Typical Day
Emma Turfington's alarm rings at 5:30AM. Her hand, tightly clenched in a fist, instinctually catapults over to her nightstand and smashes the blaring alarm clock into a million pieces. She groans, lifts herself out of bed, and walks to her closet where she has a stockpile of replacement alarm clocks. Emma's not a morning person.
Naturally, it's the wee hours of the morning when Emma seriously questions her life choices. Why am I doing this? I should just quit. It's not worth it anymore. Or was it ever? Emma's nameless roommate sweetly slumbers underneath a puffy cloud of down comforter. She looks so comfortable. Oh, to be a non-athlete…
Emma walks to her bathroom sink and splashes water on her face like the countless feminine face-cleanser commercials she's seen. Soon, she's back to her regular self—the self that lives and breathes for field hockey. She looks in the mirror. "Who has two thumbs and doesn't need sleep?" she thinks to herself.
This girl.
On her way out the door, Emma grabs a granola bar and her gym bag, which is bursting with field hockey equipment and stinks worse than Limburger cheese. She feels like she hasn't had a decent night's sleep in years. Her day begins with 6:00AM practice and probably won't end until after midnight, when she finally finishes her homework.
As Emma runs laps with her teammates, she reminds herself again why she's doing this. She loves field hockey. Always has, always will. And everyone always used to say that she was destined for greatness.
Raw talent had carried Emma through her elementary and middle school careers, but once she hit high school, she realized that talent alone wasn't going to get her a scholarship. She was going to have to crush it, on and off the field. Her grades would have to be in tip-top shape and she was going to have to bring home championships.
So she did. Because that's the kind of person that Emma Turfington was. She did everything right and when she got a scholarship to her dream school, she figured that she'd made it.
Oh, how wrong she was. Getting into a D-I program had been the easy part. Emma quickly learned just how hard it was to juggle her athletic and academic careers. Without her parents monitoring her diet, Emma found herself eating quick, cheap junk food most nights.
Being on a Division-I team was exciting, but also exhausting. It dominated Emma's life in ways that she hadn't anticipated. She didn't just have to go to practices: there were also team meetings, mandatory study halls, extra gym sessions, and hours upon hours of sitting on the bus as they traveled from game to game.
On top of all that, she had a full semester's worth of courses to handle, and it quickly became obvious that her field hockey schedule would prevent her from taking some really cool-sounding classes. Like Muppet Magic.
Emma's teammates were great, but she saw them all the time. Emma wanted to make friends outside of field hockey, but she didn't have the time to sign up for clubs or go to parties. Sometimes, it felt like she barely had time to breathe.
For a few insane moments, Emma considered giving up breathing just to get a little extra free time into her life. By the time her freshman year was done, she felt like she had been run over by a truck.
But she was Emma Turfington. There was no way she'd give up just because of some truck-related similes. When she returned in the fall semester, she was determined to do better than ever. The draconian training schedule would not get the best of her.
And so here she is, with a closet full of alarm clocks and a horrendously malodorous gym bag—aggressive, confident, tired, and smelly, but definitely not in danger of losing her scholarship.
"Hear that, Coach McWhistle? The field hockey bench will have to find another warmer because I've got it together," she once practiced saying in a mirror. Academic probation was a thing of the past.
Look out, turf. Here comes Turfington.
After running, Emma and her team begin ball control drills. As a midfielder, Emma focuses on both acquiring and keeping the ball. After drills, Coach McWhistle splits up the team for a brief scrimmage—Emma's favorite part of practice.
Practice ends on a high note with Coach McWhistle commending the team on their hustle. Coach calls out Emma in particular for having her head in the game. You're darn tootin', Coach McWhistle.
Study. Train. Study. Train. Sleep. Repeat. Emma was starting to get the hang of the student-athlete rhythm. She was determined to crush the semester and season like they had never been crushed before.
Emma and her teammates slowly dissipate from the field like billiard balls. On her way to her 9:00AM biology class, Emma gossips with Courtney, field hockey goalie extraordinaire, about the absurd length of Coach's gym shorts.
Naturally, having small yet scantily clad legs requires shopping in the toddler section, no?
After class, Emma heads to the library as she eats a nutritious, protein-packed lunch of two Clif bars and some water. As she crinkles the Clif bar wrappers and stuffs them in her gym bag (which, let's be real, might as well be a trash can), Emma silently resolves to eat more substantial meals tomorrow.
She says this to herself daily, and it's become more of a ritual than a promise. Oh well. Can't win 'em all.
Emma takes a quick nap on the library couch before beginning her mountain of homework. Luckily, today's her mellow day, so she has plenty of time. It's 1:00PM and her afternoon is totally free…to do homework and study. After all, she needs to stay ahead and finish assignments before their deadlines so she's not overwhelmed when she gets home at 9:00PM on her busier days.
Emma's decided: she can't stay up until midnight anymore.
At 10:00PM, Emma arrives at her apartment. Her roommate's already in bed and asleep. (In fact, it's questionable whether she ever left.) Emma hasn't finished all her homework, but decides to call it a night anyway—sleep is more important. She has to wake up at 5:30AM again for strength training.
Emma sets her alarm and places it back on her nightstand. "Sorry in advance if I smash you," she whispers to the clock as she drifts off into Dreamland.