Women's lives in sports are far too limited
Erin Prediger
Issue date: 9/13/05 Section: Sports
I am an athlete and have been for as long as I can remember. It is the definition of who I am.
Born into a family that strongly emphasizes the importance of sports, I had a football in my hand before a doll. I never cared for dresses, baking or tea parties. I cared about ice hockey, baseball and basketball.
My idols were not Katharine Hepburn, Tommy Hilfiger or John F. Kennedy, Jr. My idols were Richie Ashburn, Chuck Bednarik and Bernie Parent. I couldn't identify brand names, latest trends or new technology, but I knew a sack, icing and offsides when I saw one. I cannot remember a time when I was not watching, playing or talking about sports. It's my passion, and over the years has become my identity.
My hometown is small. It's even smaller when you carry the last name of a man who almost made the major leagues - a man who played baseball with Carlton Fisk, a man who is a high school sports legend. In my town, Prediger is a proud name to have and my adolescence was spent trying to fulfill its honor.
When I was offered a full scholarship to play field hockey at the Division-I level, it was my dream come true. My family was proud and that made me proud. I was going to pour my heart and soul into this commitment.
My collegiate career has been everything I imagined. I love being part of the team. I love pushing my body to its limit. I love the nervous feeling before every game, making the impossible save; I love competing.
I want this feeling and lifestyle to last forever. There is only one problem. I am a woman. And my time as an athlete is winding down. I come home every night and find myself on the verge of an identity crisis.
I wish it were possible for me to play field hockey after I graduate from college. If only there was a demand for women's sports in this country.
My dream is to play in front of a crowd, earning a salary to play the sport I love. But reality doesn't coincide with my fantasy. The ending to this chapter in my life was written long before the beginning.
Born into a family that strongly emphasizes the importance of sports, I had a football in my hand before a doll. I never cared for dresses, baking or tea parties. I cared about ice hockey, baseball and basketball.
My idols were not Katharine Hepburn, Tommy Hilfiger or John F. Kennedy, Jr. My idols were Richie Ashburn, Chuck Bednarik and Bernie Parent. I couldn't identify brand names, latest trends or new technology, but I knew a sack, icing and offsides when I saw one. I cannot remember a time when I was not watching, playing or talking about sports. It's my passion, and over the years has become my identity.
My hometown is small. It's even smaller when you carry the last name of a man who almost made the major leagues - a man who played baseball with Carlton Fisk, a man who is a high school sports legend. In my town, Prediger is a proud name to have and my adolescence was spent trying to fulfill its honor.
When I was offered a full scholarship to play field hockey at the Division-I level, it was my dream come true. My family was proud and that made me proud. I was going to pour my heart and soul into this commitment.
My collegiate career has been everything I imagined. I love being part of the team. I love pushing my body to its limit. I love the nervous feeling before every game, making the impossible save; I love competing.
I want this feeling and lifestyle to last forever. There is only one problem. I am a woman. And my time as an athlete is winding down. I come home every night and find myself on the verge of an identity crisis.
I wish it were possible for me to play field hockey after I graduate from college. If only there was a demand for women's sports in this country.
My dream is to play in front of a crowd, earning a salary to play the sport I love. But reality doesn't coincide with my fantasy. The ending to this chapter in my life was written long before the beginning.