Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
I step up and forty-seven sets of eyes are pinned on me. Some curious, some politely blank, some running the quiet calculation of whether this is worth their time. I get that.
I don’t seek out Locke, but I can guess what his expression looks like.
I move to stand in front of the podium. I don’t need it. I’m five foot nine and can easily see over it, but I don’t believe in walls and barriers.
I stand with my hands loose at my sides. “I think people hear my educational credentials and can be impressed by them, but does that translate into real-world experience? In my case, I can tell you it does, because before I am anything, I am an athlete. I played D1 field hockey, taking the Bruins to back-to-back national championships. My current obsession is obstacle course racing and I’m going to be putting together a Wildfire team if any of you want to join me.” I can see a few smiles of interest because while races like Tough Mudder and Spartan are brutal, they’re a hell of a lot of fun. “I’ve worked with athletes across eight sports at the professional level, and I’ve been doing this long enough to know that the difference between a good athlete and a great one almost never lives in the body but rather lives in the mind.”
I start a slow pace along the front of the room. “Now… I know that sounds like the kind of thing someone says right before they ask you to close your eyes and picture a beach.” Several of the men chuckle. “That is not what I do. What I do is applied science—sleep architecture, stress response, recovery optimization and a dozen other fixes for the problems that can slow us down. The mental and physical are not separate systems, they affect each other constantly, and when you understand how they interact, you can make gains that the weight room alone will never give you.”
The team is quiet, politely so, but I can see on their faces that they’re intrigued.
“I’m here for all of you,” I continue. “My door is open, everything we discuss is between us, and I don’t report to anyone about individual sessions.” I pause, because that matters and I want it to be clear I’m their advocate. “I’m not here to evaluate you or build a case about anyone. I’m here to help you perform better at a job you’ve already proven you’re exceptional at.”
Crosby, the team’s captain, raises his hand. He’s one of the few I know by fame recognition. “What does a typical session actually look like?” he asks. “Like practically… what are we walking into when we come see you?”
Good question. The kind that opens the door for everyone else in the room who was wondering the same thing but wasn’t going to ask first.
“Depends entirely on what you need,” I say, tucking my hands into the pockets of my track pants. “First session is always a conversation—I want to understand where you are, what you’re working on, what’s getting in the way. From there it could be anything from visualization and focus work to sleep and recovery protocols to reviewing your physical movement patterns and identifying inefficiencies. Some guys come once and take what they need. Some work with me on an ongoing basis. There’s no template because you’re not the same athlete as the man sitting next to you.”
Crosby nods slowly, and I can see him processing it before filing it away with a nod of appreciation. “I’ll be hitting you up.”
“Looking forward to it,” I assure him, grateful the team’s leader is on board.
The man next to Crosby stands, looking at me with an amused smile. He’s handsome with medium-length hair in various shades of brown to gold, textured and pushed back from his face. He’s got a strong jaw and slashing, heavy brows that give him an intense look, but his brown eyes are warm and filled with mischief.
“Hello… I’m Arch Hewitt and I have a quick question,” he says, teeth flashing in a grin. “Completely hypothetical… if a person—a total stranger, not me—were to have a very specific issue with, say, overthinking shootout attempts to the point where he’s basically narrating his own failure in real time while it’s happening…” He pauses, looks around at his mates and then back to me with raised, hopeful eyebrows. “Could you theoretically help that stranger?”
The room erupts in laughter, and I can’t help but join. “Theoretically,” I say, matching his register exactly. “That’s one of the most common and fixable performance issues I work with. Tell your stranger to come see me.”
“I’ll pass that along,” Arch says solemnly and sits back down. “To the stranger.”
More laughter, even from the coaches. I take a quick glance at Locke, who unsurprisingly, is not laughing, but he’s not zoned out. He’s watching and listening, and I’m sure none of this is making a difference to his antipathy.