Rifle, Grief, and Growing Up at Nebraska

When I first came to Nebraska, rifle was everything.

I had grown up in an athlete high school where my whole life revolved around training. Lifting. Practice. Doing everything “right.” Rifle wasn’t just something I did, it was how I understood myself.

Coming to Nebraska felt like the next logical step. A chance to compete at a high level. A chance to keep pushing. A chance to see how far I could go.

What I didn’t expect was how much my understanding of sport — and life — would change here.

Finding a Team

Rifle is usually an individual sport. Most of the time, you’re alone on the line, responsible for every shot yourself. So coming to Nebraska and suddenly being part of a team was a completely new experience for me.

Almost overnight, I had built-in best friends. Coaches who cared. Support staff who showed up for me in ways that went far beyond training plans or competition prep. People who weren’t just focused on how I performed, but on who I was becoming.

That sense of community became even more important during my freshman year.

That was when I lost my sister.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. Losing her felt like losing my footing — like my entire world collapsed at once. Up until that point, I had never been without her for more than a couple of weeks. We were sixteen months apart, grew up side by side, went to the same schools, and shared almost everything. Rifle was something we did together. Life was something we did together.

I don’t think I would have stayed in the United States if I’d been anywhere else.

But at Nebraska, my coaches, my teammates, and our support staff embraced me as a person first. The focus wasn’t on whether I could train over the summer or be ready for the fall season. It was about how I was doing. What I needed. How they could help me feel OK again.

That was when Nebraska stopped being just a place to shoot and started becoming home.

A Family Sport

Rifle has always been part of my family.

My parents met on the range at nationals. My grandpa shot. Both of my parents shot. My sister and I grew up at competitions, surrounded by people of all ages who loved the sport. I started competing when I was about seven years old, which is pretty early in rifle, but it gave me something really special: memories of traveling, training, and competing alongside my family.

I could go to matches with my grandpa when he was in his seventies. I don’t think there are many sports where that’s possible.

For a long time, it was just fun. It wasn’t about results or pressure. That didn’t really come until I was twelve or thirteen, when I started competing at higher levels and realized how much I loved pushing myself under pressure.

In high school, I moved away from home to attend an athlete-focused school. That was the first time rifle truly structured my entire life — from my classes to my daily routine. I thrived in that environment. I loved being surrounded by people who wanted to be great, not just in sport, but in whatever they pursued.

That’s when I knew I wanted to see how far I could take this.

Choosing Nebraska

The idea of college rifle in the United States felt overwhelming at first. I didn’t really understand the process. I just knew I wanted to try.

So I built what was basically a portfolio of myself — my shooting, my academics, what the sport meant to me — and started emailing coaches. Looking back, I had no idea what I was doing.

But when I talked to Nebraska, it felt different.

Those conversations weren’t just about scores or averages. Coach Mindy Miles talked about culture. About relationships. About finding a family. She made it sound like a place where I wouldn’t just grow as an athlete, but as a person.

That’s what brought me to Lincoln.

 

 

 

 

 

View this post on Instagram

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A post shared by Camilla (@camiilla.johannessen)

Learning a New Language

My first semester here was harder than I ever expected.

I had always been a strong student, but living every moment in English was exhausting. I felt like my personality didn’t fully translate. I couldn’t always express myself the way I wanted to. I didn’t think I’d stay in America for four years.

The times when I felt most like myself were the quiet evenings at the range, training alone. Rifle still made sense. The process still felt familiar.

Slowly, the people around me helped bridge that gap. Professors, advisors, tutors — everyone stepped in to help me adjust to school in a second language. I found communities within athletics, including other international student-athletes who understood what it felt like to be far from home.

Little by little, it started to feel manageable.

Carrying My Sister With Me

My sister was a rifle athlete, too. She competed in the U.S. and built an incredible career. She was full of light — always joking, always positive, always having fun. I’ve always looked up to her.

For a long time after losing her, my goal wasn’t to perform. It was just to make it through the day.

Nebraska’s sports psychology staff, my coaches, and my teammates walked that road with me. Some days, the win was simply showing up. I’ve always held myself to high standards and hated losing, but this season of my life taught me that success isn’t always about perfect scores or podium finishes.

Sometimes it’s about giving what you have that day, and letting that be enough.

Losing my sister also changed how I see time. I’m more present now. I understand how fragile everything can be. I try to appreciate my teammates as family and show up for others when they’re struggling.

When I compete, I think about her. I think about my parents, my grandparents, and the community that raised me. I think about the little girl in Norway who just wanted to follow her big sister onto the line — and the person I’ve become here.

More Than the Target

Rifle brought me to Nebraska. But the people here shaped who I am now.

I still care deeply about the sport. I still chase growth and improvement. 

But by the time I graduate, I’ve learned that what lasts most isn’t the scores — it’s the relationships. The people who stand beside you when life gets heavy.

I want to live fully where my feet are. I want to honor the people who helped me get here. And I want to be that same source of support for others.

That’s what Nebraska means to me.