It all felt out of her hands anyway, so Krystal Baker sat in her track coach’s office, waiting for the lecture.

It was her junior year at Waynesburg University, and the school-record setting high-jumper was ready to quit altogether. Krystal had been up here before. Many, many times.

Two years before—her freshman year—she spent a lot of time in Coach Jason Falvo’s office, working through the family and home issues that she balanced with the added pressure of track & field.

“I kind of went on a spiral,” Krystal remembers, now, as a 26-year-old. “Alcohol, partying, boys.”

When her grades caught up to her lifestyle, she ended up in Falvo’s office, in the Rudy Marisa Fieldhouse—four walls of team photographs, trophies and championship rings surrounding her.

When she reflects on her collegiate years, Krystal said her sophomore year was definitely the best: everything went well; everything “came together.” That’s when she set all of her records.

But it didn’t last, and there she sat again, feeling small behind Falvo’s massive desk, in a leather arm chair that felt like it was sinking into the floor.

“I just wanted to be done,” Krystal remembers. “To just walk away and be done…I just couldn’t handle the stress of training.”

And Falvo peered over at her, at a critical juncture, wondering how he could possibly help her.

 

Krystal is not the only collegiate athlete to ever succumb to the pressure. Balancing training and real-life problems can pull a lot of people down.

Krystal arrived at school just after her grandmother had a stroke. She left a friendship where she was trapped in emotional and physical abuse. She left the harsh rumors circulating around her high school as a result of it—things that shouldn’t be repeated in print. She left six siblings and a mother she described as “independent,” who never showed any sign of approval. All of this tore her up inside, along with high expectations to compete and excel as a high-jumper and pole-vaulter.

But even on a national level, a large percentage of student athletes experience feelings of depression or anxiety: enough for the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) to dedicate an entire book, Mind, Body and Sport, outlining the risk factors and consequences. The issue is especially apparent at Division I universities, where students can lose their scholarships if they do not play to their coach’s expectations. But according to the NCAA, the competitive culture of sports at all division levels often dissuades students from speaking out about their mental health needs.

For Falvo, a coach of 19 years, recognizing when something is “off” with one of his athletes is just “part of the job,” and he has had countless conversations with students, up in his office, trying to get to the bottom of their issues.

“You really have to invest in those people,” he said.

He sees his athletes like family, and he has to balance doing what is right for the team—getting results, winning conference titles—and doing what is right for the person sitting across the desk from him—mentally, emotionally.

He was faced with this conflict years ago, in 2011, when Krystal was the one sitting in his office. Wanting out.

He remembers the conversation they had that day, as she sat there stoically, across from him. He tried to get to the bottom of her anxiety— “OK, so you’re stressed out about track. Why?”—but he already knew what it was. They had been dancing around this subject for years now. It wasn’t about track at all.

He could never know the exact thoughts that raced through Krystal’s head every day, but he did know that she placed a lot more pressure on herself than the other athletes. He could see she was becoming more anxious. As she sat there in his office, he decided to cut her a deal.

“Well what do you think about this?” he said. “You don’t want to necessarily quit track, but you can’t do track right now. How about two meets? That way, you’re still with us; you’re still competing in the big ones, and you’re not officially quitting.”

She looked up at him with large blue eyes, undoubtedly radiating with frustration.

She agreed. Reluctantly.

Falvo was filled with relief.

“She needed to stay connected in terms of the family dynamic, in terms of mentorship, in terms of just having someone to check up on her,” he said, later.

Falvo has had tens of students through his office—good athletes, cracking under the pressure of balancing school with sports—students just like Krystal. That’s why he sees this part of the job as essential: Falvo thinks the pressure can be just as great in Division III—these athletes are just motivated by internal drive and personal expectations instead of scholarship dollars. But here, the coaches can do more to help.

 

The phone call. Falvo remembers how he felt when he received it, in February 2017. He remembers the pit-like feeling in his stomach, rising in severity as his shaking hands hung up the phone. An athlete he had coached—a junior football player named Brad Grinnen—died unexpectedly in his dorm room that morning.

Months later, he still struggles with the situation.

“I was shocked,” said Falvo. “Immediately saddened. I never would have thought that—that he would pass away. You know, I mean he was a bigger-than-life personality, a true tough guy. You just don’t think about him in that way, so I was just—I was shocked.”

It was all just so unexpected. He worries about the other players now, struggling with the loss of their friend. Falvo said he makes it a priority to get to know his athletes on a closer level.

Even Division III athletes have their fair share of depression and mental health issues, according to Jane Owen, director of the Educational Enrichment Program, Clinical Services and Counseling Center at Waynesburg University.

“I think that we see a lot of anxiety, stress…just being overwhelmed,” said Owen.

Perhaps what sets the Division III sports apart, though, at least according to Owen, is that the problems plaguing student athletes are mostly just regular problems, like any other student.

“And sometimes we have students who come to us and the issue is, ‘I’m finding that I really don’t have the time, love or interest in my sport anymore,’” said Owen. “I find that athletes have an ingrained sense of commitment to their sport, so it’s often difficult for them to step back.”

It becomes especially difficult, said Owen, when athletes begin comparing themselves to others in the midst of competition. Failure-based depression, while especially predominant in the elite Division I schools, trickles down even to a Division III level. To remedy, Owen said the Counseling Center is prepared with multiple psychological techniques to help students cope with the pressure and inevitable setbacks that accompany playing a sport.

Owen said that athletes typically have above-average coping skills, good time-management and a resiliency not often found in other students, but coaches tend to align with a different perspective—after seeing the best and the worst of their athletes on a daily basis. That’s why a lot of the responsibility ends up falling on the coaching staff.

That’s why Falvo is haunted by Brad Grinnen and that phone call.

Could he have made a difference?

He is determined to prevent anything like this from occurring again.

“I think coming away from that, I think, as a coach, for me, I want to kind of force my way a little bit more—be more intentional about getting to know our athletes more,” he said. “I think that that may or may not have prevented anything from going on in this particular situation, but maybe it will prevent something in the future.”

He thinks back to his days coaching Krystal as validation, knowing that the extra work he and other Division III coaches do to connect with athletes can make that difference.

 

The training may have caused more stress, but the track team is truly what saved her. For Krystal, being an athlete—even one who competed at a national level—was never about the sport. It was about the people. Because although she trained every day to jump higher and higher, the team kept her grounded. Her coach kept her grounded.

“If I didn’t have my coaches, I don’t know where I’d be,” said Krystal. “I think the relationships that athletics has brought me has been my saving grace.”

That’s what kept Krystal coming back to practice day after day, and today, she still comes back: as Waynesburg’s primary jumping coach. She now sees the opportunity to reach more people who are struggling—and she sees a lot of herself in those people. To her, coaching isn’t about applying the pressure or getting results. It’s about being there for the ones that need her.

“It’s got to be about what you want,” she said. “I’m not a pushy coach. If you don’t want it, you’re not going to do it.”

She wants to be there for them. She wants to be a coach who they can talk to. She wants to be for them, who Falvo was for her.

“I know the meaning that I put on that, when I call people ‘Coach,’” she said. “The relationships that I’ve had with those people…I hope that I can be that for somebody.”