Everyone reaches their peak, but only the best overcome it.

Recently, two of my travel girls have decided not to play this year. I hate to call it "quitting" because it's not. Both expressed their love of the game when they told us the news and the frustration showed on their faces; they just chose to pursue other dreams and no one can hold that against them. I don't know what it is about softball, but it seems to be the one sport that a lot of athletes have trouble sticking with over the years. Maybe it's just because I played softball so I saw it in my former teammates. Maybe it's because it's one of the few sports for young females that gives you the opportunity to play at a level that's larger than high school. Maybe because it's so time-consuming, so expensive, so intense. When I was 11 and some of the girls on my 14U travel team were leaving softball, my dad explained to me simply: "They hit their peak." For some of them it was a physical peak--they just weren't able to keep up with the competition physically. And they're not to blame, nor were they bad players. For others, though, it was a mental peak: other things became more important; things like boyfriends, friends, school, other sports, other extra-curriculars, etc. Either way, I feel for the girls that leave it behind. But I know what it's like to make that decision because I've not only seen other girls make it, but I've had to make that decision too. It's a hard choice.

A lot goes into a decision. It's rarely just black and white, unfortunately. There are intricate gray pieces of the puzzle and, often, all the gray pieces look too much alike. Imagine a puzzle of a picnic scene on a perfect day, then think of all those sky-blue colored pieces that could fit anywhere above the picnicers' heads, somewhere surrounding the tree branches and above the green hill. For many of us mortals, it's difficult to tell the difference between all those pieces. So, we start shoving pieces together, fitting convex ovals into concave squares and muttering curse words under our breath (or loudly if your temper is as bad as mine once was). Now imagine those near-replicas are the factors in a decision...see where I'm going with this?

I've made a lot of decisions in my life when it comes to softball. First was the decision to stop playing; the 6/7-year-old division just wasn't cutting it for me, so I joined the baseball program. That was an easy decision and, being only 7 years old, I'm fairly sure my parents were the ones that actually made the decision. Second was the decision to start playing again; the 9/10-year-old baseball division just wasn't working as planned, mostly because I was a girl and 9- and 10-year-old boys don't like 9-year-old girls (especially ones who are better). That decision was a bit more difficult to make: it involved not wanting to give in or give up and not making the All-Star team because some of the boys' mothers wouldn't have been happy if a little girl was playing instead of their sons. The next decision I had to make concerning softball was a few years later when I tried out for another travel team (albeit a better program, though that particular team went on to fail big time); I decided to stick with my team of friends. I faced that decision twice more before I finished playing travel ball as a kid; and I always went back to my team of friends, mostly because it was comfortable. Then there was the biggest decision I ever made, though I can't give you an explicit reason why.

Of course, the decision wasn't black and white. If it was, why would I have led up to it with that long paragraph about a stupid puzzle of a stupid picnic scene?

I was in college. I practiced every single day, but only actually played in "5" games with 4 at-bats. (The 5th game was one where they subbed me in but the game ended before I got my at-bat.). I caught every single game, but never got a chance to squat behind the plate in a game. I was involved in every single game, though. I tracked pitches for our hitters, stole signs for the team, tracked pitches for our pitchers, kept pitchers warm in the bull-pen, cheered, sang and enjoyed the spirit of the game. [Ed. note: Looking back, I'm not really bitter--just disappointed, I guess. And thinking back to then, I wasn't bitter...I was too anxious to be bitter.]

My grades were slipping, though. I was tired all the time. I ached all the time. We were on the road all the time. I didn't really get along with all the girls--a big switch from that "comfortable" travel team I played with the 7 prior years--but I didn't really try, either. The trainers paid little attention to me unless I was actually hurt because the starters needed them more, but I was too busy to sit around and wait my turn. Oh well, it's all part of the game right? Right. ...And, go figure, after changing my Major a year later, my grades improved dramatically.

I should've kept playing. I know that now. I should've been happy with what I had--my dream of playing on an NCAA softball team--because it was awesome. If I could go back, I'd have stuck it out. But back then, I just knew that I had to let it go. It was an emotional decision, and there was one major emotional blow that really broke the straw on the camel's back...or, really, broke my heart.

We all met individually with the head coach at the end of the year to discuss our season re-cap and things to work on over the summer so we could improve next year. I remember being pretty calm when I went into the meeting. I don't remember the whole meeting, but I remember two major points. The first was that I'd have to try-out for the team again the next year. That was cool. I wasn't a starter and I was a walk-on in the first place. We were losing our starting catcher, there were 2 bull-pen catchers (including myself) who were both walk-ons, and one major catcher recruit coming in. I was fine with trying-out again, I felt confident that I could make the team. But the second point, which I'll never forget, was: "It's okay to be a bull-pen catcher, people make millions being a professional bull-pen catcher." ACK!

First, I never expressed disasstifaction with being a bull-pen catcher. Like I said, I was a walk-on, there was another walk-on who was a year older than I was and the starter was a senior. Sure, I wasn't particularly excited about doing all the dirty work without really reaping any of the benefits, but I never complained to the coaches. Maybe I asked if there was a chance I could get some playing time like he gave us at-bats...like I said, I don't remember the whole conversation. Anyway. Who makes millions being a professional bull-pen catcher? I don't know any softball player that makes millions by playing softball.

My head coach had come from a baseball background before he moved to softball. We had our differences in playing style, of course, but I was in no place to argue with his coaching tactics...and I never did. But it was this little statement of his that turned me off of the program all together. Did he think I'd sit back and be like "dang, true...I'm completely fine with settling as a bull-pen catcher?" Or did he think it'd spur me to work harder and earn a starting spot? I never asked so I guess I'll never know. Either way, it just seemed like a copout. Like he was admitting I'd never go further than being a bull-pen catcher. And coming right off of the "you'll have to try-out again" line, it was a pretty ominous statement.

The funny thing is that I did walk out of his office that day and thing, "dang, he's right...bull-pen catchers can still do it for a living." It was a few days before I realized how ridiculous his statement was. Then I got my final grades in. I talked with my parents about it and they agreed that I was making a good decision. The right decision, you ask? They never said, of course. Who's to say what's "right" and "wrong" in our lives, anyway?

I cried off and on for a good week or two and when early August rolled around I felt sick to my stomach, thinking that I should be out there playing again. I still feel sick to my stomach thinking about it these days, but I look back on my whole college experience and am beyond content with what I had. And look at me now--I've got softball back in my life. I had my fair share of innings in life and, though I chose to step down before, perhaps, my 7th inning was done (before the "fat lady" sang, if you will), I'm back in a new game.

I guess you could say I hit my mental peak. And the thing that makes a great athlete is the ability to overcome that peak. I'm not saying I'm a great athlete, but I hit that wall, let it fall down on me, then found the stregnth to get back up and try again. It only took 4.5 years for me to do it, but I'm back in the clear and it never felt so great.

I wonder if other coaches think about these things. The ones that coach high school teams or coach their daughters' travel teams. I know I think about it every time I watch my girls lace up their cleats, wondering if they'll let it be the last time. Or maybe I'm just thinking about it more often thes days because of recent occurences. Hopefully I'll forget about it by the time tournaments roll around in July.