The Athlete Way

My Beautiful, Winding Road  - a blog for espnW. Below, ictures from the road.

The lights whirled. My head spun. I peered through the small square window of indestructible glass. My heart raced. I was uncertain. Was it rude to look? For a moment our eyes met. I didn’t smile. My face contorted into an uncertain grimace. I wanted to smile. I wanted to open the door, and say something silly, grab his hand and tell him that I cared, and that he’d be okay, and that if he needed anything, we were here, right next door, where we’d always been. Well, where he’d always been. I didn’t, though. I couldn’t. I was scared. Too scared. Fear won. The moment between us broke. He threw his head back in mad laughter as he sat the rapturous clutch of pain, still too proud to show weakness. Age hadn’t crippled his stature. He was broad, tall, and strong. His presence commanded attention. His gaze settled upon the roof of the ambulance; I thought maybe I’d been wrong to look. Tomorrow, he’d be fine. And when he came home, I’d walk across our

Week Two: Pick Up in the Park . What a turn out.  We had over 25 people show up and play. Great local representation - mothers, daughters, fathers, sons, sisters, brothers, neighbors, and friends. Everyone got competitive and joined in on the play.  Novices competed against Olympians, All-Americans, and High School Football Coaches. What was the common denominator?  Competitive fun for all. This week's Pick Up Session will take place on Thursday, November 15 at 6:30pm. We will play under the lights on the tennis courts at Berlin Park. It'll be the first go on the tennis courts. Be patient. Eat dinner, then come play.  Just an FYI, I'll be away this Sunday. Please don't let that stop you from arranging a game. Remember, all you have to do is Show Up and Play.    Pick Up in the Park: Upcoming Week Purpose:   To empower creative play, develop competitive instincts, grow leaders, and unite our community with sport. It’s spontaneous. It’s adventu

Kylie Dawson at the on Nov. 4 Pick Up in the Park I look out onto the field, but she's not there. The fierce, nitty-gritty, blue collar, I'll-find-a-way-where-there's-not-a-way-kid is no where to be found. Where has she gone?  What have we done to her? I miss her. I miss watching her play. I miss the ferocity and focus of her eyes.  I miss her anger, her tears, her post game spazzes. I miss her exploration, her creativity. I miss her determination, her passion.  What have we done to her? Have the exorbiant costs of youth sports forced her out of the game? Have we praised pretty too much or patted her too often on the back. Have we overemphasized skill and dimmed her competitive instinct.  The early specialization, the debilitating costs, the pressure. Where's the fun in the game? Where's the exploration? The creativity? Where are the dialogues of different perspectives? The constructive conversations that promote progr

In Dublin, Ireland at the Champions Challenge, an International field hockey tournament. Here's my take on Ireland, the Land of Lore. There are some places I really like. Ireland is one of them. Not sure why. Maybe it’s that quirky Eye-ish twang – “I-dink-day-cullit Ingish” or those abundant rolling hills of lush green. Heck, maybe, it’s just the Guinness - I love an impeccably smooth pint. Whatever it is, it enchants me. There’s something special about the people here. The Irish are made of durable character, modest in their work and tireless in their effort. They are refreshingly practical in their perspective - humorously stoic yet deviously witty. Aside from the red hair, freckles, and fair complexion, most of the Irish are equipped with three things - a good sense of humor, a solid imagination, and a strong liver. It's Darwinism at its finest - these genetic traits are survival necessities - the daily weather is absolutely abysmal

A few days ago, the National Team returned to the Olympic Training Center in Chula Vista for a short training camp before the Champions Challenge Tournament in Dublin, Ireland. This post is about exhilaration of my experience returning to training camp after the let-down of the Olympic Games. I turned the handle, pushed the door aside, and walked through. Bam. It hit me like the rolling in of a late summer storm.   A soft, clean, indistinct smell wafted into my nostrils. It was a familiar yet paralyzing scent – it was the powerful smell of nostalgia, both blurry and timeless. With eyes that should have been wizened by age and experience, I gazed at the seemingly unchanged room - the large box-cushioned couch against the wall, the wooden tables, the antiquated brown refrigerator, the TV – though new - still hanging in the corner. My feet dug deep into the dorm carpet. I stood still. My heart leapt. I felt like a kid again, like the kid I’d been long

I've missed writing. I haven't had time for it lately. I've been too busy traveling. I drove cross country from San Diego to New Jersey (an epic adventure I'll surely recount to you, one day) then, on a whim, I flew down to Mexico, back to Guadalajara, for the Junior Pan American Games. In a couple days, I'll trek back to California for training camp before making a two week stop in Dublin for the Champions Challenge. Did I mention, I highly disdain traveling? Back to writing. The truth is, I haven't made much time for words lately. Maybe, in way, I'm scared of them. Sure, I love 'em. Words, sometimes, are more me than the me you see in the flesh. They flow from some deep, or maybe superficial, well of self, that truthfully I never knew existed until a few years ago. Words, they enchant me - casting this ultra seductive spell that transforms mundane daily tidings into a fantastical adventure. Maybe, I don't write because I'm scared tha

Today. What a magical word. The Games have officially arrived. Sorry I haven’t written. The past few days have been a whirlwind. So much has happened since we left – and more since we’ve arrived. A trip to Cotswold on the English country side. Some peace and calm. A scrimmage versus Holland. So many people, places, things, and my favorite of all - practices on the blue “smurf” turf. Such simple encounters have already become amazing memories. Pinch. Is this real life? Yes. Katelyn Falgowski, myself, Lauren Crandall in Cotswold The Village.  Pop. Pop. Smack. Swishhhh. Haaaahhh. Haaahh. Pop. Smack. The strange noises drew me toward the open patio door. I looked out to see a clash of strong Italian bodies in the courtyard. More a tango of men clad in gloves and head gear performing some violent dance than a boxing practice – our mouths stood agape. We were in awe. Amy Tran, who say beside me, said, “I don’t know what is more funny – them

From a unique, sometimes odd perspective,  I welcome you to experience my teammates and I Olympic Journey in London. Competition begins July 29th versus Germany.  Sunset on the San Diego Bay First, allow me to preface with a word on my summer adventure - no not the Olympics - the Lord of the Rings. I will conquer the trilogy this summer, hopefully in London. I am midway through The Two Towers (Book Two), and if there is one thing I have learned so far from Frodo and the gang, it is that the middle of things is no beginning for a story.  But sadly, I must begin our quest for the Olympic Rings in the middle of things, for too long is the history that has brought us here. July 21, 2012. It's been a mark on the calendar for what seems like ever. A date that would never come.   But, strangely, today is upon us. A testament to the ever-onward flowing of time and journey's. Today we leave for London, and the 2012 Olympics. Our last few hours in California. For a bunch of

Teammates on the Ledge  ( In Valencia, Spain, August 2010)   Lauren Crandall, Kayla Bashore, Jamie Carpenter, Caroline Nichols, Jackie Kintzer, Jesse Gey.  Photo and words courtesy of Rachel Dawson.

Kylie Dawson Playing Soccer, enjoying the Grace Amidst the chaos of the Olympic year - the expectation, the stress, the exhaustion - I find peace in the simplest of places, the place where I have always found grace - in the game.   Here is my poetic tribute to the Grace of the Game. The Grace of the Game When I was young. In a song unsung, In the melody of play Sweeping me away The Grace of the Game Called me by name. I heard it. Through open ears, Wisdom beyond my years, In the tap of a ball Beating back – drumming - against the wall. I saw it. On long summer drives, And in the joyful slapping of fives In courageous eyes A power beckoned itself alive. And I felt it. In the fever of night, And morning bright, In afternoon calm, The whispers of a wordless psalm, I found it. Yes, the grace. In the focus of a face In the midst of a race

My mom isn't an athlete. I don't even think she likes sports. But sport and her patient acceptance of it saved my life. So thanks Mom, for being you, and for giving me, David, Natalie, Andrew, Sarah, Meghan, Hannah, Melanie, and Sport so much of your love. Dear Rachel,   I hope you play better today. But I hope more that you enjoy your play today. This might upset you but I was never really into winning or losing. I always loved watching you play, when you were just playing the game and using your own abilities, and when the object of the game is to get the ball into the goal, and you play just to get it in goal, not to add up a score but to get it into the goal. I loved the goals they always gave me chills, not because they made you win but because it is the object of the game. And just as much, I love when you are playing to keep the goals from the other team, and you work so hard to block them because it is the object of the game not because you don