Column: Learning to embrace the uncomfortable is inevitable as a sports journalist

In the 24 hours preceding my entrance into the Kenan Stadium press box, I subsist on a steady diet of pure panic.

Without fail, I buy a new top. If I am feeling really nervous, I might even buy a new pair of pants to make sure I look like a professional reporter. From there, I obsessively FaceTime my parents and run through the anxiety-ridden script they have heard so many times before. 

Does this outfit look good? Do you think I will do a good job today? Do you think I am prepared? 

And that anxiety is powered by one source — being uncomfortable.

Amid a sea of older men covering North Carolina football, you can count on one hand the number of women who sit in the press box. During the three UNC games I covered this season, I only spotted one other 20-year-old woman. 

So, in the hours leading up to a riveting game of college football, I panic and overprepare. I lay out my clothes to make sure they don’t wrinkle. I read my favorite sports article to remind myself why I want to do this. 

I simply work to fit into a world that I don’t belong in. I grasp at any controllable before the inevitable happens — someone will ask me a ridiculous question or explain a simple term. 

"How familiar are you with the game of football?"

"I don’t know if you know, but a pick 6 occurs when a defensive player forces an interception and returns it for a touchdown."

I know.

For the entire game, I sit silently in the gray uncomfortable chairs as the reporters who have known each other for years sustain their baritone banter. 

I fight an internal dialogue whispering that I don’t know how football works. I fight the feeling that I’ll blunder in the post-game press conferences. I fight the fear that I just don’t belong. 

I tug and pull at my clothes to ensure they are perfect. I take diligent notes and work to absorb everything.

Once the game concludes, reporters race to the press conference to set up cameras and grab front-row seats. I position myself and steady my voice. I ask a couple of questions and ignore the feeling of judgment surrounding me.

A male reporter approaches me. 

"That was a really good question. Very technical." 

Is he surprised that I can ask a technical question? 

Soon, the presser ends and my favorite part begins. 

Escaping the anxiety, I enter the world of crafting words and slowly piecing images together. Ignoring that voice, I immerse myself completely in story structure and attempt to balance gameplay and metaphors. 

I labor over each word. With a two-hour deadline approaching, I race to finish the story and love all the stress that comes with it. I enjoy being the last to leave. I adore seeing my name under the headline. 

There’s nothing better than that feeling. 

I’ll endure the panic time and time again just for the sense of pride that comes from finishing a story. The pride that only comes with knowing a story is better than your last one and the sense that you might be getting a handle on writing and developing your craft. 

I always end up reading my story to my parents or my grandparents. I’ll read it to anyone who will let me. 

For the next couple of days, I subsist on this enjoyment. This is what I do it for. This is why I chose this career for myself despite the pressure and the anxiety.  

Eventually, it will subside. Another Saturday will approach and another gameday will overshadow the last. 

I will buy a new top. Maybe a new pair of pants. I’ll pick up the phone to call my parents.

@_emmahmoon

@dthsports | sports@dailytarheel.com