Читать книгу The Dream Chaser - Gaskins Tony A. - Страница 6

There are gifts we have that we take for granted every day. We have an opportunity, and we don't seize it. We see this opportunity, and we know it's ours for the taking, but we let it slip away. I'm not sure why we do this, but for me I think I feared success. I feared greatness. I was afraid to be amazing. They say that everything that goes up must come down. I didn't want to go up to my highest heights because I didn't want to be knocked down. What I didn't realize at the time is that you don't have to be knocked down. You can do your time, run your course, and then choose to come down and retire when it's time. I didn't want to feel any pain of gain. I didn't want to do the hard work that comes with greatness. I was comfortable coasting and doing just enough to get by. But we don't get results when we're comfortable. Comfort is for the sleeping. If you want to sleep through life, then get comfortable; but if you want to be great in this life, then you'll have to stretch yourself.

Sometimes when your gift is your means to a better end, you have to become passionate about your gift even if you aren't. Your gift comes freely, but at times it may be a burden until you've found your purpose. It may even be a little painful until you've found your purpose. You'll have to sacrifice a lot before you get some time to relax and enjoy the fruits of your labor. When I was in college, my dad would often call me and always say, “Son, if you sacrifice the next four years of your life, it will never be the same.” I had no clue what he meant by sacrifice. At this point his advice was too little too late. Sacrifice has to be instilled at a young age, and you have to know the pain of sacrifice in order to appreciate it. You have to be accustomed to sacrifice. It has to be engrained in you and become second nature. If you're not comfortable being uncomfortable, then sacrifice will scare you. I was scared to understand what he meant by sacrifice, so I told myself that I was already sacrificing. I told myself that going to practice every day was a sacrifice. I told myself that going in the weight room was a sacrifice. I told myself that getting up at 6 a.m. everyday to eat breakfast was a sacrifice, but I was lying to myself. I was lying to myself because I was only giving 50 to 70 percent at practice. I was only giving 50 to 70 percent in the gym. I was going to breakfast because it was mandatory. If I wasn't made to do it, I wasn't doing it. I was staying up late every night. I was eating badly every day. I was chasing the ladies every day. I was partying on the weekends. I wasn't focused. I was coasting by.

Have you ever coasted? Have you ever gotten off track? Have you ever done just enough to get by? That's what I was doing. I was doing just enough to get by. I think my dad understood that I was close to realizing the dream. I think he knew that I was good enough to make it if I would dedicate myself. He had heard about the chances of success from some reliable sources, I'm guessing. I knew guys in the NFL who played D2 and D3 football. I realized that you truly could make it from anywhere. I thought success would come easy for me though. I thought that it would be easy like it had always been. I was taking success for granted. I had to do more, but I wasn't willing to do more. Now I realize what my father meant by sacrifice is that I should abstain from sex and women. He meant that I should go to bed at a decent hour. He meant that I should put in extra work in the weight room and extra work on the practice field. I didn't want to think about that at the time. I wanted it to be easy, and I wanted to make it look easy. I wanted to look cool. I wanted to make it look effortless the way I had always done – but I couldn't get by with so little effort at that level. If I was skimping at a D2 school, I don't know how I would have made it at a D1 school. In a way, I feel like I could have done better at a D1 school, because I would have been challenged. It was still easy for me on the field at the smaller school. In every scrimmage I was averaging 8 yards a carry. That was a lot, and it felt easy. I was averaging that without using my offensive line properly. I would beat the pulling blocker to the hole, so I was facing defenders one on one much of the time and blowing past them. But I also didn't stretch well. I was making the defense look silly with almost-cold muscles. I was taking shortcuts, and I was soon to get cut short.

In my freshman season I was red-shirted. That meant I would have a free year that year and would still be able to play four more years. So my hope was that I could graduate with a master's degree instead of just a bachelor's degree, and it would be fully paid for. But I was cutting corners and not taking it seriously enough. One day in practice I pulled my hamstring. That was a result of never stretching properly. I came back from that hamstring injury, and then I pulled my other hamstring.

I remember that when I came back from the first injury, I was put on the scout team. That's where the red-shirt and academically ineligible players played. One day I was on the scout team kickoff-return unit. They kicked the ball off to me, and I darted up the field, saw a seam and hit it, and took off for a touchdown. It was a full field return. The coach screamed and yelled at the kickoff team. He was cursing and enraged. Then they kicked off again, and I caught the ball, saw a seam, hit it, and took off for another touchdown. I returned two kicks in a row on what was seen as the best defense in the conference. Then the coach screamed and yelled again. I know it was bittersweet for him because I was torching his kickoff team, but he also had to have some joy knowing that I would be eligible the next season. So they kicked off a third time, and this time I caught the ball and saw my seam again, but when I took off, my hamstring popped. This was a trickle-down effect – I tore my first hamstring because I didn't stretch properly, then I came back and tore my other hamstring because I didn't stretch properly. When I got to the field that day, I was late to practice. I think I was late because I overslept on my afternoon nap, but I really can't remember. The scout team were doing kickoff drills, and the coach told me to get out there immediately. I hadn't stretched yet. So it was somewhat remarkable because I hadn't stretched and I ran back two kicks, but then it was sad that I still hadn't learned my lesson from the first hamstring tear.

Things kept going downhill from there. I wanted the instant gratification. I didn't want to wait my turn or to trust the process the way we are supposed to. I got lazy, and I started taking dives on the field. If I saw a puddle of mud during a rainy practice, I'd slip in it and pretend that I pulled my hamstring. I wanted the easy route. I didn't love the grind. I tried to cheat the grind. But the interesting thing about the grind is that you can't cheat it. It knows exactly what you've put in, and you can only get out what you've put in. I didn't realize that back then. I tweeted that quote a couple years ago though, and it went viral; now I see my life lesson all over the web. It's funny how life works.

I kept cheating the grind, and I kept being penalized. I finally got through that first year of college and still had my scholarship intact. I put in a little work over the summer, and I came back the next year ready to play. I became eligible to play my second year in college, and I was ready. Our team had another running back from California, and he was pretty good. He wasn't better than me, I didn't think, but he was older and bigger than me. My coach respected seniority for the most part, and he loved big running backs. So he played him over me and made me the second-string back. I got to play in one game in the fourth quarter and got 62 yards. I think I had five carries. I remember many fans telling me after the game that they didn't know I was so fast and good. It was still kind of easy for me. I was physically healthy all that season, but I wasn't healthy mentally. I was more focused on the ladies. I was up late and still chasing the ladies and love.

When the starting running back went down in the second or third game of the season, it was my turn. I was ready for it physically, but my mind wasn't where it had been when I was really good. I went into the game, and everyone was excited to see me on a turf field. I was kind of excited, but I decided to not get nervous, so I blocked out all thoughts about the game. I was very mellow and nonchalant. I failed to realize that it was my nerves that had fueled me all my life. So I went into the game so mellow that I wasn't focused. My first two carries were fumbles. Fumbling the ball two times back to back was like suicide in the coach's eyes. I wasn't ready for my moment, and it was the next man's opportunity. I still ended up getting back in the game and finishing with 40 yards on eight carries, so 5 yards a carry wasn't too bad, but it would be my last opportunity as a starter. My coach moved on to the other athlete on the team because there were only two of us who ran at that level. The other guy was actually a really small receiver the coach turned into a running back. He was lightning fast and could hit open holes with a full head of steam and gain a lot of yards. That was good enough for the coach, so I was back to picking up garbage time in the fourth quarters.

I started to break down mentally, and I guess I got what I'd asked for by my actions. I started becoming a cancer on the team. I started to do locker room politicking and carrying on. I was cutting corners and chasing the ladies. I was going downhill fast. On top of not being focused, more distractions started coming my way. One day as I was walking in the ice cold winter, I looked down and saw a little baggie. I picked it up; it was a $10 bag of weed. I didn't smoke at all and had no desire to. But I did know about weed because my cousins and some of my friends smoked it. I also had a lot of family and friends who sold weed. So I showed the baggie to one of my teammates who I knew smoked. He looked at it and asked me how much I wanted for it. Not having a clue what to sell it for, I told him he could just have it because it was my last one. I had now become a drug dealer. A very petty one, but still, I was a kingpin in my mind. Then I had to find a way to keep up this image because this cool guy on the team was impressed that I had been selling drugs under his nose even though he knew nothing about it. The word started to spread, and now I was back into the shine. I couldn't shine on the field, so at least I was shining off the field. It's crazy to me when I look back and see all the time I wasted running from greatness.