My club coach called me a “true athlete.” I had the natural athleticism: quick feet, flexibility, power, agility, and explosiveness, combined with polished, well-crafted skills that I’d perfected throughout many years of practice and private volleyball training lessons. But I also had an intangible factor, one coaches couldn’t teach. I thrived in competition. I had a killer instinct. As soon as I looked through the net and saw my opponents on the other side, I possessed a feeling similar to what I imagine a lion feels when stalking its prey. I turned into a different person when I stepped onto the court. My teammates often joked that when they first met me, they never expected the reserved, sensitive, caring person they met to transform into such a ruthless animal on the court. Digging, diving, scraping up balls from hitting the ground that to most would have seemed impossible. Sacrificing my body for the ball, accepting the punishment of the jarring wooden floor. Coaches and parents came up to me after matches throughout the years at tournaments and told me that when I hit the volleyball, “It just made a different sound than everyone else.” Like a crack of a gunshot. I was powerful, reputed to be the most powerful player in the gym. Yet power wasn’t enough. I had to be a smart player. I was 5’10’’ and considered a shrub among hundreds of redwoods. Most of the girls I played against stretched from 6 feet and above.
So, how did I convince Division I volleyball programs that I was worth recruiting despite my height?
I had an arsenal of different shots to make up for my lack of size: the deep corner shot, the quick tip right over the 6’4’’ blocker who was too slow to understand what was going on, the deep line shot, the tricky shot where I faced one way and hit another, the nasty sharp cross angle shot, oh, and let’s not forget the hell yes there is no blocker up, please, allow me to shove this ball straight down your throat shot. “Shank you very much.”
I demanded perfection, or at least as close to perfection as a human could attain, every time I played. Not because anyone told me to, but because I hated the feeling that I got after a game when I felt like I hadn’t done everything in my power to win, that I hadn’t played every play to the best of my ability.
These are the intangibles that I am talking about that will separate you from the rest of the pack. That pure desire to compete and to win. That never say die attitude. The ability to get the most out of yourself as well as your teammates. A leader. That’s what will make college coaches notice you. Sure, you have a leg up if you’re 6’4’’ and can jump over the moon, but these intangibles are what can help players like me or you go to the same college volleyball programs as the 6’4’’ high jumper.
So, get out there and show everyone what you’re made of! Play with heart, have a good attitude, and never say never.
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