"Carrie Mittel! How're you doing today?" Coach Taylor says, and I smile. Even though he's forty-five, with a bald head and a handlebar mustache that looks like he should be a biker or something, he’s one of the nicest guys I've known . . . when he's outside the weight room. I took two classes with him in the past, a freshman Introduction to Kinesiology course, and then in the first semester of my sophomore year, I took Human Body Mechanics. In class, at least in the lecture portion, he's smart and personable and really funny a lot of the time.
But get him in the weight room for labs, or especially when the bars come out for the squats for team workouts, and 'Coach' Taylor disappears. Instead, out comes 'DT' Dave Taylor, former USA's Strongest Man in the under 220 lb. weight class, and one-time owner of the world record in the squat for that same weight class. That man is a berserker and a borderline psychopath, I think, but in a good way. Age and wear and tear have maybe slowed him down some, but Coach Dave Taylor knows his stuff.
So do I though, which is why he invited me to intern with the training staff starting last semester. It started with a lot of grunt work, and that meant for the first six months, my job was to carry weights, pick up after people and mop the weight room and training room, but most of all, to watch. I watched and learned as Coach or one of the other assistants put groups and individuals through their paces. Once the semester was over, he 'graduated' me to doing tape jobs as well, and I've been doing those for the spring semester. Maybe soon, I'll actually be allowed to work with people in rehab and movements too.
"I'm doing okay. What's on the schedule for me today?" I ask, hanging my bag on the hook that is designated for me. "Anything cool?"
"Maybe, but to start, just normal stuff. Women's basketball's going to be coming by soon for their pre-workout wraps and tape jobs. Think you can handle that? I've got volleyball at three, but I'm handling them myself today."
I grab my clipboard and write it down. He insists that we all carry clipboards and that we write down our work. Tracking is big with him. "Sure. Anyone got anything new?"
"Nothing I know of. Check the computer before you get to work," Coach says. “I might have something for you, but I’ll let you know a bit later. I don’t want to jump the gun. How are your own workouts coming along?"
"I'm putting in my time—you know that." It's actually one of the areas that I struggle with the most. I got interested in training during my senior year of high school, when a shoulder injury in softball cut my playing days short. Not that I was good enough for a school like WU anyway, but the rehab was really interesting. Being a long-time athlete, my natural frame combined with my athlete's eating habits meant that my so-called 'freshman fifteen pounds' was more like the 'freshman fifteen kilos,' and I still don't feel good wearing overly tight or sexy clothes, even if I've gotten some of the bad weight off. At five eight and one seventy, I'm still nobody's fashion model, unless you are using Ashley Graham as your template. And if I ever get compared to her, I'm in good company.
"You know, Carrie," Coach says, bringing me out of my reverie, "I keep telling you, drop the worries about your waist, get some protein cycling going, and hit the workouts hard, and it’ll come in time. You’ll have to pick up the bat again if only to keep these athletes away.”
I smile and brush my blonde hair behind my ear. I’m proud of myself as-is, and I have gotten attention from cute guys. I like to think I’m a good size for my frame. "I know, Coach. I’m sure you're right, but sometimes, matching up what I know from class and what I end up doing in my own life . . . it’s not easy.”
He nods, then chuckles. "Sounds like me. You should have seen the rehab I put myself through after my last torn quad. There's no way I'd tell one of the kids who come in here to do that. I'd lose my job. Still, if you need guidance, my door's open."
"Thanks, but first, I'll take care of the basketball team. You know how they are with their ankles and knees."
“Good. If I need you, I'll give you a holler."
The training room is actually right next to the weight room, which is in the basement of the main athletic building at Western University. The Madison Pavilion houses the coaches' offices, the main indoor arena where basketball and volleyball games are played, and in the basement are the weight room, the training room, and the wrestling practice room. Next door is the smaller secondary arena where volleyball, girl's basketball, and other smaller sports do their practices, plus the regular student weight room.
Of course, across the street from Madison Pavilion is Allen Field, where the football team plays, which dominates the skyline of WU and makes the Pavilion look small. It's not that surprising. I guess it takes a lot of space to make seating for eighty thousand people.
There is no way I could see it where I am right now anyway, being underground in the basement. I get to the tape room, where I see Alicia Torres, one of the basketball girls, already waiting. "Hey, Carrie. How's it going?"