Most people I’ve befriended in college don’t know that I was an avid tennis player in high school and the 12 years before that. It’s ironic to me because tennis was such a big part of my life. The hours on court, road trips across the great state of Iowa, and the familiar crew I ran lines with all hold a very special place in my heart. As with anything, it’s not simply the principles and places that grow and shape us, but the people in those spaces. 

Such was true on the green and blue pavement as I slapped the fuzz (as my high school team called it—long live the Fuzz Slappers). Through it all, one person was always on the sidelines, in the driver’s seat, or first in line at Potbelly between matches and tournaments as I struggled and sprinted and dreamed on court. My coach Alex was (and still is) a witty gal who is small but mighty, packed with punch, and, as she iconically describes herself, “fun-sized.” 

When Alex wasn’t advising me to move my feet or to stop swinging so dang hard in the warmup (anyone else?), we traveled the backroads of Iowa, lodged at our fair share of Holiday Inn’s, and even stayed at her parents’ house in the Quad Cities together. We shared a lot of life, in somewhat questionable hotels, gas stations, and public parks with cracked and uneven tennis courts, but in those moments, she instilled a lot more in me than how to hit a volley on the run.

One of the (many) lessons she ingrained in me was to get my butt off the couch and take a step toward my goals. Run a few sprints, serve a few balls, or knock out a single workout circuit on the back patio. Something is better than nothing, she’d say. Imperfect and consistent beats perfect and stagnant every day of the week and twice on Sundays. 

Alex taught me that I don’t need to have all the right equipment, the trendy workout attire, or the perfect weather to do something that gets me closer to conquering my goal. Resilience isn’t something you can buy online. 

As I trained for my senior season, I dreamed with her a year before what would be my final high school state tournament. A full 12 months before the tournament went down in the sticky, humid June air, we planned and plotted how to arrive in the lineup of the best female tennis players in the state. 

After making a loose plan, I started hot out of the gates, hitting the courts or working out (or both) almost everyday summer of 2019. I was fired up and ready to go. And then school started. And then what always happens happened. I let the assignments and projects and high school hours distract me. The end goal started to get fuzzy. I’d talk myself out of going to a two-hour clinic because I had homework and reading to do.

But Alex whispered something different to me than the story running in my head. I didn’t need two hours to get better. I didn’t need an ideal day with sunny skies and minimal wind to get a practice match in. I didn’t need an expensive workout class or a magic window of time after school. No. What I needed was never, ever, ever, under any circumstance, to forget the goal: make it to the end of the state tournament. And once again, she asked me what it would require—to stand among the best of the best and to give this all I had. 

Well, I thought, that would require a couple of things. Showing up at the state tournament meant qualifying for the state tournament. Qualifying for the tournament meant winning matches. Winning matches meant physical endurance and technical improvement. Physical endurance meant getting in shape, while technical improvement meant practice, practice, practice. And although the state tournament was still 10 months away, getting in shape and practicing were two things very much in my control. In fact, they were the only things I could control at the moment. That’s one thing I’ve learned—most of reaching our goals aren’t about the stuff we’re doing, it’s about accepting the things that we can’t do or control and permitting ourselves to release that pressure. 

So I shifted my focus from winning! Being the best! Success! The state tournament! To chunking it out into multiple tasks I could tackle 10 months in advance. Strengthening my muscles. Getting in shape. Building my endurance. Running (God, please no). Googling workout circuits and busting them out on a weekend morning, between homework assignments, or after a practice match. Taking lessons with my coaches. Repetition. Ten minutes here, 10 minutes there. An hour on a Tuesday night, 45 minutes Thursday before school. 

Alex told me over and over again: “Every time you get up to run sprints, even when you don’t feel like it—especially when you don’t feel like it—you’re one step closer than your opponent who chose to hit the snooze button or just do it tomorrow. By getting up to hit with a friend, you’re ensuring you did everything you could to make it to the state tournament, putting everything on the table and leaving the rest for matchday in the spring.” 

Those words have stuck with me again and again, over and over, through the course of my life. Alex didn’t just help me stay in a long rally; she helped me build the resilience that’s still a part of me today. That’s the thing about coaches—their impact lasts long after the field, court, or locker room is still a part of our everyday. I was so fortunate to have many coaches that did this for me, and I’ve held all of their words and lessons close to my heart ever since. 

I’ve been hit with the resounding message: show up. Show up. Show up. Don’t discount what feels like a small step or slow-moving progress. It all adds up. If you took all the little victories from your journey away, you would never reach your goal you’d reach nothing at all. Nothing begets nothing. Something is better than nothing. 

And a note that’s not often delivered with the “show  up” mantra but I believe most definitely should be: 

Showing up takes courage. There is courage in the consistency. Because as soon as you start counting the steps and putting in the hours, it doesn’t take long to realize that failure isn’t often—but always—involved. The more consistent you are, the more familiar with failure you become. And that’s the beauty of the showing up attitude—you don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to have it all figured out. You don’t have to run the marathon today, but you can take the first brave step towards the finish line, even after a fall. 

That step will transform everything. Maybe not all at once, but it will change something in you. It’s the progress that feels pointless and the practice that doesn’t seem to propel you anywhere that is quite literally inching you closer to the end goal, one day after the next. 

In your life, maybe it’s fitness. Maybe it’s academic. Maybe it’s spiritual. Whatever your goals look like right now, I implore you to implement the art of showing up and bringing all the grace and the dedication you can along for the journey. 

Google the circuit. 

Read one verse. 

Say a single prayer. 

Walk around the block.

Write a paragraph. 

Say no thank you to the dessert menu tonight. 

I don’t know what it looks like for you, but these things will not only push you ahead, they’ll transform you in the process. I’m not the same person after that year of training for the state tournament. Something happened in me every time I parked next to the courts and ran some laps or served a basket of balls by myself on a Saturday morning. Something was born inside of me, something I think I was really after the whole time: endurance. 

And endurance isn’t built overnight. It’s built-in the midnight hours, in the few minutes you’re able to dedicate to the project today, in the essence of showing up. One foot in front of the other, over and over and over again and covered in grace from start to finish, on repeat.  

Although I haven’t picked up a racquet in an embarrassing (and sad!) amount of time, Alex and I still have something that transcends a sport all these years later. Because we didn’t just show up for the lessons or the workouts, but for the honest conversations and the random phone calls and the Hey-I-Saw-This-And-It-Reminded-Me-Of-You texts, one moment at a time. 

And I pray and I pray and I pray that as I’m chipping away at the goals sitting in front of me today that I’m not just checking a box on a list but am creating a community of compassion, authenticity, and vulnerability every time I show up, because the showing up is where those things are built. No matter how big the mountain may seem, one day at a time, fifteen minutes at a time, one step at a time. Something is always better than nothing.