To the last several generations of athletes, the presence of an athletic trainer is nothing special – they’re in the dugout, on the sidelines and in the clubhouse. They stand watch at games and even at many practices. Their job is to work with injured athletes before and after events and throughout the long road to recovery from anything serious.
But to the general public, there is room for confusion. While athletic trainers have existed in school programs for nearly a century, in one form or another, it is only in the past several decades that the profession has enjoyed any bona fide credentials all its own.
“1970 was the first time athletic trainers were even certified,” says Matthew Gerken, head athletic trainer at USM’s own department. “Prior to that, people were tapers, they were massagers, just kind of jacks of all trades.”
So it was more or less natural that their role solidified into somebody athletes could rely on when their bodies needed work. Over time, that person’s expertise and training became more and more medically oriented.
On a Thursday afternoon, Gerken sits beside a cushioned table in the department’s offices. Junior Thomas Boothby is on that table, and Gerken is running a small sonogram device along the lacrosse player’s leg.
Unlike the diagnostic machines you’ll find in hospitals — typically attached to the bellies of pregnant women — this is one is therapeutic. If all goes well, it could assist Boothby in recovering from a muscular injury.
The machine is eventually put aside, and Gerken begins to stretch and massage the afflicted area.
Athletics training is still — to use a term many here use frequently — a “young profession.” Despite their certification and prominence, they are in the midst of a struggle to be considered private health care providers in the eyes of most insurance companies. This has so far been accomplished in only a few states.
Often the debate arises as to whether or not, at this relatively early stage in their existence, they might consider changing the name of the profession. This might help professionals like Gerken avoid confusion from coaches and the community.
“Oh, it can be confusing,” says Gerken, “where people think — oh, a trainer. ‘I go to my trainer at the gym.’ But what we do is much different. We are health care professionals.”
Gerken’s department does not just provide these services to USM athletes, but also actively trains and educates students to do the work themselves.
There are currently 30 students working their way toward a bachelor’s degree in athletic training here at the university.
It’s not difficult to see a circle here — athlete becomes injured; athlete works closely with an AT in the diagnostic, recovery and rehabilitation process; if an injury proves to be serious or persistent enough, or the player isn’t looking toward a career in the pros, that athlete may have just found a whole new way to stay involved in sports.
As Gerken gets ready to head over to the diamond for a softball game, one such student is seated on a table, a bag of ice on one of her legs. She’s Jess Hobgood, a senior. Another woman comes up to her — her sister, Liani — and they begin to reciprocally apply tape to one another.
Last semester, Jess’s studies took her abroad to the Dominican Republic. There, the medical aspect of the work was very much on display, as her group traveled up along mountains and entered into remote villages. There were no athletics involved.
“We were just the only health care they got,” she recalls. The trip was organized by an organization called Partners in Rural Health. Physicians and Peace Corps volunteers accompanied students in an extreme example of hands-on learning.
According to Ben Towne, professor and director of the program, this emphasis on practical experience is not just helpful, but completely necessary: like more and more programs that are producing certified athletic trainers, his students are not just required to pass their classes and a written test, but a final, “practical exam.”
Sometimes this can block a student from graduating, but rightfully so. “We want students to feel completely comfortable out there,” says Towne.
Down on the softball field, two other students, sophomores Jasmine Quarles and Amber Shorty, now accompany Gerken. They’ve supplied the water for the game and keep an eye on the athletes as they warm up. Ideally, their services will not be required from here on out.
Like many others, they point to the hours involved in this line of study as one of the most difficult aspects — they are expected to put in 150 clinical hours, looking over the shoulder of a professional or having one look over theirs.
“This, in itself, is like another job in addition to school,” says Shorty. “You just don’t get paid for it.”