So I admit it: I am sick. Ill with incurable Olympic fever. The truth is, though, the Olympics have always held a special place in my heart for reasons that have little to do with a medal count and everything to do with helping to develop a sense of pride and confidence in myself as a young female athlete.
For as long as I can remember, athletics have been at the center of my life. As the daughter of a former Army quarterback (Beat Navy!) and a champion swimmer, I can't recall a time in my life where sports were not at the forefront. My brother and I grew up playing competitive sports and later followed in our father's footsteps and became Division I athletes ourselves in college. I spent the majority of my childhood embroiled in some form of athletic competition, be it friendly or fierce. Now as a mother, I spent after-school hours shuffling my two boys between their own lacrosse and hockey practices. Remember, folks -- 10,000 hours. (Any
Outliers fans out there?)
But as a kid I remember looking around, whether I was playing in the street or on the field, and seeing very few (if any) girls playing with me. I played on all boys' baseball teams until I hit 7th grade when girls' softball was
just starting to become a 'thing.' Despite it being the 1990s, a progressive decade for history's sake, it was still a very different time for little girls in sports as compared to now. We were not readily accepted in the dugouts, on the courts, or in the fields. If we were, many expected that we were there to simply participate and not
compete. I remember my father colorfully arguing with one particular coach in my 5th grade year in Mannheim, Germany when he refused to put me on his team for fear that I would "get hurt." (Made the team. Never got hurt.) Don't get me wrong, I realize that the opportunities available to little girls my age were innumerable compared to generations before me. I recognize and appreciate that I grew up in a post-Title IV world. Still, I remember wondering if there was something wrong with me. I took a look around and I wondered: where are the rest of us girls?
Atlanta. The rest of us girls, I found out in the Summer of 1996, were in Atlanta. I was 10 years old and watched the Opening Ceremonies from the 1996 Summer Olympic Games in Atlanta, Georgia on tape delay from our living room in Germany completely awestruck. I spent the next two weeks glued to the television watching women dominate in their own respective sports. My Mother the Swimmer pointed out the nuances of strokes in every race we watched and lamented to me how sorry she was that there just weren't as many opportunities for women of her generation to compete at most levels. I remember watching The Magnificent Seven, our women's gymnastic team, and reveling in the strength of their bodies and their nerves of steel. I sat too close to the tv and saw Lisa Fernandez and Michelle Smith and the rest of the American softball team win the very first gold medal ever given for the sport. I vividly recall thinking to myself, "Wow, there are
a lot of us."
That two weeks in the Summer of 1996 changed me. It changed the way I saw myself and how I fit into the world of sports and convinced me, more than ever, that I belonged there. It made me less self-conscience every time I put on a swimsuit and my muscular legs touched because I remembered that Shannon Miller's did too. I listened to commentators praise our female athletes for their mental toughness and physical strength; two things my parents had always celebrated in me but I had never appreciated in myself. The idea that I could see someone else of note that I felt represented not just our country but me had a profound impact on my self-esteem, the effects of which remain to this day. Interestingly, later on I remember sitting around with several of my college teammates and swapping similar stories and experiences with watching these games and subsequent Olympic Games to follow. Sharing these memories highlighted the impact that visual representation can have on anyone and everyone.
My competitive career ended after my college years and I never became an Olympian. (I did, however, play under the leadership of a team captain who went on to become an Olympic Bronze and Silver Medalist in women's bobsled!) But every year they roll around, be they winter or summer, I remain grateful to the Olympic Games for providing round the clock, primetime coverage that celebrates all that women can do in sports. Every Olympic year, I wonder how many little girls may be watching and looking for someone that reminds them of themselves. With Rio being the Olympic Games that gave us athletes like Simone Manuel, the first African-American woman to win a gold medal in an individual swimming event, I would imagine we have a lot more.
To all of these little girls I would say, "Don't worry. There are a lot of us."
xoxo
Ashley
