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I Got This

“I…got…this.”

It was like it physically hurt her to form the words. She said it sheepishly and with considerable — almost palpable — discomfort.

“No! Not good enough! Look me in the eye. Come toward me as you say it. Believe it!” I shouted, somewhat surprised at how quickly I had boiled up near anger.

“I’ll say it again. And you respond. ‘C’mon, Brynnan! Can’t you serve?!’” I taunted, playing the role of terrible teammate.

“I got this,” she said with slightly more conviction.

“Again!”

She looked up, not sure whether to laugh or feel threatened by me. “I got this,” she repeated.

“Again!”

“I got this!” she exclaimed, forcefully poking her nose in my direction, forehead crumpled, lips pursed, and eyes pulled tight.

“Then get it!” I said.

So she tried.

And she got it.

My daughter Brynnan and I have a special bond. We I first wrote this, she was 13, and my wife and I have tried to keep pace as our precious firstborn has grown and flourished and changed in her first decade and some change on the planet. From an unstoppable spit-up machine, to a stair climber (but never descender), to dresses and pink all the time, to tee ball then softball, to no dresses or pink ever, to school, to music, to band, to boys, to volleyball and eventually choir and theatre…she is a source of energy that is perpetually in flux. And like the weather in our hometown of Lubbock, Texas, if you aren’t particularly enamored with the present, don’t worry because it will likely change by day’s end.

She’s never been a bully. Not even close. In fact, other than her younger brother, I’ve never seen a child who is a better teammate or a more consistent champion of the underdog. But I never expected my star student and aspiring young athlete to fall prey to the painful cuts of another’s sharp words directed squarely at her. But after just two weeks of practice it had happened. She was a little hurt. And a little embarrassed. And a lot unprepared.

She and I have spent hours playing catch, hitting softballs, and a fair amount of time just playing in general. I was pretty sure she was ready for softball. I was less confident about volleyball and basketball. She had played rec league softball for years, but with the move to seventh grade, volleyball, basketball, and track were opportunities she’d never had before at school. And after she had made the seventh grade B team for volleyball, I was relieved and confident that now with daily practice, she’d rapidly improve in a new sport (that honestly, I knew nothing about). Little did I realize that her teammates weren’t all such novices.

I got a harsh wake-up call at her first game. She didn’t start. She wasn’t first off the bench. In fact, she hardly played. When I watched many of her teammates, I got a sinking feeling that I can only describe as though I had sent her into battle in her pajamas with nothing to defend herself other than her toothbrush. She hadn’t been prepared. She wasn’t ready. And for one of the few times in her life, she felt the sensation of knowing that — at least for the moment — she was outclassed. To make matters worse, as uncomfortable as that was, it was the emotional pain of hurtful teammates rather than any other factor that had cut her the deepest.

“I’m one of the only girls on the team who can’t serve,” she said dejectedly as we readied to practice in our yard. “A few of the girls say mean things about me. I don’t know if I can do this, daddy,” she confessed, eyes fixed firmly at the ground.

Everything in her demeanor conveyed defeat. She couldn’t look at me. She spoke softly. Her shoulders slumped. It took every ion of courage she could herd to the surface just to get the words out to me, but she didn’t like it.

As she spoke, the sudden blow of the situation landed squarely on my face. A right cross wake-up call of reality followed by a left hook of panic. How could I have been so stupid? I had focused all my efforts in softball on preparing her for success that I had never considered the obvious possibility that inevitably, she needed to be prepared for failure, too. Oh sure, I’ve taught both our kids to never give up…to give great effort…to pursue their dreams relentlessly. But what happens when you do all that and you fall short, even if just for a short time?

Then and there I decided: we’d pursue success. But we’d also explore failure.

A few years ago, Brynnan was enamored with “The Dog Whisperer” and other shows about pets, so in the midst of our little confrontation, I tried to make the connection.

“What does the beta dog do when the alpha dog looks him in the eye and growls or barks?” I prodded.

“Looks away. Tucks his tail,” she somberly replied.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because the alpha dog is in charge. All the dogs know that,” she said with confidence.

“And what happens when another dog stands up to the alpha dog and doesn’t look away?” I continued.

“Usually they either fight or one backs down,” she answered.

Obviously I knew this. But I hadn’t lived it. In high school, my junior year I got into an argument with Billy, an arrogant peacock of a senior who seemed to think that the rules didn’t apply to him. I initially stood my ground, but fear got the best of me. I backed down, turned my eyes away, and returned to my rung several notches from the top within the social order of my school. In college, I got punched in the mouth at a party by a drunken redneck. I never returned the favor, and to this day I regret letting people get the best of me.

Now I’m not advocating for more violence in schools. I’m not pro-bully. But I do believe that when sharks smell blood, they feed. And my sweet daughter was wounded. If a bully on her team sensed that Brynnan was weak, things would not get better. They would get worse.

It was time to train.

I’m an athletic trainer and a strength coach by trade. In exercise physiology as well as rehab, we ascribe to the Specific Adaptation to Imposed Demands, or “SAID,” principle. Basically, the SAID principle teaches us that if we want to adapt or improve, we have to expose our body to the same types of stressors we might encounter in a game or competition situation. In short, for training to be effective, it has to approximate the game. If it doesn’t, the body doesn’t adapt and the athlete doesn’t get better. Or as former Navy Seal Richard Marcinko put it, “the more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in battle.”

In order to teach my girl how to respond, she needed to feel it in a safe place first. Dad playing the role of bully and Brynnan playing the role of the victim, I poked at her with the same sharp knife as her teammate had the day before.

“You can’t serve,” I pretended.

“I…got…this,” she answered.

The process continued until she lifted the ball toward the sky, struck hard with a rigid right hand, and sent it sailing over the net.

“I did it!” she squealed.

“You sure did. You don’t have to fight. But you have to stand your ground. Behavior allowed is behavior encouraged,” I said. “If you let someone step on you, mistreat you, or disrespect you and you don’t call them on it, you send them the message that that’s okay. We both know it isn’t,” I concluded.

I’m big on the “so what” test. I love science, but I love it most when I can read research in the morning and put it to use by that afternoon. It dawned on me that plenty of folks like me wonder what life would be like if we had been able to go back in time like Back to the Future’s George McFly and actually stand up to the Biff Tannens of our worlds. And while none of the Docs I know own a DeLorean, I do know that based on the SAID principle, I can provide my children with the tools and experiences they need to stand firm in the face of pressures and criticisms…to be able to perform when those that want them to fail are right there watching.

That’s when I decided to write this chapter, and perhaps even an entire book. If you are a parent or a coach, my deepest hope is that you can learn to prepare tomorrow’s generation to believe in themselves, stand firm in that belief, and to succeed.

As I was initially writing this, my daughter informed me that during practice, she found herself preparing to serve, silently running “I got this” through her thoughts. The same girl who got zero of 20 over the net two weeks prior had practiced, prepared, and believed in the process. And just 14 days later, that same young athlete got 18 of 20 over and was commended by her coach after practice.

It has been said that whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re probably right. Now just two years later, volleyball is no longer a part of her life. As a result, to the outsider looking in, it might seem that this specific lesson was lost. I’d contend that such couldn’t be further from the truth. Oh sure, other pursuits have taken volleyball’s place. But fear is no less likely to try to rush in and steal her joy from them, either.

As she prepares to take the stage as the female lead in her high school’s theatre production this week, my hope is that come showtime, she will take a deep breath, say a quick prayer, convincingly tell herself that she does, in fact, “got this…” and then go get it.

Just like she has prepared to do.

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