My Shot

by Elena Delle Donne

  Everyone expected us to lose. I mean everyone—from coaches to other players to almost every sportswriter in the media. We’d had a season plagued with injured players, including me—twice!—and the fact that we were in the finals was practically a miracle. We hadn’t led the league in scoring, rebounding, assists, or any of the markers of a championship team, and I was convinced it was pure determination and guts that had gotten us as far as we had. I had no idea if that would carry us through and make us victorious. But I knew I had to shut out all the trash talk I was hearing if I was going to play well.

  Having a good attitude before heading into a new or challenging situation doesn’t just mean pumping yourself up or telling yourself how amazing you are. It also involves refusing to let the negative chatter of others affect you. Tell yourself: They don’t know me. Only I do. And then move on and do your best.

  I think it’s unrealistic to believe you won’t hear the unpleasant things other people say about you, though. I can’t spend the rest of my life refusing to turn on the TV, read the papers, or go online just because I’m worried I’ll see something negative about me, my style of play, or my team. After I dropped out of UConn, I tried to hide away, shielding myself from the world, at my parents’ house, but that was just silly. By the time I got to the UD campus, people were still talking about me, and I could hear every word of it!

  But did it make me stop playing or play worse? In the end, no. And that was because I forced myself to shrug it off and do my best.

  Before the WNBA finals, we understood that the Mercury were almost perfect. But we knew there was one thing we were better at, and that was rebounds. We knew we could win the five-game series by getting the ball back as quickly and efficiently as we could, then driving to the basket as fast and as skillfully as our legs could carry us.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t make a difference. Throughout the three games we played, the Mercury were just so much better than we were.

  In game one their field goal percentage was double ours. We actually did rebound better than they did, but when you can’t get the ball into the basket, being able to rebound doesn’t matter. They beat us 62–83, and I was on the bench, nursing a sore back, for all but ten minutes of it.

  In game two the Mercury absolutely dominated us. Every single one of their starters, including Brittney Griner and Diana Taurasi, scored in the double digits over the course of the game. Even after Diana Taurasi got into foul trouble early on, and Brittney Griner injured her eye in the first quarter, they still outplayed us. And even when we started to show some momentum in the second half, the Mercury still made basket after basket.

  In the end they beat us 68–97.

  If there’s anything we proved throughout the season—with all of the injuries and setbacks—it’s that we were resilient. We’d never give up, no matter what, so we vowed to go into game three fighting.

  We thought the path might be clearer because Brittney Griner wouldn’t be playing.

  “She’s had to have retinal surgery,” Pokey told us just before game three. “The Mercury just tweeted about it. When she got poked in the eye, it did some real damage.”

  Even though Brittney’s absence was a good thing for us, I still felt a lump in the pit of my stomach. I would never, ever be happy for someone else’s misfortune, especially considering all that I’d gone through with my own health. Plus, I was friends with Brittney. We’d sat next to each other during dozens of interviews before and after the WNBA draft—even during a particularly emotional one when she’d come out of the closet. I’d decided to be a little more private about my love life because Amanda wasn’t a public figure, but I was happy that Brittney was so open. I wanted her to spread her wings in every part of her life—even on the court against me in the most high-profile game of our lives.

  But she wasn’t going to get that opportunity, so the Sky would try to capitalize on it.

  Without Brittney’s amazing blocking, we headed straight for the paint in the first quarter, scoring eighteen out of twenty points close to the net. Sylvia Fowles took charge too, and by late in the first quarter, we were down by only two.

  But Diana Taurasi turned on the heat and showed why she was one of the best players in the sport. By the end of the first half, she’d become the all-time leading three-point shooter in the WNBA finals, having scored thirty-eight total.

  We were playing better than we had in the first two games; the lead had switched nine times. By halftime we were down by only two points, and a win felt within our reach.

  I know we can do this, I thought at halftime. Even though your back could be better, you can capitalize on the fact that they’re not doing as well as they did in the previous games. You’re weak, but they’re weaker too. Play on that.

  In the third quarter we did. I wonder now if I had a sense that Diana Taurasi was getting tired, but she almost fell apart after halftime, not scoring a single point in the third quarter. She kept handing out turnovers, and after five, I started to wonder if she was actually giving the game to us.

  But there was still a lot of time on the clock, so anything could happen.

  In the fourth quarter Diana made two beautiful three-point shots and became the WNBA finals scoring leader. We tied the game with thirty seconds left, but it wasn’t enough. Another three-point shot from Diana and a pair of successful free throws made the game theirs, and they won 87–82.

  Brittney and the other Mercury players on the bench had had their arms wrapped around one another’s shoulders in the last breathless seconds, but when the buzzer echoed across the court, they ran to the center of it. As they hugged tight and jumped up and down, I thought about how they must feel.

  Winning feels great, I thought, so while I’m sad that it’s not us, they really earned it.

  I didn’t just walk off the court and forget about the loss, though. Not winning the finals was a big deal, and I really dwelled on it. I knew some problems, like my back, had been out of my control during the series. Other issues had been all my fault. I knew I’d made mistakes, and I could have named every one of them if you’d asked me. But I promised myself I’d get back up and learn from them. I was determined to grow stronger and be the best I could be in 2015.

  Thankfully, that would prove to be true in a million different ways.

  PART FOUR

  SLAM DUNK

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Demand Excellence

  I’ve talked so much about burning out that you might assume I spend my life biting my nails, worrying about crashing again. I promise I don’t. I’ve got such strong support and love around me now that balancing and being true to myself can be pretty easy. I handle almost anything a million times better than I did when I was a teenager.

  That doesn’t mean life is completely stress-free, though. Being an adult is still hard when the going gets tough! Luckily, you can develop skills that will get you through your problems or setbacks. Whatever these practices are—meditation, talking to friends, exercising, even just indulging in a hobby you love—they’ll help you stay afloat. Then you can focus on getting to the next level of doing whatever it is you love.

  Two years into my life as a professional athlete, that’s exactly what I discovered. I needed some new tools under my belt to keep maturing personally and professionally.

  After the 2014 season I still didn’t want to leave the US, just like in 2013. My decision was mostly because I wanted to go home and see my family, but it was also partly because of a conversation Kobe Bryant and I had recently had on Twitter Messenger.

  I’d been watching Kobe play basketball on TV since I was in grade school, and I’d always loved him. He was never afraid of a challenge, and he pushed so hard, with such skill and intelligence, that people either worshipped him on the court or hated his guts. He liked having fans, but he really loved having opponents. In fact, he thrived on it. He knew that if people were against him, he must be doing something right, and it just made him play better.

>   I’ve always wanted to develop that kind of devil-may-care attitude, but I’ve never known how to. Maybe it’s because I’m shy and introspective, or maybe I’m just hyperaware of how I affect the people around me, but something about being ruthless has always scared me.

  One day I decided to find out how by going straight to the source. I tweeted Kobe directly, asking how he dealt with all the haters in his life, and he was nice enough to answer. He was as straightforward and honest as I hoped he’d be, explaining that he knew who he was, so he’d learned not to care what people thought. When I asked what he did to develop that mind-set, his answer was awesome. He told me he’d come up with a power phrase that motivated him. It embodied himself and all that he wanted to do and be, and he always kept it in mind.

  I didn’t even know what to write back. Elena Delle Donne was a lot of things—a sister, a daughter, a basketball player, a burnout, a comeback kid, a homebody, and a patient—but was there a mantra that pulled all those parts together? Was there one slogan that drove me through every challenge? I couldn’t for the life of me think of one.

  I knew the answer wouldn’t come right away, so I decided to take the summer after the 2014 season—the season that had been the craziest, most up-and-down six months of my entire life—to explore this question. I needed a fresh start and a clear head, and I couldn’t get that if I stayed in Chicago. There was no better place for me to be than at home in Delaware.

  I wouldn’t be sitting on the couch meditating all day, though. I had big plans for the six months before the 2015 season started, and I’d be busy doing things I loved. Just like the year before, I was going to host a sleepover basketball camp for girls at Ursuline, then take a similar camp on the road to five other states. I wouldn’t just be teaching basketball skills and coaching practices, though; I also wanted the camps to teach the girls about self-esteem, motivation, and setting realistic goals. I hoped they’d learn from my mistakes and figure out not to push themselves so hard that they lost their passion for the sport.

  Given my new position as an ambassador to the Special Olympics, I’d also be expanding these camps to include disabled athletes. Even though there’s no way Lizzie would ever be able to shoot or rebound, she’d taught me more than anyone else about the power of the body and mind. I knew that when the girls in my basketball camps saw special-needs athletes reaching their potential—under the most difficult circumstances—they’d be inspired to do their best no matter what.

  Finally, I was going to take care of myself. I planned to train every morning with John Noonan, then make regular visits to my physical therapist, ATI Physical Therapy, whose practice I’d gone to for years. I’d lift weights with Dina Saitis, my personal trainer, and of course I’d be no stranger to Rita’s office in Pennsylvania. I was determined not to let Lyme disease sneak up on me like it had midway through the last season, and I knew that by staying on top of my symptoms with Rita, I could tackle a relapse when it happened.

  After all that, my family was going to take a long trip to the Bahamas, and I couldn’t wait to hit the beach and swim in the ocean.

  I had Team Delaware (and Team Pennsylvania!) surrounding me, the love of my mom, dad, Gene, Lizzie, and Amanda, and a goal to be healthy and stronger by the beginning of the 2015 season. I was doing so much in so many different areas, all the while nurturing my spirit. I was happy, rested, and totally open-minded.

  Yet for the life of me I couldn’t think of any one phrase that motivated me.

  What do I want most in life? I asked myself. What is it that I’m always pushing for? That question swam around my head all summer.

  I knew that I’d gone after so many of the wrong things for way too long. In middle school I’d been searching for a love of basketball that I later realized I’d never find unless I gave it up. When I peeled myself off the bench during the 2014 play-offs, I’d been trying to find the strength and the willpower that would help me overcome my physical limitations. I’d mustered it, but just barely, and then it hadn’t really led to much. And during every season on every team I’d ever played with, I’d been shooting for victory. Yet sometimes, like when we’d been swept in the WNBA finals, it was impossible to reach.

  Perfection, I suddenly realized. That’s what I’ve been looking for.

  I knew that a goal like that was totally crazy, though. No one—least of all myself—would ever be perfect. Even Kobe Bryant missed baskets, lost games, and got penalized! He made as many mistakes on the court as I did, yet he still worked his hardest to be the best. Something was driving him, and it wasn’t the ability to be 100 percent flawless.

  So if my mantra isn’t “Seek perfection,” what is it? I wondered.

  I took my mind off that question for a second and thought about the girls I’d been working with. At each training camp these wonderful kids were so eager and happy to be learning new skills, and they practiced all of them like crazy. Yet working with disabled students was teaching them that success doesn’t necessarily stem from the talents you’re born with; it comes from trying your hardest—even if you have limitations. All of these girls were amazing, yet none of them had been born perfect, and none of them ever would become perfect. Something still drove them, though. What was it?

  Then I remembered a conversation I’d had with Gene after one of our workouts together.

  “Gene,” I’d said, “Kobe Bryant told me I should find a power phrase, and I’m totally stumped. I can’t figure out why I do what I do.”

  “Well,” he’d answered, “maybe instead of worrying about your intentions, you should just look at your results. Your grades, your relationships, your basketball performance, even how you’ve dealt with being sick. You’re not perfect, but you’ve done it all—your whole life—with excellence.”

  Suddenly it hit me.

  I’m like the kids in my camp; I just want to be excellent. We know we’ll never be perfect, but in our individual ways and using very different skill sets, we demand excellence.

  I decided that “Demand Excellence” would be my mantra. I was going to do everything in my power to make 2015 the best season I’d ever had, and that wasn’t going to come from being flawless. I was human, so I knew I’d make mistakes, but I could keep striving for something that would elevate me to the highest level possible. It wouldn’t be perfection, but it could be darn well close to it.

  The 2015 season wouldn’t just be a little excellent. It would turn out to be the most excellent of my life.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  You’re a Firework

  I said my mantra over and over again during the beginning of the 2015 season, and it started to work its magic. While the Sky weren’t dominating—we were 3–3 by the time our seventh game rolled around—I was playing the best basketball of my life. For example, I’d been averaging almost thirty points in each game—a career high—and in our second game I’d even netted forty points. I’d also had double-doubles in two games, meaning I made double-digit baskets and rebounds. I was demanding excellence from my body and my level of play, and I was seeing results.

  At the end of June a home game against the Atlanta Dream would prove that more than ever.

  The Sky hadn’t secured back-to-back wins all season, and the only thing we wanted was to show the world that we had some momentum. We weren’t hoping for a huge streak, and we weren’t in a do-or-die situation, but we were starting to feel some desperation. We’d won our last game, though, and we thought that a victory over the Dream would do a lot to lift our spirits.

  By the third quarter we were feeling optimistic. We’d been up by as much as seventeen points, but Atlanta was as aggressive as we were. In the last few minutes of the third, they scored sixteen points to our seven, bringing the game to within three. The fourth quarter was back and forth, and when the buzzer rang, we were tied at 86. As overtime began, I realized I needed to push myself into overdrive.

  If you’re going to demand excellence, now’s the time to do it, I told myself.
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  Overtime in the WNBA is five minutes long, and for the first four minutes, we kept a tight lid on Atlanta and limited them to two points. With 8.6 seconds left, though, they’d almost caught up, and the score was 98–96 when I was fouled and sent to the line.

  Now, I’d made seventeen consecutive successful foul shots in this game, which had tied the WNBA record. I’d also scored forty-three points, which was more than I’d made in any other game since college. But every time I’d broken records before, it hadn’t happened at the end of a game. Also, my team’s pride—or our ability to show that we could win two games in a row—had never been on the line. But as I stepped toward the paint, took a deep breath, and grasped the ball before I looked up to shoot, I realized that winning this game might be all up to me.

  You’ve made this shot a million times. Three dribbles. L shape. Lift, and flick. No pressure.

  The ball sailed through the air, arced, and went into the basket. I’d put my team up by three and broken the single-game free throw record!

  I stepped back to the line and raised my arms and the ball. Once again the ball left my fingers, flew through its course, and didn’t even hit the rim as, swoosh, it went through the basket. Not only had I completed nineteen consecutive free throws, but I’d scored forty-five points in the game, a career high for me and the sixth-highest point total in a WNBA game.

  Doing something that monumental didn’t feel like taking the world’s cutest selfie and posting it to Instagram so everyone could see how great I was. I wasn’t looking for tons of praise from total strangers. I’m not playing this sport for the adoration, to break records, or to win prizes. Sure, there’s a terrific satisfaction that comes with playing the best you’ve ever played, but the feeling was more complex than that.

  For me, demanding excellence—and seeing results—is about making a positive statement to the public, even when they don’t support you.