There’s something exhilarating about the energy of a college football game day—the roar of the crowd, the intensity on the field, and the undeniable camaraderie between athletes and their support staff. Let’s be real: we picture the players when we think about sports, the ones scoring points and making headlines. We don’t always think about the people behind the scenes — the athletic trainers, physical therapists, and medical staff who keep those athletes moving. As a freshman stepping into the world of sports medicine, I quickly realized that being a woman in this field comes with an entirely different set of challenges.
My journey started this semester, only my second, when I took a chance and applied for an athletic training internship on campus. I walked in thinking I’d only be taping ankles and handing out ice packs and water. Instead, I found myself in a crash course on what it means to be a female in a male-dominated field. The first time I stepped onto the sidelines of a football practice, I felt the weight of the stares. Not malicious, not always obvious, but enough to remind me that I was an outsider. The questions followed soon after: “Are you sure you can carry that?” “You really want to be here?”—as if my presence was up for debate.
The reality is that sports medicine, especially in male sports, wasn’t built with women in mind. There’s an unspoken expectation that we prove ourselves in ways our male counterparts don’t have to. I’ve watched male trainers respected from day one, while I’ve had to earn mine by working twice as hard, knowing a little more, and anticipating problems before they happen. I’ve seen female trainers hesitate before stepping onto the field, waiting for confirmation that they “belong” there, while male trainers charge in without a second thought.
It’s not just about perception, it’s about access. Coaches naturally gravitate towards male trainers for their teams, assuming they’ll “get it” more. Athletes sometimes question a woman’s expertise, even when she’s the one saving their season. Then there’s the constant underlying challenge of professionalism: walking the fine line between being approachable and being taken seriously, because one wrong interaction and suddenly you’re just “the girl on the sideline.”
One of the most frustrating experiences I’ve had so far was dealing with a new male intern who just wouldn’t take the time to learn my name. No matter how many times I introduced myself, he kept referring to me as “that one” when talking to others, and even kept looking around cluelessly when our boss asked him to give me something (after working together for at least a week). To add insult to injury, I found out that he actually learned the other male interns’ names. Things got even worse when he started taking over my treatments without asking, as if my role didn’t matter. It was a tough reminder that the challenges in this field go beyond just working with athletes and older adults, there are social dynamics at play that can make it even harder. Instead of letting it get to me, I’m using it as motivation to prove myself and push through.
Despite the challenges, I’ve learned that women in sports medicine aren’t just surviving, we’re changing the game. I’ve met incredible female trainers, physical therapists, and doctors who refuse to let outdated norms dictate their careers. Shadowing in different environments, from college training rooms to hospital settings, has shown me that this field isn’t just about treating injuries. It’s about breaking barriers and proving that expertise isn’t gendered. A woman can be just as (if not more) knowledgeable, just as strong, and just as essential to an athlete’s success as any man.
Now, as I continue my first year in college, I carry these experiences with me. Sports medicine isn’t just about knowing how to use an ice pack or wrap a sprained ankle, it’s about demanding a seat at the table and making sure other women get there too. Whether I end up working on the sidelines, in a clinic, or in a research lab, one thing is certain, I want to be part of the movement that shifts the narrative.
For any woman considering a path in sports medicine, or any male-dominated field in general, my biggest piece of advice is this: be relentless. Ask the questions. Take up space. Let them underestimate you – and then prove them wrong. Join student organizations, shadow professionals, find mentors, and don’t let anyone make you feel like you don’t belong. The truth is, we’re not just here to participate – we’re here to lead.
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