From Nervous Freshman to Veteran Leader: Reflections on the Journey Through Years of Ohio State Football and Personal Growth
It’s been many years since my first day of Ohio State football camp. I remember the jitters, the fear, and the uncertainty. I remember how the air felt thick with expectation, how even my cleats seemed heavier under the weight of everything I had to prove. I wasn’t just a freshman trying to make a team. I was a teenager walking into a program with a legacy stretching back generations, with fans who expected perfection, and coaches who demanded nothing less. I was standing at the foot of a mountain I didn’t yet know how to climb.
When you grow up watching Ohio State on TV, you see the tradition, the big plays, the championships. You see the packed stadium, the deafening roar of 100,000 fans, and the pageantry of college football at its peak. But what you don’t see — what no broadcast or highlight reel can ever capture — is what it feels like to be in that locker room, to walk into the Woody Hayes Athletic Center for the first time with your name barely known and your role undefined. It’s humbling. It’s terrifying. And it’s exhilarating all at once.
I showed up that first day with my head high and my stomach in knots. The coaches were cordial, but direct. The upperclassmen were focused — not unfriendly, but distant. Everyone had their place, and I hadn’t earned mine yet. The tempo was faster than anything I’d ever seen. The expectations were higher. The margins for error were razor thin. I didn’t realize it then, but that first week would teach me more about myself than anything I had learned in high school.
I wasn’t alone in feeling that way. Every freshman goes through it. Some mask it better than others, but we’re all a little scared. We’re scared of failing. Scared of letting our families down. Scared of proving the doubters right. But the secret — the part you only understand later — is that fear is part of the process. It sharpens you. It pushes you. It humbles you before you’ve earned the right to be confident.
There were days early on when I questioned whether I belonged. I’d go back to my dorm sore, exhausted, and unsure of myself. I’d replay mistakes in my head: a missed read, a blown assignment, a mental error that cost me a rep. But every time I wanted to give in to doubt, I thought about why I came to Ohio State in the first place. I didn’t choose this school because it would be easy. I chose it because I wanted to be forged in fire.
Over time, the nerves faded. Reps stacked on reps. The playbook started to make sense. My body adjusted to the physical demands. The coaches’ voices that once felt intimidating became guiding. And the veterans who once seemed like distant stars slowly became mentors, teammates, and friends. I learned how to compete every day — not just against others, but against the weaker version of myself from the day before.
And that’s the essence of Ohio State football: relentless growth. You learn to live in discomfort. You learn to embrace it. There’s always another challenge around the corner — another practice, another film session, another weight room grind. You never really arrive. You just keep climbing.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped being the freshman. I stopped worrying about whether I belonged and started helping others feel like they did. I became someone the younger guys looked to — not just for technique or advice, but for steadiness. I started to see my own growth through their eyes. And it made me remember everything I’d been through to get there.
I remember the early mornings before the sun came up. The winter conditioning drills that tested our lungs and our will. The heartbreaking losses that felt like they’d never leave our bones. I remember the long film sessions where every mistake was dissected in front of the whole team. And I remember the wins that made it all worth it — the moments in the locker room when the brotherhood felt strongest, when the noise outside faded and all that mattered was us.
But beyond the games and the stats and the highlights, what stays with me most is the brotherhood. The bonds forged through shared struggle are unlike anything else. You learn each other’s stories, fears, and strengths. You see teammates at their best and worst. You pick each other up when the weight of expectations threatens to crush someone. And when you walk into battle on Saturdays, you’re not just playing for yourself. You’re playing for everyone who grinded beside you when no one was watching.
That culture — that standard — is what separates Ohio State from so many other programs. It’s not just about five-star talent or flashy facilities. It’s about how we hold each other accountable. How we refuse to settle. How we play for something bigger than ourselves. I didn’t fully understand that when I arrived, but now it’s stitched into who I am.
Now, as a veteran, camp feels different. The nerves are gone, replaced by purpose. I know the playbook. I know the expectations. But more importantly, I know my role — not just as a player, but as a leader. I remember what it felt like to be the unsure freshman, and now it’s my job to help the new guys find their footing. To pull them aside after a tough rep. To encourage them when they’re overwhelmed. To remind them that growth takes time.
Because the truth is, no one makes it through this program alone. Everyone needs a hand at some point — a coach who believes in you, a teammate who pushes you, a trainer who helps you bounce back from injury. And if you’re lucky, you eventually get to be that hand for someone else. That’s what makes this journey so powerful. It’s not just about football. It’s about becoming the kind of person who shows up for others, who leads by example, who represents the scarlet and gray with pride and humility.
I also know that my time here won’t last forever. Every season feels more precious now. Every rep in practice, every film session, every team meeting — they all carry a little more weight. Not because I fear the end, but because I respect the journey. I’ve come too far to take any of it for granted.
When I look back, I see more than just games. I see personal growth. I see moments when I could have quit, but didn’t. I see relationships that will last a lifetime. I see how the boy who arrived wide-eyed and uncertain became a man who now carries himself with conviction, discipline, and purpose.
That’s the beauty of Ohio State football. It takes in raw, ambitious kids and gives them the tools — and the trials — to become something more. It doesn’t promise you glory. It makes you earn it. And in the process, it teaches you lessons you’ll carry far beyond the field.
If I could go back and talk to that freshman version of myself — the one who felt overwhelmed on that first day of camp — I’d tell him not to worry so much. I’d tell him that every hard day would make sense in the end. I’d tell him that doubt is part of growth, and that the people who succeed here aren’t the ones who never fail, but the ones who refuse to stay down when they do.
Most of all, I’d tell him to enjoy it. To soak in every practice, every laugh in the locker room, every bus ride, and every walk into the Horseshoe. Because one day, it becomes a memory — and you realize that the journey, with all its bumps and bruises, was the real reward all along.
Years from now, I won’t remember every score or stat. But I’ll remember the feeling of walking onto that field wearing the Block O. I’ll remember the teammates who became brothers. I’ll remember the grind, the growth, and the pride of being part of something bigger than myself.
And I’ll remember that it all started with one nervous freshman walking into camp with a head full of dreams and no idea just how far he’d come.
