Above All Else, page 6
You have to be in reasonable shape to excel at skydiving, but of the things I would need to do to advance in my sport, I hadn’t considered that a regular workout routine at the gym would be one of them. It didn’t sound like fun, and I didn’t have any interest in being disciplined about something that wasn’t going to be fun.
Theater sure, skydiving yes, but going to the gym every day? Only if I absolutely had to.
Well, I had to. It was time for me to discover that no matter how much I loved a sport or activity, truly excelling and being the best I could be was not going to be all fun and games. Building up my upper body became a necessary goal. It wasn’t one I would have chosen, but it was one I couldn’t succeed without. If I wanted it badly enough to do what it was going to take to make it happen, then I guess I was going to become a regular at the gym.
As soon as I was able, I started going to the gym and lifting every day. Everything happens for a reason? Maybe, but for the life of me I didn’t know what the reason for this could have been. Not yet.
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WHEN I STARTED college, my only goal was to graduate with a degree in theater. But as it turned out, the time and effort I wanted to devote to skydiving left very little for acting. Both require no less than a 100 percent commitment to excel in, and I didn’t want to put 50 percent into either.
Skydiving won out. I continued with school but no longer had a specific degree I was aiming for. Without a clear goal, it wasn’t long before I wasn’t particularly concerned about what my grade point average was either. For that matter, I didn’t really care if I learned anything or not. I just wanted to do my time and finish my four years of college with a diploma of some sort.
At Ohio State University there were 55,000 students of which 30,000 were women and 10,000 were freshmen that had just been let out of the house for the first time. High Street was the very appropriately named main drag on campus, and the drinking age was eighteen. As if all of that wasn’t enough of a distraction for me, on every sunny day (and many rainy ones) I drove an hour to go skydiving.
I convinced myself that my goal of graduating would require little effort and no real sacrifices from me. During my first three years of college I usually took twelve credit hours of classes per quarter, the minimum required to be considered full time. I went to class only as often as I absolutely needed to in order to get by. When I did show up at class, I was frequently late and would try unsuccessfully to sneak in to the backseats unnoticed.
In preparation for tests I crammed weeks’ worth of lessons into one night. I dreaded showing up for class on test day. The professors and other students could see how terrified and unprepared I was. They looked at me with an expression of disgust, knowing I was getting just what I deserved. At best I remembered enough of the material to squeeze by with a passing grade and forgot it all as I left the room.
At the end of my junior year, I was called in for a meeting with a dean. She asked me what I’d been doing for the last three years and went on to inform me that I wouldn’t be able to graduate after my senior year. At the pace I was going, it would take me at least another two years to collect enough credits in any one particular subject to actually earn a diploma. “Don’t worry,” she said sarcastically, “if you continue on this road, after six years of going to school full time you’ll be able to proudly complete college, with an impressive 2.2 grade point average.”
Damn, she was good. In one sentence she made me realize that I had just wasted three years of my life. It may have been fun, it had its moments, but that was not a path I wanted to continue down. I walked out of the meeting and immediately committed myself to graduating within one year, with a degree in Aviation and a 4.0 grade point average in my remaining classes.
This was an ambitious goal. I set the bar much higher than I ever had before, but I wanted it badly and I thought I could do it.
To accomplish my goal, I would have to take twenty or more credit hours every quarter. This was twice as many classes as I had ever taken before and more than the school would generally allow. At our next meeting, the dean laughed at me. She had meant to motivate me in our previous meeting, but this was reaching far beyond what she assumed I was capable of. I begged her to let me try. She grudgingly gave in.
Reaching this goal would require a much greater commitment to school and learning than I had ever made before. For starters, I would have to sacrifice many of the things I enjoyed, beginning with skydiving, followed closely behind by partying, barhopping, and socializing. I had learned from being so disciplined about going to the gym that sometimes you just have to do what you have to do and hoped I’d be able to work out my brain as hard as I did my chest.
I may not have been as bright as I thought, but I wasn’t stupid either. I knew I would have to do this on my own, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t ask for help.
I told my professors what I was trying to accomplish and asked them for help and advice. I participated in class by asking questions, offering answers, and involving myself in all discussions and debates. It was apparent to my professors that this was a new me. They seemed almost inspired by my newfound drive and were truly excited to help in any way they could. My goal became their goal. They were teachers after all. My success became their success. By helping me to reach my goal, in some way they would also be reaching theirs.
Through my active participation in class, I met other students that were as motivated as I was. We started to schedule a few hours a week for studying together. Sharing, discussing, and explaining concepts and principles from our classes helped the learning process tremendously. Reading it on my own gave me the general idea. Explaining it to another person proved to me that I actually knew the material and made clear the parts I still didn’t understand that required more studying.
There are only twenty-four hours in a day. If I was going to take this many classes and get As in all of them, I would have to make optimal use of my time. I was always the first person to class and sat in the front row. Immediately after class, I would go to the library and review the lessons we covered in an effort to let them sink into my head before running to the next class to absorb more new information. I would do additional work late into the evening and get up early in the morning for more.
After having studied until two o’clock in the morning and waking up again at six to get back to the books, I felt better than when I stayed out late with my friends and then slept in too late to go to class. This was playing to win, and I could feel myself becoming a winner. The classes I had to take my final year were the ones that I had been avoiding the first three years. I didn’t love the subject matter, but I did like the challenge. I had committed to the goal and this is what I needed to do to reach it. Just like going to the gym, there was no getting out of it. I may not have enjoyed the studying per se, but I loved showing up for the test confident and ready. There was no practical purpose for taking some of the particular subjects. I would probably never use them again for the rest of my life. But I needed them to graduate. It had to be done, so I did it. Lesson learned.
I couldn’t wait for test days. The professors could see how relaxed and confident I was. They looked at me with an expression of pride, knowing I was getting just what I deserved. I aced them all, every single class.
Getting a college degree would be considered a solo event. Initially I set the bar very low toward achieving this goal. I was uninspired, unmotivated, and committed nearly nothing toward this effort. I didn’t ask anyone for help, and if I had, no one would have been inclined to give it to me. “No one wants to help someone who doesn’t want to help himself ”—a quote I had heard from Gramps many times.
When I raised the bar and truly aimed to be the best student I could possibly be, it was no longer a solo event. True, no one could do it for me. But my passion and commitment toward my goal was contagious. I asked for help, and the people who were capable of helping me wanted to. My solo event felt much like a team effort.
Never before had I aimed to achieve such an ambitious goal. I had always been an average student, and I had just spent the first three years of my college career in the lulls of mediocrity. I was satisfied with just having fun and getting by. I had taken pride in doing the least I could do, as long as I could get away with it. I had no idea of what I was truly capable of because I had never pushed myself to find out. I didn’t realize what I was missing out on. Never again.
In the spring of 1984, after having attended school for four years and two extra quarters, I graduated from Ohio State University with a degree in Aviation and Atmospheric Sciences. Being so intensely committed and driven to achieving a goal like this was incredible. I felt like I came to life in a way I never had before. In the course of making the decision to aim for this high goal, planning how to accomplish it, doing the hard work, and finally watching it come to fruition, I became a winner.
On the day of graduation, I made the decision that I would never accept mediocrity from myself again. After experiencing what it felt like to play to win, mediocrity—with all its good times and parties—didn’t seem like much fun anymore. From here on I would try to push myself in whatever I did to be the best I could be, and often better than I thought I was capable of being. Having accomplished this goal, I knew that I could do anything I set my mind to.
During my senior year of college, my professors and classmates made a significant contribution to my success. Studying and discussing material with classmates enabled me to have a deeper understanding of the topics. Knowing I wasn’t the only one on the battlefield provided moral support and encouragement. Through my professors’ efforts, I learned the information in a shorter amount of time. The questions plaguing me and stalling my learning were answered without delay. Knowing that they cared about my progress, and that my success would be personally rewarding to them as teachers, brought a great deal of enjoyment and motivation to the entire process. It made me very happy that they were not only proud of me, but also proud of themselves when I did so well.
There is no doubt in my mind that the experience as a whole was far more rewarding because I had these individuals’ support than it would have been had I been completely on my own. I would have reached my goal either way, but it would have taken me much longer and would not have been nearly as fulfilling if I had to do it alone. In every way, the experience and success was far better being part of a team.
After graduation, I got in the car and drove to the drop zone. I had already set my sights on winning the National and World Skydiving Championships. That I couldn’t do alone and I didn’t need to—my team was waiting for me.
12
Greene County Fusion, My
First National Competition,
and Learning How to
Reproduce My Peak Performance
I WOULD GUESS THAT for many of us who fall in love with an activity, the degree to which we enjoy it is directly related to our continued improvement. If we reach a point where we stop getting better, we often begin to lose interest. To continue improving, we usually need a goal of some sort. Aiming for this goal usually involves striving to become better than we are, the best we can be, or sometimes even the best there is.
This isn’t limited to big-league sports, it’s human nature. Our son Landen has loved to play with Legos since he was five. He started off doing the smallest, most simple ones. Now he wants the biggest and most complicated. Or sometimes he’ll choose to do a small one but try to do it faster than the last time. Doing a harder project or doing the same project faster are both examples of working toward becoming better. There is no award for it; nobody else cares. He just does it because he thinks it’s more fun that way.
It was the same thing when Landen was first learning to ski. As soon as he was able to stand up all the way down the bunny hill, he wanted me to time him. As soon as he had a time he wanted to beat it. And Landen is no more competitive than my father.
Having a goal based on improving our skills at anything, even Legos, by definition makes us competitors. We are always competing with ourselves, sometimes against others. Sometimes solo, sometimes as part of a team. Whichever gives us the best opportunity to continue improving at what we love and, by doing so, having more fun and being more fulfilled.
Six months after my first jump, I was introduced to 4-way formation skydiving. I watched a film of the top teams in amazement. I knew I could fly like they did if I just had the chance to try and learn.
Finally, Woody and Fang asked me and my friend Mark Badillo to join their team and compete with them at the 1983 U.S. National Skydiving Championships. I didn’t join the team thinking we could win. There was no chance of that. I joined the team because I knew the fastest way to improve was being on a 4-way team with people who were better than I was. For me, improving was the definition of fun. So I joined the team for the pure fun of it.
After months of preparation for the U.S. Nationals, our team, Greene County Fusion, had made about 150 practice jumps. During these jumps I had a chance to try flying moves I had never attempted before and the opportunity to get them wrong enough times that I could finally figure out how to get them right. My flying advanced more in those 150 jumps than in the previous 500. I couldn’t wait to get to the nationals and show what we could do.
Fusion wasn’t aiming to win. That year at the U.S. Nationals, there was a total of twenty-eight 4-way teams, seven of which were made up of the best skydivers in the country and expected to finish way ahead of everyone else. The only chance we had of winning was if all seven teams had a bad meet, a really bad meet.
The two top teams both trained in California. The Mirror Image 8-way team was the current world champion in that event (8-way has the same rules as 4-way but with eight people and a fifty-second time clock). The Visions 8-way team was their closest rival, and the U.S. Army Golden Knights 8-way was not far behind. These three 8-way teams all split into six 4-way teams and made up the top of the pack in our event.
Then there was Tom Piras. Tom’s 4-way team, Desert Heat, had won the U.S. Nationals is 1981. That same year, the world championships was being held in South Africa, and the United States was boycotting in protest of South Africa’s apartheid system. Having missed the opportunity to compete for the world championships in 1981, Tom had set his sights on winning in 1983 and had put together a new team that he thought could do it. After his 1981 national victory, he and his friend Bob Hallet opened up a new skydiving center in Deland, Florida. Over the coming years, competitive skydiving and 4-way training in particular would start to take off. Deland would become the epicenter of it and Tom the single, undisputed leader.
These seven teams were in a league of their own. Our loose goal for the meet was to finish eighth—“the best of the rest,” as they say. We didn’t know what that would take or even what any of the rest of the teams were scoring, so we didn’t have anything to really base this goal on. But it sounded like the highest we could possibly hope to finish, so why not?
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WE WERE CLIMBING to altitude in the Cessna 182 for the first round of my first national championships and my heart was pounding. After a twenty-five minute ride, we finally reached ten thousand feet. The pilot told us we were two minutes away from exiting. I was getting nervous. Actually, I was so terrified I thought I was going to puke. The fear wasn’t about safety. I was an experienced-enough skydiver to be far beyond worrying about that. The terror I felt was all performance anxiety. I was almost praying not to screw up. I didn’t want to let Fang and Woody down. I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of my peers. With each second, I could feel my heart racing, my hands sweating. The little voice in my head came back. “S—t, Danny. What have you gotten yourself into this time?” The fear got bigger and the voice louder as we were getting closer to exiting, closer to decision time.
Suddenly, it came to me. I’d been here before, like déjà vu. The feelings I was experiencing, sitting in the plane, getting ready to exit for round one of the competition, felt exactly the same as standing offstage, preparing to walk into the scene during a play. I immediately applied what I had learned in acting to competitive skydiving. I reminded myself I could do it, that I had practiced the moves hundreds of times before and visualized them thousands. I told myself, “Just relax. Wait for the pilot’s exit command and just climb out onto the step. You’ve practiced enough. It will be fine. Just climb out, just climb out.” My heart was still pounding and my hands were sweating, but I knew that all I had to do was trust that if I calmed down, relaxed, and just let it happen, I would perform to the top of my abilities.
I calmly kept telling myself, “Just climb out, just climb out.”
The exit command from the pilot was like my cue to go on stage. I took one more deep breath, climbed out the door, and let it happen. The instant we left the plane and the wind of free fall hit my face, the fear was gone, just as it was when I came out from behind the curtain and the stage lights hit my eyes. It was like some kind of magic spell came over me and I immediately started flying. It seemed to happen automatically, instinctively. Almost as if I was just along for the ride as I watched my body, mind, and soul do what they had practiced doing. If I started thinking too much about it, I got in their way, so I just let it happen. We rocked.
There could not be two activities more different than acting in a play and competing in formation skydiving. But the mental state necessary to reach my peak performance was the same in both. The process for preparing for that mental state was identical whether it was getting ready to walk onstage for a show or exiting a plane in competition. If the same process worked for acting and skydiving, it should work for anything.
After one year of training with the team, my flying had become faster, sharper, and more precise than I ever imagined was possible. I was flying like I had dreamed of as a five-year-old boy chasing birds in Hawaii. Facing my fears and being tested to perform at my best under the pressure of competition was incredible.
