I am a massive sports fan. I have written here before about the way I was raised in a football family with a radio announcer father and former college trainer mother. I have also shared my love of Aggie sports and ranked the ones I had attended in agonizing detail. Two other times I used extensive sports metaphors to make a point, finding inspiration rather ironically in the capacity to take a blow and keep going stronger. This time, I have found my muse in the worldwide spectacle that happens only once every four years, the summer Olympic games. 

Growing up in Oklahoma and spending my early adult years in Texas, the Olympics this year introduced me to a whole host of sports that I had only vaguely heard of before. I started watching the opening ceremonies while on a cruise ship and transitioned to watching games on my flight home. On the plane, I did not have too many options of what to watch, which is how I stumbled upon women’s rugby. Like most U.S. Americans, I was hooked. Even though I had not set a wake up alarm for most of my summer, I made an exception and began to wake up early just so that I could watch the matches live as they aired around 8:30 am CST. I watched each match closely and was dismayed when after only a few days, the competition had ceased and all of the medals had been awarded. 

I quickly moved on to another new sport for me, field hockey. I stumbled upon field hockey as I went about my daily sick routine which consisted of waking up, transitioning from the bed to the couch, and turning on the Olympics. I was so ill the first full week of competition that I had no energy or focus to do much else, which meant I consumed athletics like they were air, watching nearly 24/7. Field hockey was a clear favorite for me and I soon grew an unexpected attachment to a group of German men. I watched the sport with verve, learning the rules and strategies from the announcers in real time. By the fourth match, I began to yell at the screen before the announcers even did, yelling things such as, “IT WAS OFF HIS FOOT-- GIVE THEM A PENALTY CORNER.” I texted live updates of nearly every game to my parents and yelled so loudly when my newly adopted team scored that I scared my cat out of my living room. 

As the days went on my health began to slowly improve, but I was unwilling to give up my beloved routine. Instead of making major changes, I simply started to do dissertation work for a few hours each morning with the sounds of yells, pop music, and sneakers squeaking or water splashing as the ambient noise that masked the sound of my fingers flying across my keyboard. While converting notes from paper to a digital platform, I had to rewatch certain moments of the television shows I had used as my object of analysis. In one such instance, I was transcribing a crucial moment between a Catholic grandmother and her queer granddaughter when the grandmother said something that I realized would be a perfect example to use in my argument. In my moment of joy, I unironically shouted, “Yes! A penalty corner!!!” 

Even though writing my dissertation is not quite as exciting as watching the greatest in the world compete, I had become so accustomed to celebrating exciting sports moments like penalty corners that I adopted the same practice in my work. Now, I have an entirely new perspective on what my last year in my doctoral program truly is. Whereas a friend and I had likened our comprehensive exams process to a triathlon, I realized that our dissertation writing process is achingly similar to an Olympic competition. Don’t believe me? Here is some proof.

In the Olympics of Graduate School, the title means more than just a piece of paper. It signifies the training, preparation, blood, sweat, and tears that brought us to this moment. While we may stand alone on the podium, we all know that our education has always been a team sport. To anyone currently going for the gold, I see you and I am cheering for you. We are so close to the podium. Finish strong.