It’s May 24th, 2019 and the Sacramento sunshine is beating down. I take a swig of my energy drink, noticing the ache in my knees. I stomp my feet to feel my muscles flex under my red uniform. I’m ready. I’ve been preparing this whole season for this moment—what could be the last competition of my collegiate discus career. I enter the ring, a balance of amped up and calm, tight and relaxed, powerful but fluid. I center myself and my breathing. Here I am. This is my moment.
Not two months earlier I was terrified to meet this moment. To come face to face with the inevitability of the end of my career. I had spent the last 5 years (at least) fighting to not be seen as ‘just an athlete,’ but as soon as my last season started, I ached at the thought of losing this identity. It was debilitating and torturous. How was I to enjoy these moments or soak them up? It seemed absurd!
It was sometime in late April, after a few rough competitions, that it became obvious to me that throwing a discus now wasn’t just throwing a discus. It meant something. It was some measure of me. I was tormented by the thought that I would end my career mediocre. Over the course of conversations with a sports psychologist I started to own that. I started to uncover a power and ease again, exploring what I could be interested in besides those fears. There was no answer, of course. No clear-cut pathway to the confidence and peace of mind I was looking for, but there was a little opening for joy. A space to notice why I did any of this anyway.
The highlight of my career was a few weeks later. I woke up early to get to the store to buy my mom some flowers (it was Mother’s Day) before heading to the breakfast I could hardly eat. The last day of competition at the 2019 Big Ten Outdoor Track and Field Championships was here. The competition was messy—stalled by a broken net hoist and precarious solutioning. I went into my last throw in third place, knowing that no one could knock me out of it. Knowing that I had achieved the goal I had set to medal. The disc flew out of my hand well left of the sector lines (a foul throw), but it didn’t matter. I leapt onto my teammate with an energy I had never had and came crashing to my knees. Could it have actually happened? Was this real life? I stood on the medal stand with so much pride. I had done it.
Which brings us back to May 24th. Nothing left to lose. Nothing left to gain either, because it wasn’t about proving anything anymore. I enter the ring for my first throw, steady and determined, and throw the best throw of my career: 53.14 meters (174’ 4”). A throw about five feet shy of my season goal and 44 feet further than my best high school throw. I don’t qualify for the NCAA final round, but I celebrate a victory for myself. A victory in my spirit.
I started my throwing career just 9 years earlier and, in high school, had no interest in throwing in college. I was baffled that anybody could possibly want to spend *that much* of their life on one specific movement. Volleyball? That made sense to me… there’s a communication aspect, so many distinct movements and motions… you could spend a lifetime perfecting that craft. Throwing? It’s one movement that lasts not even seconds! And it’s definitely not like you’d throw in college for the fame, fortune, or the chance to go pro (unless maybe you’re my teammate, Kelsey Card, but even then…).
I usually tell the story that I decided to throw in college because I had a number of knee injuries in high school. After a major surgery that took me out of my senior volleyball season, I was concerned that a few more years of volleyball would render my knees incapable of the life I dreamed of after sport. But if I am clear with myself and you (whoever you are reading this), I threw in college because it was a pocket of my life that grounded and yet challenged me. That at the end of the day, was mine, and only mine. I could see the fruits of my labor and I wouldn’t be allowed to stagnate. Contrary to my initial beliefs about investing an athletic career in Track and Field, I learned a lot about life.
As tribute to the people and University that invested in me, I thought I might summarize my top nine life lessons learned as a Badger student athlete here.
You’ll always think you have more to give.
And maybe that’s a good thing! Just don’t let it get in the way of celebrating life while it happens.
Trust your coach (they see what’s possible when you can’t).
Find someone who can see endless possibilities for your future. Prepare for your relentless thoughts that it’s not possible by choosing to trust their vision when you’re at your limits.
Don’t forget why you’re there anyway (you love it!).
When it’s not obvious why you’d put that much weight on the bar or show up on that day you wish you could just sleep in, put yourself in the ring on a beautiful spring day, the discus flying effortlessly from your hand. Allow yourself to feel that joy and bring it to the current moment. Much of life goes this way too… we lose sight of the vision and possibility we saw for ourselves in having started that job, relationship, or activity somewhere along the way. Restoring yourself to who you were when you stepped into that future brings the joy back.
Life is better with a friend.
It might seem easier or quicker to go it alone, but you miss out on the camaraderie and spirit of your teammates. The ones who will slap you on the shoulder and firmly remind you it’s “just a mindset” when you need a pick-me-up and have your back when it comes time for competition.
Setbacks happen, it’s about who you get to be in the face of them.
Life never stops happening, does it? Injuries are a part of being an athlete. The thing is they are just circumstances. Circumstances “shmircumstances.” In reality, our circumstances don’t have anything to do with who we get to be in the face of them. Don’t we just love a good comeback story anyway?
You don’t have to feel good to throw far.
Mostly your feelings aren’t a great predictor of performance. Listening to and being dictated by them won’t get you where you really want to go in life. If your feelings didn’t run you, what could?
You are not your throws.
Nothing can measure you. Nothing out there in the world can tell you that you are enough. Isn’t that a relief? Seems like the next logical question is, if I didn’t have to go looking for some measure that I am enough, what could I be looking for in the world? Because… if you actually go looking for that, I bet you’ll find it.
Your mind matters.
One of the single most important services that Wisconsin offered me was an accessible, brilliant sports psychologist. It took me until my fifth year to utilize these services—maybe out of pride, maybe out of negligence—but I recommend them unabashedly. Your mental health matters. Take care of yourself and protect your space to do that.
Life’s messy and unpredictable.
Track and Field wouldn’t be a sport if everyone threw their best at every competition. Life is the same. Really, if you know how the future will go, you are limiting yourself.
I started writing this on the flight home from Sacramento in May. I’ve been struggling to finish it all summer, grappling with what it looks like to complete such a large portion of my life. The truth is I don’t have to go looking out there for something to tell me I am complete anymore. The victory is in knowing I am whole and complete exactly where I am. And when I am whole and complete, all that is left is gratitude.
Thank you, Wisconsin. Thank you, each individual person who helped me to succeed as a student athlete and as a human being. I’m honored to have worn the motion W on my chest and to have swayed to and sang Varsity in your company. I’ll always be a Badger.
Love, Hanna + On Wisconsin!