Who’s Brianne McLaughlin?
I skimmed over the list of names again. Our clinical group assignments for the 2009 spring semester had just been passed out, and we were all excited to look them over. I recognized most of the juniors on the list, but I couldn’t remember this one. I turned around to Ashlee McCafferty.
"Hey, who’s Brianne McLaughlin? Do you know her?”
“Tall. Blonde hair. Sits toward the back. She’s one of the hockey girls, I think.” Another one of the girls added, "Yeah, but I don’t think she’s been here for class since we started.” One of the other girls piped up. “I heard something about her making the Olympic team? Not sure if that's true or not.”
“Seriously?” That's a pretty original excuse for missing class, if you asked me.
More girls turned around.
“Yeah, rumor is that she went to the Olympic tryouts and did really well, so she might not be coming back to school this semester.”
As it turned out, the story wasn't an excuse and those rumors were true. Brianne McLaughlin had indeed made the Olympic team. After setting the NCAA record for most career saves by a female goalie (3,809 to be exact), Brianne had caught the eye of Olympic scouts over the summer. She survived several rigorous rounds of tryouts, and in the end, was selected to the final American team. Our shy classmate, a girl who usually sat in the back of our classes, was suddenly front and center and bound for the 2010 Winter Olympic Games in Vancouver.
I, for one, was starstruck.
You see, I have a bit of an Olympics addiction. Okay, more honestly, I have a huge Olympics addiction. Growing up, I didn’t really have a favorite sport. But I loved the Olympics. Everything about those two weeks every two years grabbed my attention. I loved it all: the assembling of the world’s greatest athletes, the fierce love of country, the music, the flags, the medals. I loved the notion of our whole world taking a “time-out” from international affairs, calling a cease fire, and just playing some games. What an ingenious idea! I thought to myself. Why don’t we do this more often?
One year when I was a kid, the theme of my school’s annual Christmas party was the Winter Olympics. We were all divided into “countries” and lined up to march into the gym for opening ceremonies to the tune of the infamous Olympic theme. Though I only possessed the athletic prowess of a hamster, my chest swelled with magnificent pride as I paraded into that gymnasium with my fellow compatriots. Over time, I did relinquish that Olympic dream in exchange for ones more pragmatic in nature. Then, out of nowhere, halfway through college, I found myself in the same nursing class as a real-life Olympic athlete! Once again, I was catching Olympic fever.
For the next six months, I lived my Olympic dream vicariously through Brianne. Though she and I barely knew each other prior to this, she was gracious enough to put up with my incessant curiosity about her preparation for the Games. On the day of the Opening Ceremonies in Vancouver, I bragged to anyone who would listen that I had received a text message from one of those sharply-dressed American athletes making their way in to the arena. Brianne and the women's team played their hearts out during the tournament, taking second place to Canada and earning them each a shiny silver medal. Brianne was ecstatic. So was Robert Morris University. So was I!
When she returned home, Brianne handled her newfound fame so well. Not only did she share her medal with our class, but she brought her official jersey along for us to wear, too. For a few blissful moments last spring, I was as close to feeling like an Olympian as I’d ever be…
Dream accomplished.
Flash forward to November 11th....Brianne is back at school, finishing up her last year of nursing courses at RMU. Actually, at the moment this story is being penned, she's sitting right in front of me on a plane, somewhere over the Great Plains. Brianne and eight of her undergraduate classmates are officially on their way to Nicaragua, all of them for the first time. Their mission will be to bring nursing care to the barrios of Managua. My mission will be to capture them doing it.
Sentenced to the very last row of the aircraft, I've been enduring this flight much more than enjoying it. I was hoping to catch up on sleep on the plane to Nicaragua, but with the abundance of engine noise and lack of leg room, I've decided to strike up a conversation with the stranger on my left instead. His introduces himself as Jack McIntyre Jr., an oil field equipment salesman from Lafayette, Louisiana. I tell him that my father also travels the sales world. We move through several topics over the next half hour. It's his admission about being an avid hockey fan that makes me think of the Olympian among us. I lean toward Mr. McIntyre.
"See this girl sitting in front of me?" I whisper. He nods intently.
"She played hockey in the last Winter Olympics for the United States." His eyes get wide.
"No sir!" he says in a thick Southern drawl. "Me and my wife love the Olympics! How do you know that girl?"
"I went to nursing school with her. Do you wanna see her medal?" I ask excitedly. Any excuse to spread some Olympic magic works for me.
"She has a medal?!" the man exclaims. "Like....with her? Right now?"
"She sure does.” I poke at the seat ahead of me. "Hey Bri, can we play with the medal back here?" She chuckles and nods, very accustomed to this request by now. The silver medal is handed back through the crack in the seat. I handle it reverently, passing it to Mr. McIntyre, who does the same. I can tell he is truly impressed.
"It's amazing!" he says, shaking his head. "And so heavy!"
"I know!" I'm beaming with that pride, almost as much as if the medal belonged to me. It's that same feeling that all Pittsburghers feel when our boys bring home another Lombardi trophy or Stanley Cup. "So I bet you never expected to be sitting right behind a United States Olympian!"
"Oh my goodness, my wife will never believe this," he laughs. He notices my camera at my feet. "Hey, will you take a photo and email it to me?"
"Absolutely! Hold it out for me. One, two, three..."
Click.
We've flown over a giant chunk of America’s fruited plains by now. Our connecting flight will take off from Houston. As the plane's wing dips down into Texas airspace, Mr. McIntyre hands me his business card and shakes my hand. "Well, the best of Louisiana luck to you and your group." Between Hurricane Katrina and the massive BP oil spill on their coast, I'm not sure that Louisiana’s luck is exactly what we need this coming week. But I shake his hand and smile just the same.
He takes one last look at the medal and hands it back to me. "And thank you for this. I seriously never thought I'd ever hold one of these!"
Neither did I. Thanks for dreaming big, Brianne.
Now on to Nicaragua. Go USA.
