Every Friday morning at 9:00 a.m., I waited by my home phone with a pad of paper and a pen.  I had to be prepared because cell phones were not invented yet, only rich people had car phones, and my boss was the punctual type. “Ring… Ring…”  I always picked up on the second ring because that seemed professional yet not too eager, “Hello?  Yes, Karen. Good morning.”  It was the summer of 1994, I was fresh out of college, and I was a freelance reporter for the local cable television station.

“Jen, today you’re covering Special Olympics.  Listen, Lance can’t be there at the beginning but he’ll try to meet you there.  Stop by the station and pick up the gear.  You’re on your own today, kid.”

On my own meant that I wouldn’t have the safety of the camera operator’s expertise or companionship.  It meant that I would have to remember to pack and then carry the camera, the clunky ¾” deck, the cables, the ¾” video tapes, the extra batteries, the tripod, the clip-on microphone, the handheld microphone, the clipboard with my notes, and a pen.  It meant I would shoot the raw footage and connect with interviewees.  I would set up the tripod, shoot the interviews, and then the cutaway shots (where the reporter turns the lens on him/herself).  On my own meant I felt my heart beating outside my chest.  I hung up the phone, let out a squeal of both terror and excitement, and put my little hands together in anticipatory applause.

I drove toward the station with the radio turned full up, singing along to release some of my nerves. At the station, I collected the gear and did my best packhorse imitation as I schlepped it to the car. I prayed that all of this would go well so that I would have actual footage, with sound, when I returned to the studio to edit.

When I arrived on location, I took a moment to appreciate the bright summer sun shining in the Colorado blue sky. I hefted the bags to my shoulders and surveyed the scene. Athletes and coaches were spread all around the athletic field preparing for competition. My skills were as fresh as the newly-cut grass.  I took a deep breath and galloped toward the closest event.

Somehow, I made it through the shoot.  I captured video of several events, tried out a few race courses, and made friends with some of the athletes along the way.  An hour seemed to sprint as quickly as the 50-yard dashers in the final heat.  Lance arrived while I was packing the gear.  When I announced I was finished, he gave me a high five and a huge smile.  As we carried the load back to the cable van, he said, “Way to go, Jen.”

In the studio I edited my footage (and there was sound!) into a 3-minute package celebrating the athletes’ accomplishments.  I recorded the voice-over about ten times until it sounded just right.  I watched the package a few more times just to be sure.  I made a video dub for myself, made plans to visit my mom later that evening, and smiled with pride.  Aside from the athletes’ families watching the news broadcast, she would likely be my only audience.