Fever Pitch: What is High Performance?

What is high performance? The phrase has become a catch-all in the world of sport, business and society. The educated define it in astutely researched papers, giving us lay people finely wrapped tools for applying it to our daily endeavors. I love reading those papers, however the scholarly, distilled version of high performance paints an almost too cozy and comfortable image of the actual high performance experience. I’d like to explore high performance from a slightly messier perspective, those of my own lived experiences. 

        There is still so much about my experience in sport that I don’t fully understand, specifically the implicit behaviors that led to a sustained career in sport. What made me a high performer? When did I develop the traits of a high performer? My words will be neither astute nor finely wrapped, instead, they will be a wild foray into hopefully what becomes a deeper understanding of my own experiences in sport. 

I’ll begin with a story. A memory that has been with me for a long time.

        It is the end of summer. I am eleven years old. My skin is on fire. My hair is greasy from sweat. My eyes droop toward the ground as I lean my forehead against the van’s window. I can barely lift my head. My sisters scream and squirm around me. Normally, their screams would annoy me, but today, I don’t hear the noise. I am somewhere else - too exhausted to waste energy on anything outside of myself. I’ve been in bed all day with a fever. I begged my mom to play in today’s game. It is the championship game of the local softball tournament and I am supposed to pitch. In terms of my young sporting career, this is the biggest moment of my life. I need to play. I want to play. I will do anything to play in this game. 

So, I feign being well. I rouse myself from bed, put on my teal Berlin AA uniform and matching flat-brim hat. I’ve been waiting all summer for this. I tuck my jersey in and go sit in the van. I sit there for ten minutes before we leave. No energy wasted today. I only have so much to give. I know my mom is skeptical about me playing, but I’m determined. The glass of the window is cool against my forehead. I watch the cars as they pass, one by one. Everything else is a blur.

When we arrive at the field, I step out of the van, and immediately feel unwell. I can barely stand, but I fake wellness because I want to play. I am desperate to play. I see my team, and wander over to them. They are chatting, having fun. I am enlivened by their energy, even though I cannot match it. We huddle up with our coach. The distraction makes me feel better. We warm up. As game time gets closer, the doubts arise. Can I actually do this? I am exhausted. Everything feels hard right now. I want to go back to bed. I choose to play anyway. The desperation, the longing, demands that I play. I heed its call. 

The game begins. I take the ball, and step into the white circle. I push my foot against the pitchers mound and leap forward in the dirt. My arm whips around my body, my glove smacks against my thigh, and the ball slips effortlessly out of my finger tips toward the target. I watch it spin in slow motion until I hear it smack in the leather of my teammates glove.  

For the next two hours, each time I step into that white circle, all I see is the target, the bright brown of my teammates glove. I watch the ball glide towards it in slow motion. Nothing else exists. I don’t hear the noise of the crowd. I don’t smell the hot dogs cooking at the snack stand. I don’t see anything but that glove. It’s the same when I step in the batter’s box - all I see is the ball, and its red stitches as it spins toward me. I play the game of my life.

When the game ends, my team hoists up the trophy. I am named MVP. We celebrate and cheer. I forget about my fever, I have energy, I am well again, or so I think. The celebrations end. I walk to the van. Exhaustion crashes upon me. I lean my head against the window. I can barely hold it up. How did I do that? I think to myself. Was it even real? Where did I go? I go home and sleep for almost two days. 

Till this day, I reflect on this experience and wonder what happened in those two hours. It is my first memory of flow. My first inkling that there was something in me, beyond mere talent or ability, that was a portal to a higher power, and a higher performance. 

So, what is High Performance?

    High performance is a multitude of things. It is a mindset, a culture, a team, an environment, an experience, behaviors, and a way of training. This memory gives insight into my young competitive mindset, and some key behaviors and motivations that perhaps led me down the path I took in sport. Here is what I see in my young self:

There is deep desire, desperation to play. A single-mindedness to achieve. 

I begged my mom to play in today’s game. I need to play. I want to play. I will do anything to play in this game. This is the biggest game of my sporting career.

There is a choice to play despite the doubts that arise about my ability to play.

As game time gets closer, the doubts arise. Can I actually do this? I am exhausted. Everything feels hard right now. I want to go back to bed. I choose to play anyway. The desperation, the longing, demands that I play. I heed its call.

There is pressure and adversity - not just externally but internally. There are specific constraints to be overcome.

I am somewhere else - too exhausted to waste energy on anything outside of myself. I’ve been in bed all day with a fever.

There is an understanding of those constraints. I only have so much energy in me, I have to optimize and use it wisely; nothing wasted. I prioritize what’s most important. 

No energy wasted today. I only have so much to give.

There is clarity of focus in the moment. I see the ball and the target, I feel the ground, I hear the smack of the ball in the glove. I am immersed in the moment of action. 

For the next two hours, each time I step into that white circle, all I see is the target, the bright brown of my teammates glove. I watch the ball glide towards it in slow motion

There is supreme trust in the experience of the action. I only have so much to give, I cannot control the outcome, I focus on and trust the action. 

Nothing else exists. I don’t hear the noise of the crowd. I don’t smell the hot dogs cooking at the snack stand. I don’t see anything but that glove. It’s the same when I step in the batter’s box - all I see is the ball, and its red stitches as it spins toward me. I play the game of my life.