The Shotput: a Love Story

When I was eleven years old, Coach Alexander put a shot-put in my hand and told me to keep my elbow up and throw. I threw that iron ball so far that Coach A handed me a boys shot-- I launched it, too. From that moment on I was a woman obsessed.

I was fortunate as a youngster to have a community of coaches that recognized my talent and passion and supported me in every capacity. I also had amazing parents that allowed me to tear up the front yard with shot put divots, hurdle in the driveway, and throw javelins through windows. I emulated Jackie Joyner Kersee and decided that hell or high water, I would be a heptathlete. So my parents drove me all over the country all summer every summer for track meets. When I qualified for the Junior Olympics we hopped in the car and drove to Cleveland. When I qualified the next year and it was sponsored by Disney's Wide World of sports, we drove to Orlando. My Aunt and Uncle even came to offer their support.

Even as I trained for seven events, the shot put was always my favorite. Finding the technique that worked best for me took years, and my parents and coaches were all apart of the journey. We invested in dozens of track camps, books, and movies. Rival coaches adopted me and offered their advice. Night after night I would come home with a bruise on my jaw from one too many throws, only to get up early the next morning and do it all over again: Step into the circle, grind right foot into position, roll the shot put across my fingers, set my body into position, and FIRE! I get high just thinking about it.

For all the joy involved in training, competing was the most difficult aspect of my relationship with the shot put. For years I was a complete headcase, working myself into such a tizzy before big meets that the anxiety overtook me and I choked. Choking became an art form for me, followed by suicidal rants and being talked off the ledge by my coaches. It was a terrible pattern that resulted in great inconsistency for years. As someone who had often defined themselves by accomplishments, failure was a devastation of catastrophic proportions. Thankfully, by the time I got to college, I learned how to channel my anxiety into productive energy, rather than let it destroy me. (This involved many silly superstitions like sleeping with my shot put next to my bed, which my parents and coaches have never let me forget)...

Track in college was everything I hoped it would be! I had a crazy but amazing head coach who lived/ate/and breathed for his track athletes. From the first day I walked into his office on my recruiting visit he said, "Well you sure don't look like a shot-putter" a phrase I would hear and use to my advantage my entire career. I continued to improve my throw my first few years, getting stronger and perfecting my technique. I knew my freshman year when I hit a personal record at A-10 Championships that I was a choker no more. Soon it became clear that I would be a much better thrower than heptathlete, so we switched gears and I focused more on my shot put than I ever had before.

My junior year brought devastation when I tore my biceps anchor in my right shoulder, resulting in surgery. I had to sit out for almost a year. I was heartbroken, feeling like I had lost all the hard work I put in for years before. My senior year I began my slow and painful comeback. I was miserable, inconsistent, and throwing worse than I ever had in college. I started to worry I would never place at Championships and I was inconsolable. I suddenly hated the shot put and wished I had stuck with the heptathlon. When the spring season came around, I had a knot in my stomach. For the first time in my life, I didn't know if I wanted to compete anymore. Every practice and every meet when I didn't perform, I thought to myself, 'This is not how I am supposed to end my track career," until one day when I decided: this is NOT how I will let my track career end.

I worked harder than I ever had, trying to make up for lost time and retrain my body. If my arm was not as strong as it used to, then my legs would have to be more powerful. Because getting the snap back in my arm had become an issue, I laid in my bed at night and did speed drills with my arm. When I got up in the morning, I did technique in my bedroom mirror. By the time Championships came around, I was still inconsistent, but mentally, I was ready.

A-10 Championships carries enough pressure in itself, but this Championship was particularly hard and emotional for me. It was my last A-1os, I was coming off an injury, and I had been inconsistent all season, seating me at a disappointing sixth place going in. As a jumped nervously around in my warm ups, I looked at my brass shot put sitting on the ground and became religious for one of the few times in my life. Please, I pleaded with the universe, just one throw. Give me one throw. When they called my name I took a deep breath, stripped out of my sweats, and slowly walked towards the circle. As I rolled my brass shot put in my hand, I thought about all the wonderful things that that shot had brought me: championships won, school records shattered, Junior Olympic medals... I thought about all the amazing people it brought into my life. Then I did what I had done for so many years before: Step into the circle, grind right foot into position, roll the shot put across my fingers, set my body into position, and FIRE! My family and teammates cheered; I knew when it left my fingertips that it was a good throw. And as the officials read the tape, the knot left my stomach, and I was THRILLED for the first time all season. It was a personal best that would place me in 3rd and medal at my very last Championship meet.

And that right there is what fairy tales are made of.