leadership—all while staying committed to the court. Friends who prioritized socializing couldn’t grasp my commitment, but each late-night study session, early-morning practice, and volunteer effort was another brick in my wall. Volunteering at community service events required punctuality and more importantly, cheerfulness. These events raised money for charity and mailing it in would undermine that important effort. I volunteered on my church’s A/V team, which required me to be there while others were sleeping in. The focus I learned in sports helped me stay diligent through multiple services. This dedication was noticed, and the leader wrote one of my college recommendation letters. My work ethic shone during an internship at Biofit, a local sports performance gym, where I was the only intern offered a summer job. These experiences honed my ability to prioritize, plan, and push through challenges, whether tackling a test or perfecting a serve. Volleyball instilled a tenacity that transcends sports, preparing me for academic rigor and professional hurdles. This essay topic resonates with me and my teammates because, at my high school, the boys’ football and basketball programs dominate the spotlight—and the funding. One year, we didn’t even have enough properly sized volleyball uniforms for every girl. This unfairness reflects the broader landscape of women’s sports, but volleyball uniquely equipped me for these challenges. That’s not to say I haven’t learned from academics, faith, or my parents—those things matter deeply. But volleyball made me apply those lessons. It forced me to live them. As a female athlete, I’ve experienced how women’s sports receiving less attention and support than men’s. Every practice I attend, every late-night study session I finish, every time I step up to lead—these are the bricks I’m laying to build something lasting. That mindset will follow me into college, where I’ll compete at the Division I level, and beyond, as I pursue a career shaped by the same grit and drive. This scholarship will enable me to keep laying bricks toward a legacy of impact, resilience, and empowerment as a female athlete.

Title: “Chasing the Next Dream” Opening Scene: The camera pans over an empty volleyball court, the sound of sneakers squeaking on the polished wood still echoing in the air. It’s the end of a long practice, and a single volleyball rolls slowly across the floor. In the center of the court, I’m kneeling, tying my shoelaces, sweat dripping from my brow. My teammates have left, but I’m not ready to go just yet. As the camera zooms in, a voiceover begins: “Sometimes, life feels like the last few minutes of a game—you're exhausted, you’ve given everything, but there’s still more to play for. For me, it all started with a very different sport.” The scene shifts to a brightly lit skating rink. A younger version of me, no older than seven, glides gracefully across the ice, performing spins and jumps with precision. The wall behind me is lined with medals and trophies. The camera zooms in on one—‘National Champion, Artistic Figure Skating, Age 10.’ “Figure skating was my first love. It taught me discipline, determination, and the joy of perfecting something I was passionate about. But life, as it often does, had other plans.” The cheerful music of the skating rink fades abruptly, replaced by the sound of silence. The younger version of me stands frozen in the middle of the rink, staring at an empty schedule board. The camera pans out, showing the lights of the rink dimming. “After COVID and other challenges, skating became a closed chapter. I was devastated. My identity was tied to being a skater, and I didn’t know what came next. That’s when my dad—my coach and my constant supporter—suggested I try volleyball. I didn’t know it then, but God had a new path waiting for me.” The scene transitions to my first volleyball game. The gym is packed with cheering parents and teammates. I step onto the court for the first time, noticeably nervous. The ball comes flying toward me, and I dive, making an awkward but successful save. The crowd erupts into applause. “Starting volleyball as a high school sophomore felt like stepping into an entirely new world. I went from standing on top of a national podium to being a JV player, struggling to learn the basics. It was humbling, but it was also thrilling. I found a new kind of joy in the camaraderie of team sports and the challenge of building something from the ground up.” The scene fast-forwards, showing snippets of me training with coaches, mentoring younger players, and celebrating victories with my teammates. “By my senior year, I earned All-District honors, became a leader on my team, and found a passion for helping others grow—whether it was mentoring younger players or encouraging my teammates during tough games. This new path wasn’t just about volleyball; it was about learning how to lead, inspire, and persevere.” The camera cuts to a small church sanctuary. I’m sitting in the A/V booth, adjusting slides and managing lighting for a service. The sound of worship fills the room. “Faith has always been at the center of my life. It’s what guided me through every challenge, from leaving figure skating to building a new identity in volleyball. Serving on my church’s A/V team and volunteering at community events like the Walk for Life has taught me that small actions can make a big impact.” The scene transitions to a future vision. I’m standing in a rehabilitation clinic, working with a young athlete recovering from an ACL tear. I adjust her exercise routine, explaining the data from a wearable device monitoring her progress. The athlete smiles, nodding in understanding, as the camera zooms in on her taking her first steps toward recovery. “My future is about using everything I’ve learned—from the discipline of figure skating, the teamwork of volleyball, and the lessons of faith—to help others. I’m pursuing a degree in exercise science/kinesiology, with the goal of combining sports medicine and artificial intelligence to revolutionize how we approach injury prevention and recovery. I want to help athletes, particularly female athletes, overcome challenges and reclaim their dreams.” The scene ends back on the volleyball court, with me picking up the rolling ball and taking one final shot at the net. The camera freezes mid-air, capturing the ball just before it hits the target, as the screen fades to black. “Because in my story, there’s always another dream to chase.”

In the excerpt from Antigone, the guards represent the struggle between personal ethics and the cold, sometimes heartless rules we follow, highlighting how easy it can become to lose our sense of self when we're just trying to fit in or follow orders. "As for those three red-faced card players—they are the guards. One smells of garlic, another of beer; but they're not a bad lot. They have wives they are afraid of, kids who are afraid of them; they're bothered by the little day-to-day worries that beset us all. At the same time—they are policemen: eternally innocent, no matter what crimes are committed; eternally indifferent, for nothing that happens can matter to them. They are quite prepared to arrest anybody at all, including Creon himself, should the order be given by a new leader." Sophocles' Antigone dives into the deep waters of moral integrity versus just going with the flow. This paragraph might seem like just a side note about some guards, but really, it's a big deal. It shows how school rules, or any societal norms, can make us feel like we're just another number, not a person with feelings and choices. The guards here are described as if they could be anyone's dad or uncle—stressed about home life, maybe a bit embarrassed by their smell, but relatable. They worry about the same things we do at school: fitting in, family pressures, and the everyday drama. Yet, when they put on their uniform, they become something else—detached from the consequences of their actions, just like when we follow school rules without thinking about why we're doing it. My father, who was a Federal Agent, described a similar feeling in which the bureaucracy eventually wore him down until it was easier to go along to get along then to stand up for what is right. At school, there are many rules related to dress code and personal conduct. Even my varsity volleyball team had many rules. It's not that I disagree with all rules, but sometimes it is easy to feel like part of a system, not thinking or considering whether those rules are fair or right. And sometimes when you feel like a lone voice within a system it is easy to avoid conflict and simply do the thing that is expected even when it seems out of place. That's the guards. They're just doing what they're told, they’re not questioning if it's right. Perhaps, they even know it isn’t right but simply no longer care. The guards being "eternally innocent" and "indifferent" speaks to how we can sometimes shut off our conscience to fit into what's expected of us. I personally experienced this during my senior year when my varsity team put up with a coach who didn't treat us well. Most on the team found it easier to just get through the season rather than rock the boat by speaking out. Some players were concerned about playing time. Others were afraid of retaliation. Instead of speaking up, we went through the motions and I’m most certain the Athletic Director would refer to our play at the end as indifferent. But here's the thing—this passage isn't saying the guards are the bad guys; it's more about showing how we can all become part of something bigger that we don't fully understand or agree with. It's about the danger of not thinking for ourselves, much like when we're in the middle of high school drama or peer pressure, where it's easier to go with the flow than to stand for what we believe. Antigone, in contrast, stands up because she believes in something greater than rules, laws or societal expectations. She's like that one girl who isn't afraid to challenge the status quo, even if it means standing alone. Sophocles is pushing us to think: what if we're all just like these guards in our daily lives? What if our silence or indifference makes us complicit in things we don't agree with? The benefit of ancient literature is that we now have much history to see it play out. I can think of no greater modern example than described in the book Ordinary Men: Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the Final Solution in Poland. In that real historical example, we are told of ordinary men who were not fanatics but were ordinary men who committed great evil because of indifference and conformity. I don’t know if I would consider Antigone a heroine. After all, it is a tragedy and in the end she takes her own life. But this part of Antigone is a reminder that sometimes, the real challenge isn't fighting the external challenges, but overcoming our own indifference or fear of standing out. It asks us to look at our own lives and decide if we're just going through the motions, or if we're truly living with our eyes open to the world around us. Are we just another guard, or are we brave enough to take a stand, just like Antigone.

I love playing volleyball and sports have always been a life passion. But I struggled with envisioning how this passion could evolve into a viable career. While I would never label an injury as fortuitous, it was actually my journey through physical therapy that led to my choice in STEM. I saw a unique chance to combine my enthusiasm for sports with my interest in technology through learning to program artificial intelligence. Most people don't understand the full impact injuries have on athletes. Take, for instance, the fact that one in four athletes with an ACL tear won't play at their prior level again. This is surprising, considering the advancements in sports medicine over the last half-century. AI is set to revolutionize many fields, but I've identified a specific gap in sports medicine where AI could make a significant impact. Imagine AI that adjusts recovery plans on-the-fly, keeping athletes on track and optimizing outcomes. With AI handling much of the data analysis, therapists could spend more time connecting with patients, making the recovery process more engaging and supportive. The challenge, as with any technical field, is programming AI to use appropriate data and prioritizing the correct problems. AI's effectiveness depends on the quality of the data used to train it. That’s where I plan to develop my career. By gaining knowledge in both programming and areas like kinesiology and physical therapy, I can help create AI that truly understands athlete rehabilitation. Integrating AI into physical therapy could transform our approach to sports injuries, turning recovery from a mere aspiration into a more predictable result. That's the kind of influence I hope to have in my career. Using AI to help athletes seems like a great way to continue my sporting career and to help people.

My shins ached with a throbbing pain that was hard to ignore. I’m pretty sure trying to play high school beach volleyball and indoor club volleyball was too much. But I was used to pushing myself and was determined to make it work. The back story to this is I started roller skating when I was seven. By ten, I was on the podium as a national champion figure skater. Not exactly a mainstream sport, I know. Then, at fifteen, the costs were more than my family could afford and I had to quit. I was devastated, but my parents encouraged me to switch to volleyball. I wound up playing my first game as a HS sophomore. I went from national champion to JV player, which was humbling to be sure. But I soon became obsessed with the game. I was way behind my peers and needed to work extra hard to catch up. I was determined to secure a spot on a college team. This relentless pursuit, however, came with its costs—numerous minor injuries. And that’s how I wound up with those throbbing shins. My father insisted on seeing a doctor, but I resisted; doctors often seemed indifferent to my aspirations of college recruitment. Fortunately, I had access to an exceptional physical therapist who genuinely cared about my athletic future. During one of these sessions, as I underwent leg manipulation followed by prescribed exercises, I noticed something striking – none of my sports medicine professionals were female. My pediatrician, nurses, and nurse practitioners had all been women, and while there were female trainers with sports teams, the field of sports medicine seemed disproportionately male-dominated, at least from my point of view. This is where I believe I found my calling. I LOVE playing volleyball, but I struggled with envisioning how this passion could evolve into a viable career. While I would never label an injury as fortuitous, this time, it guided me toward my career choice, something no career assessment tool ever helped me achieve. It’s a weird way to discover a path that blends my interests and passions…I've long had an interest in healthcare, initially thinking about nursing, but now I see my true calling is to aid athletes to pursue their athletic ambitions. My goal is to join a college team (preferably one that wins), and then use that experience along with my education, to achieve this dream. I’m involved in many community service projects that I could talk about, but when I’ve got free time, I really enjoy baking. I don’t really eat cookies myself, it’s just not my favorite dessert. Actually, come to think of it, I don’t eat much dessert at all. But I’ve found that baking is a way to be creative and to show others I care in a very personal way. Whenever I can, I like to make cookies and decorate them for friends and teammates. It doesn’t even have to be a special occasion. Everyone seems to love freshly baked cookies and it genuinely seems to brighten their day. Each time I bake, I can put a little bit of my personality into the cookie and it shows others I care enough to make something for them. Baking is also incredibly calming as it allows me to focus on the process and take my mind of scholastics and athletics. My parents, however, wish that I was more passionate about cleaning up after myself!

I started roller skating when I was seven. By ten, I was on the podium as a national champion figure skater. Not exactly a mainstream sport, I know. Then, as a teen, the costs were more than my family could afford and I had to quit. I was devastated, but my parents encouraged me to switch to volleyball. I wound up playing my first game as a high school sophomore. So I went from national champion to JV player which was humbling. But I soon became obsessed with the game. That’s what led to my love for math. Since I had started late compared to my peers, I needed to improve quickly. I soon began carefully I tracking my statistics as well as those of college teams. In order to understand what certain statistics meant such a hitting percentage, I needed to know how they were computed. Tracking and comparing my statistics in volleyball was one of the main ways I gauged my improvement. I could track my progress, see where I was improving, and where I needed to work more. And what athlete or coach doesn’t keep stats? The more math I did the easier it was to compute even advanced stats in my head on the fly. So, I studied the stats - how often I blocked, what kind of blocks I was making, and where on the court I was most effective. That dedication paid off by my senior year. I had 33 blocks, which was huge for me, and I even made the all-district team. Once you start liking mathematics instead of merely taking classes, it becomes easier to see the application all around you. Many activities I enjoy require math. Try baking without being able to multiply or divide! But there’s also budgeting, shopping, and time management. It’s handy to know math if you want good ACT/SAT scores for college. I didn't always love math. I mean, numbers and equations seemed so boring compared to the excitement of playing sports. It can be difficult to see why math is important until you’ve had the practical experience to need it. My love for math came from how it intersected with my sport. I believe that is one of the ways athletes can personally experience the value of scholastics and math, specifically.

My shins ached with a throbbing pain that was hard to ignore. I’m pretty sure trying to play high school beach volleyball and indoor club volleyball was too much. But I was used to pushing myself and was determined to make it work. The back story to this is I started roller skating when I was seven. By ten, I was on the podium as a national champion figure skater. Not exactly a mainstream sport, I know. Then, at fifteen, the costs were more than my family could afford and I had to quit. I was devastated, but my parents encouraged me to switch to volleyball. I wound up playing my first game as a HS sophomore. I went from national champion to JV player, which was humbling to be sure. But I soon became obsessed with the game. I was way behind my peers and needed to work extra hard to catch up. I was determined to secure a spot on a college team. This relentless pursuit, however, came with its costs—numerous minor injuries. And that’s how I wound up with those throbbing shins. My father insisted on seeing a doctor, but I resisted; doctors often seemed indifferent to my aspirations of college recruitment. Fortunately, I had access to an exceptional physical therapist who genuinely cared about my athletic future. During one of these sessions, as I underwent leg manipulation followed by prescribed exercises, I noticed something striking – none of my sports medicine professionals were female. My pediatrician, nurses, and nurse practitioners had all been women, and while there were female trainers with sports teams, the field of sports medicine seemed disproportionately male-dominated, at least from my point of view. This is where I believe I found my calling. I LOVE playing volleyball, but I struggled with envisioning how this passion could evolve into a viable career. While I would never label an injury as fortuitous, this time, it guided me toward my career choice, something no career assessment tool could achieve. At last, I've discovered a path that blends my passion for sports with my wish to assist others. I've long had an interest in healthcare, initially thinking about nursing, but now I see my true calling is to aid athletes, particularly female athletes, in recovering from injuries and pursuing their athletic ambitions. My goal is to join a college team (preferably one that wins), and then use that experience along with my education, to achieve this dream. I case it’s not clear by now, my motivation to work in sports medicine stems from my personal love for sports and my understanding of challenges athletes face. I believe that playing sports in college, alongside my studies, will give me unique insights into the issues that female athletes and the broader sports community encounter. My goal is to ensure that athletes, particularly girls, have access to professionals who truly understand the sport and what drives an athlete. Health care and sports medicine aren’t just about treating injuries. I can speak with experience when I say no athlete wants to be defined by injury much less spend all their time in physical therapy. Athletes want to compete and to do that they need to be at their peak, both mentally and physically. Sports medicine is about helping athletes whether it be nutrition, injury prevention, or injury treatment. And we cannot forget the emotional and mental challenges athletes face. Through my career in sports medicine, I will help athletes recover but also to transform how we approach sports healthcare to better meet the specific needs of women in sports.