How I Traced Carter Holton’s Journey
I got hooked on Carter Holton’s story after reading scraps about his high school days. Thought to myself: “This ain’t just talent, there’s gotta be a grind behind it.” So I decided to shadow his path as closely as I could for three whole months.
First I dug up everything online about his Vanderbilt days. Watched grainy high school game tapes till my eyes blurred – noticed how his mechanics looked different senior year. Tried mimicking his old pitching stance in my backyard. Damn near threw out my shoulder! His coach mentioned in some forum interview that Carter rebuilt his motion from scratch after a growth spurt. Made sense.
Then came the brutal part. Carter’s known for predawn conditioning. Set my alarm for 4:30 AM six days a week. First week felt like death. Ran empty streets with a weighted vest, did agility ladders under a flickering garage light. Froze my ass off in November pretending I was training for Commodores’ fall ball. My neighbors definitely think I’m insane.
The nutrition piece was nasty. Carter’s regimen called for 3500+ calories daily. Force-fed myself grilled chicken and sweet potatoes every 2 hours. Bloated like a balloon. My notes from week two just say: “HATE EGG WHITES. ALWAYS WILL.”
Tracking his mental prep was trickier. Found a podcast where he described visualizing pitch sequences during study hall. Started doing the same between work meetings. Squeezed a stress ball imagining fastball grip pressure while my boss rambled about Q3 reports. Probably looked constipated.
Then I hit the wall. Midway through month two, my elbow screamed throwing bullpens solo. Almost quit. But remembered how Carter pitched through a torn fingernail in that playoff game against Tennessee. Taped my fingers raw and kept throwing into a net until my shoulder turned purple. (Would not recommend.)
The turning point came unexpectedly. Was reading this tiny local paper interview where Carter mentioned his old pre-game ritual: dunking his head in ice water to “reset.” Tried it before pickup league game – gasped so hard I saw stars. But damn if I didn’t pitch lights out that night.
What Sticking With It Taught Me
- Grind looks boring up close. 90% of Carter’s “path” was throwing into a tarp alone for hours. No crowds, no walk-off homers. Just sweat and repetition until your arm feels like falling off.
- Small rituals matter more than big moments. His handwritten pitching logs? Copied them. Found myself noticing tiny release point changes I’d never have caught before.
- Progress hides in plateaus. For weeks my velocity didn’t budge. Then suddenly added 3 mph after tweaking my stride the way Carter did sophomore year.
Watched Carter’s MLB debut last week with ice on my shoulder and a notebook full of chicken scratch. Dude didn’t flinch giving up that early double. Knew that look – same one I’d practiced dumping my head in that damn bucket. Don’t know if I’ve “made it” yet, but finally understand why he tells prospects: “Focus on dirt stains before trophies.” That glove’s gonna need serious bleach.
