Article and Video on espnW"I hate softball."
Those were the simple words I sent to my dad in a text message last weekend following a frustrating loss to the University of Tennessee, and two hitless games for me at the plate to boot. In 16 seasons playing this game, I had never before uttered those words, never mind put them into tangible characters to be read and reread again.
My frustration had reached new heights, even in my old age as a perfection-seeking, results-obsessed, softball-playing veteran.
In the midst of my hitting struggles, I told myself, "You're a senior, a captain. You've seen this all before. You should be hitting. You should be doing better than this."
Through a combination of self-deprecation and an intense desire to make up for my previous outs with one swing of the bat, the same unsatisfying results were repeatedly generated that day: ball hits bat, ball finds opponent's glove, girl makes dejected trek back to the dugout. Rinse, and repeat.
From one at-bat to the next, and for all the time in-between, my thoughts raced. Was it my hands leading my hips? My bat dragging through the zone? My timing? Or better yet, maybe my positioning in the batter's box was flawed. I should have moved up in the box for that one at-bat. That must be it!
"I'm prepared for this," I thought in the brief moments of motivating self-talk I experienced in the on-deck circle. In an effort to pump myself up and feel the sense of confidence that was eluding me, I tried reminding myself about my tireless preparation; the time spent readying for those very moments.
And I
had prepared. Obsessively, in fact. From pitch selection, to my swing's micro movements, to scouting reports and spray charts, I had studied and dwelled on all elements of hitting leading up to my senior season to make sure I didn't find myself in this exact predicament.
So, why was I failing?
Of the myriad thoughts running through my brain during each at-bat on that Friday afternoon at the University of South Florida, however, I was most focused on the results of my actions before they even occurred. I saw the ball soaring from my cherry red DeMarini bat into a sea of green grass, bodies circling around the bases, and numbers changing on the scoreboard before I even locked eyes with the pitcher.
I was trying so hard to make things happen that I was neglecting the most important part of the process. The vital milliseconds between the pitcher's release and the batter's follow-through: the point of contact.
My dad helped me realize these truths following my impulsive and incensed text message to him on the bus just after our game against Tennessee. Rather than letting my mind romp in a million ways before and while I was in the batter's box, he told me to focus on simply seeing the ball hit my bat at the point of contact. Let the eyes and the body work together, he said, and the rest will take care of itself.
The next day, I took my dad's advice and saw immediate results. Rather than just me imagining the ball flying off my bat into gaps, it was actually doing so. On that Saturday afternoon, the only thing I focused on was the split second of two round objects coming together, mass meeting mass, ball meeting bat. And sure enough, the rest took care of itself.
I had my best offensive performance of the season that day and helped my team pick up two big wins against Florida Gulf Coast University and the host team, USF.
My struggles that weekend helped me realize how easy it is to miss the point of contact both on and off the softball diamond, and get lost in an ocean of thoughts and emotions when things aren't going well. When the external chaos collides with the internal noise, it's easy to let the frustration of failure takeover. And before you know it, you're telling your dad the most blatant lie you've ever told: "I hate softball."
My experiences at USF reminded me that in softball and everything else in life, it's important to simplify things and stay the course during tough times and, as I've recently learned, focus on the point of contact. Because if you get that right, everything else will just take care of itself.
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