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)
Livia answers before Rowe can. “Performance optimization,” she says easily, like she’s answered this before and doesn’t mind answering it again. “Physical and psychological. The science of making athletes better at what they already do well—and identifying where the gaps are between current and peak performance.”
I look at her, one eyebrow cocked in skepticism.
Her eyes twinkle and she chuckles. “I assure you it’s a real field. I’ve got the degrees that say so.”
Rowe beams at her, then looks at me with a bit of censure. “Come on, Locke.” He spreads his arms wide, indicating his kingdom. “You know I’ve put everything into this team and I bring forth every resource available for my players. I want you to have every possible advantage and Livia is one of the most sought-after practitioners in North America.”
My cynicism has me thinking that she might be the most sought-after because she’s the only one doing this voodoo-type practice. I mean, I get that we have performance coaches. They help us eat right, do the right exercises and stuff. But she used a term in her little introduction that has me wary—psychological.
I want to ask what that means in practical terms but I don’t, because asking would mean engaging, and engaging would mean this is a conversation I’m participating in rather than one being forced upon me.
Rowe checks his watch and then moves toward the door, clearly having executed his diabolical plan and now freeing himself to move on to the next one. He pauses with his hand on the doorframe and looks back at me.
“Hopefully,” he says, “she’ll save your job.”
Then the door closes and he’s gone.
I watch it for a long moment, wondering what the hell that even means.
Livia Cross goes back around her desk and the motion grabs my attention. She doesn’t sit though, merely leans against the edge with her arms loosely crossed and stares at me with a relaxed expression on her face.
I’m not relaxed at all.
“You can sit,” she offers genially.
I don’t sit and she doesn’t push it. Rather, she just starts talking, which is not what I expected. No clipboard, no intake form, no list of pointed questions designed to get me to give her anything she can use.
She just—talks. “I can see you’re questioning my role here in the organization, which I get. I’ll give you my background. I’m a D1 field hockey player, full athletic scholarship to UCLA where I majored in kinesiology with a concentration in performance science. I led my team to two back-to-back national championships. My experience as an athlete was a bit humbling because you think you understand peak performance but when you’re competing at that level, you realize you’ve barely scratched the surface.” She tilts her head slightly, smiling at me. “I bet you can understand that.”
I give her nothing.
She smiles even more brightly. “At any rate, I went on to earn a master’s degree in sport and performance psychology and a PhD in applied neuroscience and human performance.”
There’s that word again… psychology. My upper lip curls a tad. “So you’re a fancy shrink?”
Livia tips her head back and laughs. “Hardly. In fact, I’m not licensed for any sort of counseling. Rather, I have training in neuropsychological performance assessment, motivational interviewing, mental performance coaching, CBT frameworks and the like. I spent three years consulting with Olympic programs before I moved into professional sports, and I’ve worked with athletes across eight different sports at the professional level.”
She recites her résumé proudly, making it clear she loves what she does and celebrates her achievements. I have to admit—the fact she’s worked at the Olympic and professional sports level disproves my theory she’s a nepo hire.
Still sounds like hocus-pocus to me.
“The physical side is what most people expect,” she continues, as if I have further questions, which I don’t. “Movement efficiency, recovery optimization, biomechanical analysis. But the psychological piece is where the real gains are for most athletes at this level. You’re all physically elite. The separation between good and exceptional almost always lives up here.” She taps her temple once. “Sleep architecture, stress response, focus and arousal regulation under pressure.” My eyebrows rise. Did she just say arousal? “The science on all of it has exploded in the last decade and most professional sports organizations are still catching up. The Wildfire isn’t going to get left behind.”
“Sounds like a lot of smart words,” I finally say.
“I’d like to help you,” she says without a hint of sales pitch underneath it.
I stand there, not weighing her qualifications but wondering what is expected of me. There’s no doubt her credentials are real and she’s an athlete. She understands the mentality and the physical needs and some part of me that I can’t fully shut off knows it.
I don’t tell her that though. As far as I’m concerned, this was just a meeting and no one is ordering me to stay here.