Some people spend their afternoons in the library. Some in play rehearsal (or your extracurricular activity of choice). Others in class. And still others in front of the television. Personally, I spend my afternoons locked in a white box, roughly 21 feet by 32 feet. Inside, there are red lines to guide my way, a slab of metal in the front to keep me in check, and faces in the crowd to cheer me on. Inside, I am alone with a racket, a small, squishy ball, and an opponent. Inside, I am what I have been every day for the past four years -- a squash player, a teammate, and a Dartmouth athlete. But in exactly 11 days, I will have my afternoons free.
As a graduating senior on the Dartmouth Women's Varsity Squash team, I will soon say goodbye to my role as a Dartmouth athlete. Let me put this into perspective. Six days a week, every week of the term, for two terms a year, for the past four years, I have played squash. Add to that strength and fitness training, travel time (consider weekend trips to Cornell and Penn), and other obligations, and you log a pretty hefty number of hours. And now, all of a sudden, I get all this time back.
Here is the question: do I really want it back?
At first thought, of course! Finally, free time. No more early morning lifts, fitness tests, beep tests, cold showers in the gym and seven-hour bus trips spent fighting over which movies will be watched. No more studying with a teammate's head lamp on the bus at night; no more winter breaks spent training in Hanover; no more missing big weekends. Now, I can go out on Fridays and sleep late on Saturdays. I can exercise in shorts, not a skirt. I won't have to face the pressure of weekly challenge matches. And I won't have to do squats ever again.
But if those are the "downs" of squash, how, then, can I simultaneously look at all of those examples as the "ups" as well? Bear with me.
The other day, I competed in my last home match of my entire Dartmouth athletic career. It was quite a moment, with friends and parents watching as President and Mrs. Wright gave the seniors our graduating gifts -- blown-up action shots of each of us. There were introductions, and then matches. But there was so much more to it than formality.
I have watched three other classes of seniors experience this final home match, and I have witnessed many reactions. Some walk off the court smiling after a win. Some are upset and disappointed at having lost their final match. Some sit by themselves. Some don't react at all. And then there are those who, like me, walk off the court and burst into tears.
I do not remember being so anxious for a match. A river of nerves ran through me. My legs shook as I ran. My hand shook when I served. My fingers shook when I tossed the ball. After the first game I thought, "this is the last first game I'll play at home." After the second game I thought, "this is the last second game I'll play at home." And so on.
But throughout my match I could see and hear everyone cheering for me. I heard my coach's and parents' intermittent yells, my friends' screams and my teammate's father's voice booming loudly above the rest, a force of encouragement. By the time I finished the very last point of my very last home match in my very last year as a Dartmouth athlete, I felt a mix of emotions. And accordingly, I fell into the arms of my teammates as they congratulated me after my final moment on home courts.
So now to the "ups." After four years, I have friends who know me in ways that no one else does, friends who have seen me at my most intense, most frustrated, most dedicated, most happy. I remember every single team banquet I have attended, every joke award I have received, and every major match one of my teammates has won. In four years you learn to respect the people around you as teammates at least and, hopefully, as friends. Ultimately, there is that feeling of accomplishment of being an integral part of something for four years, from start to finish.
Whether you spent your four years on stage, playing an instrument, defending a goal, writing, or hitting a ball around a white box like me, we all share this moment of finality. For the time being, I still don't have my afternoons back. But once I do, no matter how I feel, one thing is certain: there will always be other white boxes for me to run to, other opponents to challenge, other teammates to meet. After four years of dedication and training, we all reach that point where it is time to move on and give our talent -- whatever it may be -- a new place and meaning.
