M

y parents both graduated from the University of 
Michigan in 1990. My dad was an outside line-
backer on the varsity football team in 1988, under 

legendary coach Bo Schembechler. My mom choreographed 
multiple productions each year for the School of Music, The-
atre & Dance. They can both share anecdotes about working 
multiple jobs on campus and being involved in clubs. Each of 
them went on to complete master’s programs. They met in 
class — the jock fell in love with the bookish girl who never 
went to a single football game. Yes, I know: It’s unbearably 
cheesy.

Their daughter, on the other hand, is from upstate New 

York. From the age of 8 all the way until my senior year of 
high school, I only considered attending a university that 
boasted a Division I women’s hockey program. The Uni-
versity, sadly, does not offer that particular varsity sport 
(though it would undoubtedly help to grow women’s hockey 
in Michigan if it did).

The vague dream I had of being a Wolverine faded during 

my freshman year of 
high school when I 
found out the school 
didn’t meet my one 
requirement: Divi-
sion 
I 
women’s 

hockey. 
Despite 

being raised by two 
enthusiastic 
Uni-

versity graduates, I 
had only visited Ann 
Arbor once or twice, 
so this news was not 
exactly crushing.

As I entered my 

senior year I was 
being recruited for 
hockey 
by 
some 

decently 
well-

known 
academic 

schools, but in the 
end I was lured 
by low tuition and 
promises of winning 
a 
national 
cham-

pionship. 
SUNY 

Plattsburgh, a Divi-
sion III school locat-
ed somewhere in 
the northernmost corner of New York, is known for having 
strong hockey teams and a decent childhood education pro-
gram. I was not there to become a teacher, so my program of 
choice — entrepreneurship — was not particularly challeng-
ing. I tested out of my foreign language requirement despite 
not taking a language my senior year and barely being able 
to hold a basic conversation in French. I put minimal effort 
into my 100-level calculus class and did fairly well, even 
though my efforts in high school pre-calculus class had been 
far less successful. School-wise, my classmates thought they 
were being challenged, but no one spent long nights at the 
library or Sunday afternoons cramming in a coffee shop. 
In my management class, I was one of the few people that 
turned in homework. My professor told me, “Don’t bother 
showing up to the final, you already have an A.”

So, college hockey was my focus. The daily grueling prac-

tices, led by a coach whose only goal was winning, felt less 
and less worthwhile. Eventually, we won the NCAA Nation-

al Championship, crushing our opposition 9-2 in the final 
game of the tournament. Almost every game of the year had 
been a blowout. We won 6-0, 8-0, 10-1 … our season became 
boring and predictable, exactly the opposite of what college 
hockey should be. Winning nationals left me uneasy, in the 
same way the perfect score in my management class left me 
feeling like I had cheated. I hadn’t earned anything and was 
being rewarded just for meeting expectations, not for tak-
ing initiative or pushing myself. It was becoming clear that 
Plattsburgh was not my home.

It took a broken back to veer my path toward Michigan. I 

left Plattsburgh after one year, clinging to my sport. I moved 
to Cambridge, Ontario, and played junior hockey there for 
half a year. In November, my skates were swept out from 
under me and my neck was snapped backwards onto cold, 
solid ice. The cheap shot behind the referee left me with 
multiple herniated discs, and six months later I went in for 
surgery.

By the time I went to the hospital to have them remove 

ruptured disc material from my spinal cord, I had been 
through four different sets of very painful and unsuccessful 
injections. I had switched doctors, convinced that the first 
hadn’t given me the best medications or treatment options 
available. I was taking too many painkillers each day, ter-
rified of becoming addicted, but not being able to function 
without them. Pain had become a way of life. A risky sur-
gery could fix me, but it would cost me my hockey career. 
Hockey player was the only identity I had left, and without 
it I didn’t know who I was.

I had never considered attending a school where I 

wouldn’t be a varsity athlete, clad in school colors and sur-
rounded by teammates. My recovery prognosis had all along 
been hazy at best. My mother urged me to apply to other 
schools besides the ones I’d visited for hockey. Michigan 
was on the list, but, to me, it still was a fallback. I’d never 
even been on an official campus visit.

Before I go any further, there’s one thing that I feel I have 

to clarify to Michiganders. People in New York do not care 
about college football as much as Midwesterners. In CBS 
Sports’ college football rankings from this week, they list 
our state’s largest Division I schools — Syracuse University 
and the University at Buffalo — at 113 and 121 respectively, 
out of 128 total teams. Michigan is currently number four 
on that list. Football is a huge reason that the University of 
Michigan is known as a great school nationally, but when 
your home state schools typically perform dismally, you try 
to avoid the rankings. Because of that, we don’t have the 
same understanding of large state schools that seems to 
be inherent across the rest of the country. To me, Big Ten 
schools just meant wild parties. Before I started research-
ing, my parents’ intense love of the school was the only rea-
son I applied to be a Wolverine.

For months in high school, I panicked about what school 

to attend. After my first college experience, I was even 
more nervous about making the wrong choice. I confided 
in one of my best friends, David, with my enrollment deci-

sion due shortly and a 
looming choice between 
the University and two 
much 
smaller 
liberal 

arts schools. He knows 
me quite well, and his 
advice 
was 
simple. 

“Michigan seems like a 
Maggie school.”

Thank goodness I lis-

tened to him. I started 
attending the University 
in fall 2015. My classes 
are challenging, but I’ve 
never been more excited 
to attend them. My dis-
mal placement test last 
year can confirm that I 
most definitely was not 
qualified to place out 
of French. With some 
help from my advisor, 
I changed my major to 
English and never have 
to struggle through a 
math class again. I took 
up writing about sports 
for The Michigan Daily 
— something I never 

would’ve had time for as an athlete. I found a new identity 
here. If this is starting to sound like an ad for attending the 
University, I’m sorry: I’m also a tour guide these days. I’m 
not on the football team like dear ol’ dad, but I just accepted 
a job at the Natural History Museum — my mom’s former 
employer. I even won an intramural soccer championship 
last fall, venturing into post-surgery athletics. Sometimes 
the balancing act of a heavy class load and extracurriculars 
gets tough, as it does for every student. Looking back helps 
me to realize how lucky I am to attend the best university in 
the world, even if it took me a while to get here.

Wednesday, September 21, 2016 // The Statement
6B

All Roads Lead to Ann Arbor

by Maggie Kolcon, Daily Sports Writer

ILLUSTRATION BY ELISE HAADSMA

