When I stepped onto the track this Fall for the first official practice of the season at Oberlin College, I felt two things at once: excitement and intimidation.
As a hurdler, I’m used to staring down barriers in my lane. What I wasn’t as prepared for was the invisible hurdle of joining a college team, the volume of new faces, the speed of introductions, the unspoken question in the back of my mind: Do I belong here?
By the time we arrived at the North Coast Athletic Conference Indoor Track & Field Championships, that question had long been answered.
Indoor conference championships are intense. The air is dry, the spikes are sharp, and every event moves quickly. As hurdlers, we live in controlled chaos, eight or seven steps to the first hurdle, three steps between, no room for hesitation. But what struck me most at conferences wasn’t just the competition. It was the way our team moved as one controlled yet steady unit. Sprinters shouting splits for distance runners. Throwers lined up against the rail for the 60-meter hurdle finals. Teammates who had already finished their events staying the entire day just to cheer. (We didn't have a choice..)
At the start of the year, everything felt big. Big practices. Big expectations. Big personalities. I remember walking into practice unsure of what to expect. Track is unique because it holds so many different athletes under one roof, hurdlers, jumpers, mid-distance runners, throwers, each with their own training groups and rhythms. It would have been easy to stay quiet, to keep myself and move through practice alone.
But that’s not how Oberlin operates.
Someone always pulls up a chair. Someone always asks how your workout went. Someone always notices if you look off.
The beauty of being part of the Oberlin track and field program isn’t just the grind, though there’s plenty of that. It’s the shared understanding that we are all choosing to push ourselves. Early lifts. Long tempo days. The frustration of clipping a hurdle in practice and or falling on your face (quite literally). The soreness that lingers during heavy volume weeks in the fall. We’ve all been there, and because of that, we lift each other up.
Volume season, the foundation of our year, is no joke. Mileage builds. Workouts stack. You’re tired in ways you didn’t know you could be tired in places you didn't know had feelings. And yet, those are the weeks where bonds really form. When you’re running repeat 300s or finishing a brutal hurdle drill circuit, you start to look left and right. You realize you’re not alone in the struggle. Someone next to you is fighting through the same lactic acid, the same doubt, the same desire to improve.
Standing at the line for the hurdles, I could hear my teammates before the gun even went off. And after the race, regardless of the time on the clock, there were high fives, hugs, and technical feedback delivered with care. We push each other to our limits, yes. But we also protect each other’s confidence. That balance is rare. A community that has your back.
One of the most underrated parts of being an athlete here is the community beyond the track. Yes, we train hard. Yes, we take recovery and health seriously. But we also show up for each other socially. There are team dinners, celebrations after big meets, and parties that overlap with other sports teams. Before you know it, you’re meeting soccer players, swimmers, lacrosse athletes, building friendships that stretch far beyond your own roster. The athletic community here is interconnected. You’re never just “a hurdler” or “a thrower.” You’re part of something bigger.
If you’re thinking about joining a sport, I won’t lie to you: it can feel intimidating at first. College athletics demand dedication and discipline. There are early mornings and long weekends. There are moments of self-doubt.
But there is also structure. Support. A built-in circle of people who are striving to be their healthiest selves, physically and mentally. People who care about sleep, nutrition, and accountability. People who understand what it means to chase progress even when it’s uncomfortable.
At conference championships, as I stood with my team after the final event, it hit me: this wasn’t just about times, medals, or placements. It was about growth. About community. About choosing, every day, to be there for each other. Oberlin does feel like home.
And that’s something bigger than any finish line. Thanks for reading.
