I never wanted to be the person athletes go to. It just happened because I showed up, consistently and unconditionally, and people saw it. My name is Karlyn Kelly, and I am currently a Master of Science in Athletic Training student at Northern Arizona University. My path into healthcare started as a volunteer in the athletic training room at the University of Arizona. My work was menial: folding towels, scraping tools, spraying tables with disinfectant, hauling laundry, and setting up for practice. But I was there every day, and I cared about every little thing I was given. I started off as an athletic trainer and worked my way up to athletic training technician. I stayed an extra year after graduation to get some more hands-on experience and a little more of a leadership role. I didn’t expect how much of this work was emotional, not just physical. One day, an athlete walked in to the training room crying, very upset, and whatever it was that was upsetting her was really getting to her. I didn't turn away or redirect her elsewhere. I sat down with her. I asked her how she was and really listened. I made sure she felt heard and that she didn’t need anything, and I told her something I meant sincerely: that she could come to me for anything, not just physical injuries but anything, and that I was a different kind of support than the coaching staff. I wanted her to know she had someone on her side who wasn’t judging her performance. That moment has stayed with me because I think it was about something I really believe: caring for people is caring for the whole person, not just the part that is injured or hurting in a way you can treat with tape and ice. Lily Tantillo knew that. She pursued a career in health and wellness because she truly wanted to help people become stronger and more confident and was known for the warmth, honesty, and loyalty she brought to every relationship. I see those same values in the work that I try to do each day. I also have tried to give back by mentoring those who are where I once was. When new athletic training technicians and volunteers came on staff, I’d take them around the training room and show them the ropes and make sure they felt like they belonged. I was proactive; I set things for basketball practices without being told and filled in where I was needed. My athletic trainer put that in my letter of recommendation, and I didn't realize how much that meant to me until I saw it in print, because it was a statement that quietly and consistently showing up is a form of leadership. I hope to bring all of that to NAU. I want to be a certified athletic trainer who treats athletes with the same wholeness I tried to give that day in the training room—technically skilled but also emotionally present. Someone athletes trust not just with their bodies, but with the hard stuff too. Lily’s light, as far as I understood her, was the kind of light that made people feel safe. That is the light I am working for.” And I am grateful to walk that path at the university she loved.

My path into healthcare didn't start with a grand plan. It started with folding towels. When I began volunteering in the athletic training room at the University of Arizona, my duties were about as entry-level as they come—scraping tools, folding towels, wiping down tables with disinfectant spray, hauling laundry, and setting up for practices. I wasn't treating anyone. I wasn't making clinical decisions. But I was there, every day, in an environment that immediately felt like where I was supposed to be. That feeling was what I had been searching for. I came into college undecided, drawn in different directions by dietetics, nutrition, and athletic training. I didn't know which path was mine. But the moment I stepped into that training room — even with the most basic of tasks in front of me — I knew. There was something about the pace of it, the purpose of it, the way every person in that room was working toward one goal: helping athletes feel better and perform their best. I wanted to be part of that. So I kept showing up. I worked my way from volunteer to athletic training technician, and with each step, my responsibilities grew. I learned treatments and protocols. I began to understand not just how to do things but also why they mattered. And when I had the opportunity to stay an extra year after graduating to gain more hands-on experience, I took it — because I knew the work wasn't finished, and neither was I. During that final year, something shifted. I wasn't just learning anymore—I was teaching. When new athletic training technicians and volunteers joined, I stepped into a mentorship role. I didn't just point people to the supply closet; I walked them there, showed them how everything was organized, and made sure they understood the rhythm of the room. I took ownership of basketball setups for both the men's and women's teams without being asked. I became someone others could rely on—and I realized that reliability, in healthcare, is its own form of care. One of the most meaningful moments of that year came from a conversation with the athletic trainer for the track team. She encouraged me to apply to Northern Arizona University's Master of Science in Athletic Training program—and she didn't just say it in passing. She's an NAU MSAT graduate herself, and her passion for the program was genuine. That conversation opened a door I hadn't fully seen before. It reminded me that healthcare isn't just a career—it's a community. Women in this field lift each other, push each other forward, and share the paths they've walked so others can find their way. That is the kind of woman in healthcare I want to be. I want to pursue my MSAT and become a certified athletic trainer who shows up fully—not just for athletes on game day, but for the students and future practitioners who are where I once was: standing at the edge of something, uncertain but willing. I want to be the person who walks them to the supply closet, who encourages them to apply, who makes them feel like they belong in the room. Healthcare chose me the first time I walked into that training room. Now I choose it—intentionally, and for good.