Be All In

Introduction

Christie’s Story

When it comes to sports, a lot of people focus on the end result. In professional sports in particular, people talk about the end results—who won, who underperformed, who pulled an incredible play out of nowhere. But what is often lost is any acknowledgment of all the hard work it takes to get to that moment. Those of us who play or have played at the elite level make it look easy. But there are countless hours of behind-the-scenes practice, tears, physical injuries, performance fears, embarrassment, and triumphs that occur every day. We celebrate the World Cup win, not the practice outside the trailer on a field in the middle of nowhere in New Jersey.

I have trophies, medals, and wins, but the most meaningful things to me are all the moments in between. I focus on the space between where I am and where I want to be. I let it inspire me. When you remain focused on your journey, the outcome you desire follows naturally.

I have had the time of my life playing soccer. I not only earned a spot on the US Women’s National Team; I won World Cup gold medals in 1999 and 2015, a World Cup silver medal in 2011, and two World Cup bronze medals in 2003 and 2007. I won three Olympic gold medals in 2004, 2008, and 2012, as well as an Olympic silver medal in 2000. In all these world events from 1999 to 2015, our team never finished outside the top three teams. I not only played on Olympic medal–winning teams, but I was eventually asked to be captain. I played in three professional soccer leagues including the Women’s Professional Soccer league, the National Women’s Soccer League, and the Women’s United Soccer Association, of which I was a founding member. I have two amazing children, and now that I have retired, I share my experiences with others through speaking engagements.

In the rare event when I was not on the soccer field—when I was injured, pregnant, or caring for my newborns—I’ve been fortunate to return to the game at the elite level. From the outside, it might look like someone was holding my spot, but that’s only illusion that comes from focusing on the outcome. When I left to have a child, and when I tore my ACL, nobody was sitting around waiting for me to come back. On the contrary, there were at least five women lined up to take my position. But each time, I fought and I trained and I exceeded every goal I set because I trained with a be all in mentality. For me, a be all in mentality is about understanding the big picture of what I want to accomplish. Of course I go into competition wanting to win, but over the years I have learned that winning is the wrong goal: especially when it comes to team sports, I can’t control a win on my own—there are too many other people and other factors involved. What I can control, though, is what I bring to the field. When I use practices to hone my skills, when I am confident about the team strategy, when I am focused on who I want to be on the field rather than just what I want to see on the scoreboard—that’s when I do my best. That’s when I leave the field proud of the results I’ve contributed to the team and the game.

Now, I need to be clear on this. I want the winning outcome as much as any competitor does. Maybe I want it more. So while I have always felt strongly about fully appreciating my journey rather than just the outcome, I was, and remain, fiercely competitive. It is simply who I am. Even if you and I are having a beanbag toss in your backyard, I am all strategy. And I am planning to beat you. It’s just my nature. But I have a different perspective on how to get there. My focus is always on my process, and my intention is to win.

Young athletes today are under so much pressure, and too often it’s being applied in the wrong places. Kids don’t need parents coaching them from the sidelines in the middle of a play; they need parents who can help them set their intentions on the car ride to the competition. Kids don’t need parents who speak for them; they need parents to teach them to advocate for themselves and manage their priorities. But those skills don’t come if a kid is taught that the only thing that matters is the final score. My greatest hope is that reading this book gives you the tools you need to help the athletes in your life thrive.

I have always thought that sports are a powerful place for kids to develop the skills needed for success in their adult lives—things like leadership, organization, focus, and drive. Those are just some of the skills that I know I’ve gained over my years playing professional soccer, and those lessons started from when I was a very young player (back when basketball was my main sport!). So before you dive into the chapters of the book that explain how to foster the skills that young athletes need to thrive, I want to show you what it looks like when those tools get tested.

In July 2009 I was pregnant with my second child. At the time, I was training with the US Women’s National Team and also finishing my first season with Sky Blue FC, the women’s professional soccer team based in New Jersey. I carefully timed my pregnancy so I could give birth with more than enough time to recuperate before competing for a spot to play in the World Cup. I knew the recovery would be tough, but I had succeeded before, and knew I could do it again. I would much rather recover from having a baby than from a torn ACL!

I kept my pregnancy secret from my teammates with the exception of Abby Wambach and Shannon Boxx, two of my favorite people in the world. I was medically cleared to play, but I didn’t want anyone to coddle me or treat me differently. I also didn’t want to hear any negative opinions about playing soccer while pregnant. My plan was moving along beautifully. My health was intact, and my playing was unaffected. Life was good.

Until I got to Rochester, New York.

A strong, stabbing pelvic pain came on all of a sudden, in the middle of a scrimmage with my national teammates. It stopped me dead in my tracks.

“I think something is wrong. Take it easy on me,” I whispered to Abby, national team forward, two-time Olympic gold medalist, FIFA World Cup champion, and no stranger to pain.

“I got you,” Abby whispered back.

During a water break in the middle of practice, I quietly excused myself to go to the bathroom. Normally, I never leave practice for any reason. But this time I felt like I had a good reason: I needed to check for bleeding. If I had seen any, that would have changed everything—players must pay attention to what their bodies are telling them, and if an honest self-assessment says that you’re going to do long-term damage if you keep playing, you have to sit out. If I had been bleeding, I would have gone straight to the hospital. But I wasn’t bleeding. And because I had had enough experience playing pregnant before, I knew that what I was experiencing wasn’t critical. It wasn’t great, but I could carry on until practice was over. This was something I always did. I always held myself accountable to my team, no matter what.

It sure wasn’t fun. I could barely walk by the time Coach Pia (Pia Sundhage, the coach of the national team) called it quits that day—almost quits. Pia liked to end practices with some kind of team-building exercise, and on that day she chose the crossbar challenge, in which players chip the ball from the top of the eighteen-yard line and try to hit the crossbar. Miss and you’re out; hit it and you stay in. It is a fun skill-set game. As my teammates took shots like rapid fire, in an attempt to be the first one to hit the crossbar, I took the opportunity to slowly slip away, hoping to remain unnoticed, and get to the bus. I needed to sit down. I loved the crossbar challenge, but for the first time in my life I couldn’t kick a ball.

When practice officially ended, Abby sat down next to me. She leaned into me carefully, which made me bristle. No coddling.

“Are you okay?”

I closed my eyes and focused on the mantras I always used to make it through pain.

Mind over matter.

Pain is weakness leaving the body.

The pain you feel today will be the strength you feel tomorrow.

Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.

That evening, I tried to sleep off the pain in my hotel room. By the middle of the night, my pain was driving me to insanity. My usual narrative of fighting, ignoring, and triumphing over pain was no longer working, to put it mildly. I felt myself moving in and out of consciousness.

All night I pushed my body to fight the pain. To ignore it. That is what I was trained to do. But I knew it was finally time to listen. Greg, our team trainer, drove me to a nearby hospital.

After hours of waiting around, I was told I would need an emergency hysterectomy. In shock, I signed the papers put in front of me and was wheeled into surgery within the hour. I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but I was so worn down from the pain, I could hardly respond. I was put under anesthesia and the last thing I remember thinking was that I would be okay with whatever came next.

When I woke up, I was alone. I sat in my hospital bed for what felt like hours, wondering if I would ever be able to have a child again. I had no access to my phone. My anesthesia hangover was wearing off and I could feel the morphine numbing my senses. But it did not dull my feelings. I felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. My thoughts ran wild. Rylie would never have a little sister or brother. The surgery would negatively affect my athletic performance. I might never play on the national team again. I was shattered.

When the nurse finally came to my room, she casually said the surgery was a success and talked about hormone replacements and medicine. The nurse said the surgeon had repaired a ruptured ovarian cyst and said my pregnancy was completely normal… my pregnancy was intact! I couldn’t hear a word she said after she told me that my baby was okay.

I had my baby. I could play.

I was flooded with relief.

I couldn’t have been more grateful.

Two Weeks Later

Once I recovered from surgery, I returned home to play for my professional club team in New Jersey, Sky Blue FC. The team was having a difficult season, with a record of six wins, seven ties, and five losses, and was in fifth place with two games left. Even though I’d gotten the green light—my pregnancy was healthy—I still kept it hidden from my teammates. This wasn’t going to be about me. They were my home team, and they were like family. I wanted them to succeed and not be distracted or worried about me.

When I played for the national team, I was provided with comfortable travel accommodations, hotels, and lodging around the world. We were given three meals a day, all tailored to our individual needs. We were provided with medical care and massage therapy. Even our hydration was looked after regularly. All I had to do was focus on playing soccer. It was my living dream.

Sky Blue FC did not enjoy the same resources. Housing was scarce. My teammates lived in an extended-stay hotel to save money. There were no showers or treatment rooms in our locker areas. At one point we even had to use a trailer as a locker room. Our practice fields were also poorly kept. Most of our health-care providers volunteered their time for the love of the team.

As the captain of Sky Blue, I made it my mission to make sure my teammates had everything they needed even if it meant doing it all myself. I didn’t want them distracted by better-funded teams. Success is about being focused, executing a plan, and trusting one another enough to evolve when the action gets intense. Sure, having cushy housing and a huge staff can make it easier to give all your attention to the game, but it can also coddle you. I wanted to teach my teammates how to focus on the game no matter how grim the circumstances.

I became the team mom for Sky Blue. I washed all my teammates’ game-day jerseys in my own home. I regularly held dinners for my teammates. I listened to their stories and often gave advice about their personal relationships (when they asked!) and how they might improve their playing. I took my role to heart. I knew the team saw me not only as their trainer and captain, but also as protector and caretaker.

The day I returned to the team after my surgery, my general manager asked me to deliver the bad news: our head coach had been unexpectedly asked to leave his position one month ago after an issue with a player, and our assistant coach was leaving as well. Given my role on the team, the general manager thought this news would be best coming from me. When I told my teammates, I saw defeat and fear in every one of their eyes. We were already having a losing season. Now our coaching staff had completely disintegrated in a matter of a few months.

After practice, the general manager asked me if I would consider coaching the team for the remainder of the season. He knew I was recovering from surgery, but he had no idea I was pregnant. I had just been cleared to return to personal training two times a day and was already working more than forty-five hours a week with my schedule of meetings, interviews, events. It was a grueling schedule, and I had to check in with myself to see if I was up for it. But after careful consideration, I knew I had to step up. My team needed a leader, and I had the skills to set a good example, motivate the players, and set goals that would inspire everyone to do her best work. What was good for my team would be good for me.

I said yes. I would continue to play on the team as their center defender and coach my teammates simultaneously. Two weeks after surgery. While pregnant. No problem. I didn’t even ask for a contract.

When I agreed to take on my dispirited team at the end of a losing season, I wasn’t taking on these women just to get them to the end of the season with a coach. I fully intended to turn the season around. We didn’t necessarily have the league’s best individual players, but I knew we could be the best team collectively. And great teams win championships.

My first order of business was to ask my personal trainer, Mike Lyons, to be my assistant coach. We had very similar perspectives on coaching and communicating. Good communication was going to be critical to making sure that everybody was on board with our mission. The fastest way to derail a team is to confuse the mission: when people don’t understand the goals, don’t know the strategies, or haven’t bought into the process, they go rogue. This leads to chaos—and chaos leads to failure. Once Mike accepted, I set out to create a plan for each game leading up to the playoffs. My focus was to address the games one at a time—every game was going to be different, and we needed to assess the skills of every team we were going to play in order to develop a strategy that would help us win. I did my homework, plotted carefully, and considered each of the opposing teams’ unique history, players, and previous playing styles and tactics. Coach Lyons then implemented my plans from the sidelines. We created multiple formations and possible scenarios, and we communicated with each other and the team to make necessary adjustments during game time.

My second order of business was to restore morale. I implemented a zero-negativity policy for the team. There would be no discussions about the past—or the future, for that matter. Their focus was to be on the present state of the team and on each game. I didn’t want to dwell on our past losses or ponder the possibility of a win. I didn’t want them to be thinking about their personal stats. I wanted them to trust that I had a winning plan for everything that we were going to encounter, and they needed to focus on the plan in order to succeed. We might not have fielded the best players, but we could be unstoppable if we worked together and worked smart. I knew our genuine connection on and off the field meant we would have the confidence and the wisdom to rely on one another. If only my team could believe in themselves again.

My third and most important goal was to bring back our passion for the game. Many coaches would approach training a team like Sky Blue by imposing long hours and repetitive drills, especially given their losing season. But I knew my teammates would view that as punishment. I needed to bring the fun back into their game. Fitness and drills are important, but scrimmaging and challenging teammates are what we live for. With that in mind, I began practice with four-versus-four scrimmages. I wanted to bring back not just their playing awareness but also their love for the game. I knew this would bring back the competitive edge we had been missing all season.

I was forthcoming right off the bat about my own limitations as a coach—I had no idea how to create film for the team to review, and I didn’t have the time to learn how. Instead, I asked my teammates to independently watch clips of their games and bring any questions to me and Coach Lyons. There were two major benefits to this: I learned how each player saw herself individually and relative to her teammates on the field, and my players began to cultivate more self-awareness. By making the players responsible for their own review, I was giving them the opportunity to develop their self-assessment skills. Watching film gave the athletes the opportunity to review the moments when they were successful, as well as where they needed to improve. The film provided time for the players to see their options on the field and how to handle those situations next time. I was holding them accountable while building their confidence in their individual games.

My plan worked. To my utter delight, Sky Blue won the first game I coached, and soon after, we made it to the national playoffs! The team was excited. We were having fun again, and we were playing with passion.

The Playoffs

We would have to win all three of our games over the next eight days to win the national championship. We would have to travel four hundred miles, over three different time zones, and would have to practice and recover while on the road. I continued to remind the team to stay in the present: “We are going to take one game at a time, just like we’ve been doing. No need to look ahead to the championship. We are going to enjoy this journey. We have nothing to lose!”

In the first game of the playoffs, we faced an incredible Washington, DC, team led by Abby Wambach. We had recently lost to Washington, 3–1, in the last game of the season, only to play them as our first-round playoff game. I knew I would need to concentrate on our mental preparation more than our physical preparation. I spoke to the team about focusing on the game plan and letting go of any negative mental blocks they had acquired in the last game against Abby and her team.

Our game plan was simple: we needed to force the DC team to play their game down the middle in order to shut Abby down. We executed our plan flawlessly. Abby was forced to play the game differently than she was accustomed to, and we gave her very little opportunity to do what she does best: finishing crosses. Thanks to our intense focus, we won the game with a tight score of 2–1. We gained an immense amount of confidence that day.

The next playoff game was held in St. Louis. This team was led by Jorge Barcellos, a highly accomplished Brazilian national team coach, and the US Women’s National Team goalkeeper coach. Mental preparation would again be paramount. I didn’t want anyone intimated by the stakes of the game or the reputations of the opposing coaches and players. I immediately set out to reframe their nerves. I wanted to shift their fear of defeat to the thrill of the game. I told them I played some of my best games against the toughest, most difficult-to-beat athletes. I taught them that anxiety before a game is fuel.