Page 40 of Fair Catch
I thought I was going to regret it, making a deal with the devil that was Zeke Collins. But when we walked into practice on Monday after that loss and I felt that insurmountable pressure and guilt surrounding me from every angle, I knew whether I wanted to admit it or not that I needed help.
I was in my head, and as a Division One college athlete, that wasn’t a safe place to be.
I’d had my most mediocre week at practice so far, a mixture of good and bad drills, good and bad kicks, even good and bad reps in the weight room. It seemed no matter how I tried to shake off the loss, it was stuck to me like a piece of gum in the crevice of a sneaker.
But Zeke worked with me every day after practice, and the more he helped me, the more I felt that guilt chipping away and making way for the steadiness that once existed below.
My fingers wiggled at my side as I lined my foot up with the ball, taking two giant steps back and two over to my left, just like I always had. Another long inhale and slow exhale, and then I skipped forward, a one-two jog step before my foot connected with the ball.
It sailed right down the middle of the posts.
“Good,” Zeke said. “Again.”
He lined up another ball, and I repeated, getting the exact same result.
“Fantastic. Again.”
I did it again, and this time…
Doink.
The ball hit the yellow post and bounced off.
Before my shoulders could sag or a curse word could fly off my lips, Zeke jogged over and put another football down.
“Great job. Kick was solid, placement was locked in. Try again.”
I frowned, but didn’t have time to argue with his assessment before he was snapping his fingers for me to kick again. I lined up, took a breath, and repeated the same motion.
It was good.
“I think that’s where we call it,” Zeke said, holding on to the final ball we had left to work with before we’d have to retrieve the ones I’d kicked.
He walked over to me tossing it between his hands as I hung mine on my hips to catch my breath.
“This is where the difference is made — input versus output-based success. Sometimes, you do everything right and the result isn’t what you want. But, if you keep doing all the right things instead of letting one bad result make you question everything, that’s where the consistency comes in. And,” he added with a wink. “It doesn’t leave room for you to beat yourself up the way I know you love to do.”
I gave a guilty smile, shaking my head with my eyes washing over the posts. “I’ve got to perform better this game.”
“Let’s rephrase that.”
I frowned, facing him again.
“How about… ‘I’m going to give every kick my full attention this game.’”
I sat with those words a minute, with how they sounded as opposed to what I’d said. “I’m going to give every kick my full attention this game,” I repeated.
“And I’m going to focus on each step of the kick.”
“And I’m going to focus on each step of the kick.”
Already, my chest felt lighter, and I shook my head in awe as I folded my arms over my chest and looked at Zeke like I didn’t know him at all.
“Since when did you get this smart?”
The second the words slipped, I remembered our conversation in the library, and I shook my head, moving toward him with my hands out.
“That’s not what I meant. I just… how did you become so knowledgeable in this. I mean, it all seems common sense, but I never thought of it that way. And when you put it like that, it… clicks.”
Zeke smiled, tossing the ball between his hands still. His cut-off shirt was stuck to his damp chest, every centimeter of his biceps rippling with the movement. “I went through my own version of the yips in high school, and I knew if I wanted to go pro one day, I needed to figure out how to handle the mental aspect — and fast. Coach Ziegler helped me.”
I smiled with him at the thought of our old coach, at where it had all begun for me.
“Well, thanks for passing on the knowledge.”
Zeke lifted a brow. “Ah, hold off on the gratitude until you have to put up with my salty ass doing our homework later tonight.”
We jogged down to retrieve the balls I’d kicked, situating them in the large football-storage duffel bag we’d borrowed from the closet before we headed for the locker room.
“I know I asked you this in the library, and feel free to have the same response if you want to but… do you feel like maybe you’ve been a little more stressed out than usual?” Zeke asked as we walked.
