I spent a month interning with a Big Ten strength and conditioning program, and the experience was not exactly what I expected. I went in excited to see high-level programming and learn more about the intensity of collegiate athletics. I did learn about those things, but the lessons that stayed with me had much less to do with sets, reps, or how much weight was on the bar.
The first thing that stood out was the efficiency. Some lifting sessions were only 45 minutes long, so there was very little time to waste. Athletes already had practices, meals, meetings, recovery, and the rest of their day planned around their sport. The weight room was only one part of a much larger system. Coaches had to be prepared, communicate clearly, and keep everything moving. It reminded me that good training does not always need to be long or complicated. It needs to be intentional.
Coaching style was another part of the experience that made me think. Volume, intensity, and swearing do not automatically make a cue more effective. Athletes still need information they can understand and apply. I learned to spend less time trying to find the perfect thing to say and more time actually coaching what was in front of me: “Don’t spend so much time thinking about it. Spend more time doing it.” That does not mean speaking without thought. It means trusting what you know, giving the clearest cue you can, and adjusting based on the athlete’s response.
The experience also showed me that coaching relationships need boundaries. One piece of advice that stayed with me was to be friendly with the athletes, but not necessarily become their friend. A coach can care deeply, celebrate an athlete’s progress, and make the weight room feel supportive while still maintaining a professional role. That boundary creates trust and keeps the athlete’s development at the center of the relationship.
Coming from dance, I also had to adjust to the energy of a collegiate weight room. In ballet, the room moves together. Everyone begins class at the barre, hears the same music, and performs the same combination. There is a feeling of unity, even when each dancer is working on something individually. In the weight room, several exercises, conversations, coaches, and groups can all be moving at once. It took me a while to find my place in that. I had to learn how to watch the whole room while still being present with the person directly in front of me.
Some of the most important work also happened outside the workout itself. Fueling and recovery were not treated as optional extras. The athletes were being asked to perform at a high level repeatedly, so training could not be separated from eating, sleeping, recovering, and managing the demands of school and competition. Strength and conditioning was not simply about making someone stronger. It was about supporting the whole athlete.
I also learned that collegiate athletics is a lifestyle for the coaches. The hours can be long, the schedule is unconventional, and the job requires many more roles than writing programs and counting repetitions. The coaches who stood out to me were the ones who genuinely cared about the athletes’ overall development, even when no one was watching.
The biggest lesson came from gaining a clearer understanding of why I want to coach. Winning and athletic performance are naturally important within collegiate sports, and I have a great deal of respect for the commitment it takes to compete at that level. At the same time, I realized that I am most fulfilled when I can help someone feel more capable and confident in their own body. I am drawn to work that is personal, detailed, and embodied—the qualities I have found through dance and Pilates.
This experience did not push me away from strength and conditioning. It helped me understand which parts of it I want to carry into my own work: preparation, efficiency, clear communication, progressive training, and a genuine investment in the person being coached. It also gave me permission to admit that I do not need to want the exact career I once thought I did. Looking back, I think that was the most valuable lesson I could have learned. Go Hawks!
