What Being a Laker Diver Taught Me

I spent the first eleven years of my life as a gymnast. I started in diapers, touching my toes, moved into a toddler tykes class, and eventually joined the performance team at Minnesota Flyers.

I loved it. Gymnastics taught me to use my body in ways few people could—and showed me the value of an individual pursuit that contributes to something larger than yourself.

By sixth grade, though, I had run out of room to progress. There wasn’t a competitive path for boys in gymnastics, so I turned toward the water.

At the time, the diving team consisted of me, one other diver, and a brand-new coach named Bobbi Jo. She had returned home to coach the team she was once part of. She’s been doing it ever since.

I had a new apparatus to master, and instead of landing on my feet, I was aiming the other way. At my first meet, I broke the middle school record.

Over the years, we helped build that team from a handful of divers into a real program. We competed at conference, section, and state meets. We won a few championships. More importantly, we built a culture where everyone contributed and everyone had a place.

I was proud of that team. It had rigor and excellence, but it also had care—for the sport and for one another. We even got our community excited. People organized fan buses to watch us swim and dive, something usually reserved for the marquee sports.

That experience taught me about possibility: that a small town could produce state champions, that a team of two could grow into something lasting, and that every kind of athlete could find a place to belong.

I believe sports can be a powerful tool. They help young people understand themselves, connect with others, and learn the value of teamwork, discipline, resilience, and grit.

I worry that we’re losing some of that—to phones, to hyper-competitiveness, and to specialization that begins far too young. Too often, we treat youth activities as pipelines to achievement instead of opportunities for discovery.

And that is how I think about education more broadly. Learning isn’t ultimately measured by how many hours a student spends in a classroom or how many pages of homework they complete. It’s measured by who they are becoming along the way.

That’s the lens I’m bringing to the school board. Our schools help young people become capable, curious, and caring adults. So the question I want us to keep asking is simple: What experiences can we give our students that will help them become the best versions of themselves?

I learned how to work hard, set a goal, build a team, and push beyond what I thought was possible—on a diving board, in a small town, with a coach who chose to come home.

Every student in this district deserves a version of that.