The Key Ingredient to Success: A Honey Baked Ham

At age 8, my mom scheduled an impromptu family beach trip. I politely informed her that the trip didn’t fit my itinerary. I am all about family time, but the U.S women’s National team was playing in the World Cup and I couldn’t afford to miss a minute of the action.  My mom assured me that the games were televised at our beach house, but that the games kicked off in the middle of the night due to the time difference in China. I didn’t care if they played at 3am, it was my duty to cheer my team to victory.

We struck a deal. I’d attend our family trip so long as my mom promised to wake me up 1 minute (and no earlier) before each U.S game. She agreed. We piled into our white Suburban and headed to the beach. Each night, somewhere between 2:00-4:00am my mom crept into my room and shook me awake. For the next two hours, my eyes were glued to our 12 inch by 12 inch television in admiration. After the final whistle blew, I sunk my head into my pillow, and dreamt of playing in red, white, and blue.

The World Cup final fortunately aired during the daytime, so my whole family spectated the historical event. I distinctly remember, Brandi Chastain netting the game-winning pk, simultaneously ripping her jersey off and sliding to her knees. Making history.  An indescribable surge rippled through my body like I’d never felt before. I want that. And that’s when my whole life started revolving around soccer.

A few weeks later, I was scouring my favorite clothing store, Nike, when I spotted a shirt that defined my current existence.  A fairly simple white garment, adorned with a soccer ball, but its content stole the show.  Across the front read “I don’t play soccer, I live it.” I tore the shirt off the hanger and flung it over my existing outfit. An impeccable fit. I knew Nike handcrafted that shirt specifically for me.  And I expressed my gratitude by wearing it morning, day, and night.  Each rip and mud-stain acquired from playing soccer only added to it’s authenticity.

“I don’t play soccer I live it” became my motto. I capitalized on any opportunity to transcribe the words onto another object. A pin at my elementary school arts and crafts fair. A plate from the classic “paint your own ceramics” birthday party.

My grandma lived in Bend, Oregon, surrounded by farmland. My friends and I often biked around the country roads and anytime we came across farm animals we named them. One day, we spotted 7 llamas. Can you guess what I labeled them?  “I”, “don’t, “play”. “soccer”, “I”, “Live”, and “it”. Obviously.

My infatuation continued into the following year. Every birthday, my grandma hosts  a celebratory dinner for the “birthday child.” On my special 9th birthday, I dawned my Mia Hamm, number 9 jersey. With the inception of our “number 9” connection, Mia now ranked in the top 3 of my favorite soccer players, behind, Tiffany Milbrett and Brandi Chastain.

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After dinner, I opened a few presents. I doubted anyone would beat my grandma’s gift; a glow in the dark soccer ball. But my Aunt T and Uncle Gary’s present gave the ball a run for its money.  I ripped the wrapping paper off the package and uncovered a slab of honey baked ham with the number 9 taped onto it. They gifted me a “Mia Ham.”

My childhood consisted of late night juggling sessions, perfecting the “rainbow”, competing in made-up games with friends such as who could kick the ball over the highest telephone wire at my nearby park, watching behind-the-scenes youtube videos of the National team. In middle school, I discovered the racquetball courts in our athletic club and my life changed forever. I ignored the sign clearly stating “these courts are for racquetball use ONLY!” and kicked the ball against the wall until the management lady came in and scolded me. I’d act as if I was unaware of the rule, apologize, and then come back again the next day.  I didn’t play soccer, I lived it.

Parents often ask me what their children need to do to take their game to the next level. What skill should they learn? What club team should they play for? What about colleges?

I give them my two cents, but the truth is, nothing I tell them matters. There’s no one-size-fits-all recipe for success. Every elite athlete has a unique story. They come from different hometowns, club teams, social classes, and experience their own setbacks.

But amongst this class remains one common denominator; an obsession. They feel something deep within. A calling. When people discover that “one thing” that brings them an indescribable feeling, it naturally consumes their thoughts. It becomes ingrained into who they are as a person. It creates an unwavering hunger that propels them to focus and commit to mastering it.

I recently toured the Stumptown Coffee roasters headquarters in Portland. There is a man whose occupation is to sample the coffee imported from their other roasting locations to ensure quality and consistency. After 15 years of studying and being a barista, he’s apparently developed one of the most sophisticated coffee palettes in the world. He literally drinks java for a living. A dream career, undoubtedly spearheaded by obsession.

For me, soccer gives me those fiery sensations. My infatuation goes beyond the game itself. I love exploring the cities we play at, learning and reading during recovery time, beating personal fitness records, and meeting equally passionate like-minded people.

Whenever I face a setback in my career, I always think back to my childhood. Blasting balls against the chain-linked baseball fence at the park. Juggling with my friends until we surpassed a set number. The whistle blowing, tuning out all outside factors and playing instinctually. This raw passion ultimately led me to where I am today and is the reason I am still hungrier for more.

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Parents often ask me what their children need to do to take their game to the next level. What skill should they learn? What club team should they play for? What about colleges?

    I give them my two cents, but the truth is, nothing I tell them matters. There’s no one-size-fits-all recipe for success. Every elite athlete has a unique story. They come from different hometowns, club teams, social classes, and experience their own setbacks.

But amongst this class remains one common denominator; an obsession. They feel something deep within. A calling. When people discover that “one thing” that brings them an indescribable feeling, it naturally consumes their thoughts. It becomes ingrained into who they are as a person. It creates an unwavering hunger that propels them to focus and commit to mastering it.

I recently toured the Stumptown Coffee roasters headquarters in Portland. There is a man whose occupation is to sample the coffee imported from their other roasting locations to ensure quality and consistency. After 15 years of studying and being a barista, he’s apparently developed one of the most sophisticated coffee palettes in the world. He literally drinks java for a living. A dream career, undoubtedly spearheaded by obsession.

For me, soccer gives me those fiery sensations. My infatuation goes beyond the game itself. I love exploring the cities we play at, learning and reading during recovery time, beating personal fitness records, and meeting equally passionate like-minded people.

Whenever I face a setback in my career, I always think back to my childhood. Blasting balls against the chain-linked baseball fence at the park. Juggling with my friends until we surpassed a set number. The whistle blowing, tuning out all outside factors and playing instinctually. This raw passion ultimately led me to where I am today and is the reason I am still hungrier for more.

I don’t play soccer, I live it.