The Athlete Way

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 l...

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 – ...

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...

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...

Life. It winds and turns in odd sorts of ways like a never-ending riddle. Each random decision of action coupled with an ever more random reaction. If such and such happens, then such and such else will happen. If, it is such a powerfully moving yet meaninglessly speculative word. I remember the first time I ever read the poem If by Rudyard Kipling. I got chills. I was sitting in Natalie's bedroom on her broken trundle bed that she shared with Mel and Meg. She was out, probably at the mall buying clothes from Express. So I took the time to peruse her mysterious trunk of teenage treasures. Nat was goofy and silly, and sometimes unbareably aloof, but beyond that, she was remarkably deep. I discovered that depth hidden in her off limits trunk of treasures where Mr. Kipling sat beside Charles Swindol and his famous words on Attitude. If only I could be that cool. I daydreamed about growing up and being just like Nat - playing sports, having friends, dating cute bo...

Today is November 17, David and Sarah's birthday. No, they are not twins. Yes, they share a birthday. So do Meghan and Natalie. Since neither of them were home, I took the liberty of waking up early to open their presents. Only when I went downstairs, the dining room table was surprisingly empty. Mom must have forgotten. Hopefully she didn't forget to make the yellow cake with chocolate icing because I was planning on blowing out their candles and stealing their wishes tonight. I used to think there was something wrong with me because I had my own birthday.  Was I destined for the same sort of weirdness that possessed my older, mud-puddle drinking, lone-birthday boy brother Andrew? When Mom was pregnant with her seventh shit, I prayed to the heavens to save me from that fate and let the child drop on my day. But she came 13 days early on July 20. I was five years old, and a brat. I remember sitting around the dining room table waiting for the Dodge Ram to pull in the...