The first time I heard the words “Running Start,” I was in the second grade. My mother was telling me about the program—which allowed high school juniors and seniors to take college classes while still in high school—and was overjoyed, saying what a great opportunity it would be for me.
Over the course of my lower educational career, I was homeschooled for grades 4-7. During that time, I completed two grade levels in one year. When I went back to public school in the eighth grade, I was not only a year ahead in all subjects, but two years ahead in math.
Growing up, my mom sent me to summer camps revolving around math and science. She encouraged me to join robotics teams, and bought me building kits. I played with LEGOs and Tinker Toys. When we went to the Pacific Science Center or a children’s museum, I was always drawn to the building areas, where I could put blocks and wood and plastic together to create something new. I knew about the STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering and Math) fields before I knew the term for it.
More than that, I was good when it came to math and science. Throughout high school I took physics, chemistry, and astronomy, and did well in those, as well as the math classes I took.
But when the classes stopped being required, I stopped taking them. Why? Because while I was generally interested in those areas, specifically the sciences—explosions and reactions in chemistry? Studying the stars in astronomy? Sign me up—I didn’t have a passion for them. Sure, they were fascinating and I loved learning about them—and still do—but I could never see myself in the STEM field. I never had a passion for developing new technologies or solving unsolvable equations.
When I tell people that I want to be a sports management major, their initial reaction is nearly always confusion. You’re so smart, I’m told. Surely you could be something else. A doctor, a lawyer—something more than selling hats and T-shirts at sporting events?
And the truth is I know, deep down, that I could be any one of those things. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it—going to medical school or law school, becoming a brilliant surgeon or high powered attorney. I know that I would be able to excel as a doctor or a lawyer. I know, in my heart, that I’m smart enough to do anything that I want to do.
But I also know, in that same part of my heart, that I would hate it.
Because my passion is sports. I’m good at sports. I can sit and talk batting averages and the disadvantages of bunting with the best of ‘em until the cows come home. I know that I want to go into sports media; that I want to write and talk about sports.
But…the stigma is still there.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hear something about how easy it is to be a sport management major. That we don’t work hard; that we have it easier compared to other majors, particularly STEM majors.
I don’t have to solve complicated equations. I don't have to design engines or robots on a computer for hours on end. And I'll be the first one to tell you that I can't do those things.
But you know what I can do? I can talk. I can stand up in front of a room full of people and give a kickass presentation without batting an eye. I can write. I can put my pen to a piece of paper and come up with something truly magical.
And being a woman in sport management comes with it’s own set of challenges. Across the board, women—especially women of color—are underrepresented in the sports world. There is currently only one woman employed full time in a broadcasting role by the four major sports entities—MLB, NFL, NHL, and NBA. Female professional athletes are routinely paid less than their male counterparts, networks broadcast their games, and less respect is given to them.
To be a woman in this major adds yet another obstacle. But being a woman in nearly every major adds this obstacle.
And that’s the point of this whole piece. I’ll say the same thing here that one of my best friends, Savannah, told me: There is no such thing as easy in college. Sport management is just as hard as math or engineering or chemistry—just in different ways.
We all have our strengths. We all have our weaknesses. We all have our successes. We all have our failures. So instead of trying to tear each other down, let’s support each other. Let’s stop comparing each other and trying to find out who’s major is harder or who’s somehow better because of the classes they’re taking. Let’s come together and acknowledge that success is hard—no matter what form that success may come in.
