DeAnna Price and the Point of Connection

By Dave Devine of DyeStat

 THIS WEEKEND'S NACAC LIVE WEBCAST INFO FROM TORONTO

There’s an empty cage. A ring inside it, roughly seven feet across.

A narrow opening on one side, facing a field.

When DeAnna Price picks up the implement she intends to hurl through that opening, when she steps into that cage to prepare herself to throw the hammer — something she does better than almost any woman in history — she’s looking for something.

It’s something elusive, tenuous and ineffable.

She’ll complete the same movements, again and again, until she finds it.

She'll settle a metal ball to the ground, gather a handle attached to that ball, play out the wire between them, begin to wind up and pass the handle over her head.

Once, twice, three times.

She’ll transition into a tight spin, gather momentum, accumulate energy, cover the distance from the back to the front of the ring with spectacular, centrifugal force and speed.

Mindful of rhythm and timing and the approaching release point, she also seeks something more.

She’s not looking for a specific distance, either, although that will come.

As she fights to keep the ball from pulling her off balance, fights to hold a perfect line between her arms and the wire and the ball, there’s only one thing she’s looking for —

Connection.

 

Lincoln County

DeAnna Price is detailing the landscape of her childhood.

The small towns embroidered along state routes and backcountry roads in the farmlands northwest of St. Louis, Missouri.

Old Monroe, where she attended Immaculate Conception grade school.

Troy, where she went to high school.

Moscow Mills, the town she still considers home.

Each dot on the map, a community of connection; an entire region that claims her as its own.

“Usually, I just say I’m a Lincoln County girl.”

She talks about Highway C, jutting between Moscow Mills and Old Monroe, accessible about seven miles from her childhood home. “Not really a highway,” she clarifies, laughing. “It’s just the first paved road.”

She describes another road: the rutted, dusty strip that stretches the mile and a half between her aunt’s house and her own, a distance she covered on a bicycle at the age of 3 — without training wheels — because her two older brothers, Marcus and Steven, were speeding away on bikes, and she needed to keep up.

“About gave my mom a heart attack, though,” she recalls.

It’s the kind of place where you know your neighbors, they stop by unannounced, you can observe cars coming from a distance. A sliver of geography nestled against a crook in the mighty Mississippi River, cut through by the meandering Cuivre.

Open spaces, low treelines, persistent fields that stretch to the horizon.

Cornfields and wheat fields and eventually, for DeAnna — softball fields.

Another place she felt at home.

She’d always been athletic, from unstructured days chasing her brothers on bikes to the eventual, four-season rotation of school and summer select teams.

Basketball. Volleyball. Track and Field. But always, and most importantly: Softball.

It was the sport in which she found the greatest success, the athletic pursuit that seemed most likely to provide a path to college. It was also the game that brought her to the attention of the track and field coaches at Troy High.

When they saw her arm on the field, people started saying she should become a thrower.

DeAnna already had an interest in track, but she wanted to be a middle-distance runner. Her mother, Ann, had once held Troy’s school record for 800 meters, and DeAnna was determined to return the distinction to the Price household.

“When I started high school,” she recalls, “I was real small, and I was going to break (my mom’s) record. Then I ran into this girl, Erin Cooper, and she was like, ‘Hey! You’re gonna be a thrower.’”

Cooper’s father, Gary, was a local coach with years of experience mentoring young throwers.

After DeAnna gave the discus a try, with limited success, she attempted to duck the throwing circle and return to the track. But the Troy coaches, remembering her prowess on the softball field in the fall, wouldn’t have it.

They convinced her to stick with the throws.

Eventually, DeAnna considered the track team something of a relief. In contrast to softball or basketball, track and field felt like a sport in which she could relax — no prior success, no real expectations.

Then she ended up qualifying for the state meet her freshman year.

That summer, Gary Cooper invited DeAnna over to his house to try the hammer.

“I remember winding that thing,” she says now, “and I conked myself in the forehead with the handle. I figured, I’m never throwing this damn thing again.”

But Cooper was persistent. Over the next three years he convinced her to train on the hammer for a total of three months, wedged around her other athletic commitments. She still viewed softball as her future — knew her family would need the full scholarships she expected she’d be offered to play in college — but she was increasingly intrigued by possibilities in the throwing events.

And then in 2008, roughly a month apart, both her parents lost their jobs.

Ann was let go from a company that had employed her for 25 years. DeAnna’s father, Daniel, was released from a job he’d held for more than 15.

“It was extremely rough,” DeAnna says. “I’m pretty sure at one point we were in danger of losing our house.”

DeAnna offered to find work after school to help with bills, but her parents insisted she continue to focus on her responsibilities: school and sports — convinced that would be her best path to higher education.

They dipped into their savings and mortgaged the house.

Ann accepted a new job that paid half of what she’d made before. Daniel went almost four years before he was able to find another full-time position.

In the meantime, DeAnna says, “He found odd jobs around town just to keep food on the table.”

And still, they showed up at games and meets. Took her out for extra practice, shagged fly balls and retrieved discus throws. Stopped by the Moscow Grocery for snacks and a Sun Drop soda afterward.

“My mom and dad did everything for our family,” DeAnna says.

Including, when it came time for college, supporting their daughter in accepting a partial track and field scholarship to Southern Illinois University over the full offers she had to play softball at other institutions.

Despite the financial risk, DeAnna had a good feeling about Southern Illinois and the Saluki throws tradition.

“I’d been playing ball since I was 5 years old,” she reasoned, “so I thought, ‘Time to give track and field a go.’”

By the end of her freshman year she was second-team All-American in the hammer and qualified for the U.S. team to the IAAF World Junior (U-20) Championships in Barcelona, Spain.

The next fall, the SIU coaching staff offered a full ride.

 

Connection I: Articulation

Moments after securing her first U.S. hammer throw title, DeAnna Price is moving through the media mixed zone at the 2018 USATF Outdoor Championships in Drake Stadium.

Flush with the thrill of having just reclaimed the U.S. record from her good friend, fellow Saluki and close rival, Gwen Berry — a sterling 256-foot, 3-inch (78.12m) effort that bumped her to fourth all-time on the world list — she pauses for a scrum of reporters eager to hear from the new champion.

When she speaks, she’s effervescent and bubbly and just slightly breathless. Her answers are refreshingly candid in a sport where athletes can be guarded with everything from training information to competition plans.

She praises her fellow competitors, cites the impact of her coach, J.C. Lambert, who also happens to be her fiancé.

Her face lights up when she shares news of their upcoming wedding.

But as DeAnna continues to field questions above the drone of background noise, the buzz of announcements and passing athletes, a single word begins to recur.  

Things have been connecting better.

 

Today, I was getting a little frustrated because I didn’t feel as connected as usual.

 

Finally, on that one throw — the fifth round — I connected. And I knew it was a good throw.

 

As long as I’m connecting, over time, it will keep going farther and farther.

 

Eleven times, in an interview spanning just over five minutes. 

It’s a word that clearly carries a specific meaning for the rising, 25-year-old track star. The sort of terminology that becomes woven into the dialogue between a coach and an athlete. An imbedded vocabulary. 

It’s also apparent, as she replies to each new question with the same radiant candor, that connection might be shorthand for something broader. That the word describes something essential about who she is, what she’s attempting to do. 

An articulation of a concept, a value, an attachment, a relationship.

 

Visit 

The first time DeAnna Marie Price laid eyes on James Craig “J.C.” Lambert, the strapping Southern Illinois thrower made an impression on her. 

“How can you not notice a big, awesome, long-blonde-haired, about 315-pound guy?” she says, giggling — even now — at the memory. 

A high school junior, she was on an unofficial visit to Southern Illinois with her parents and the Coopers. They attended an indoor meet in January 2010, where then-coach John Smith had encouraged his throwers to welcome the young recruit. 

While DeAnna’s parents wandered to the upstairs seating area, DeAnna approached Coach Smith. Lambert, his sophomore protégé, was by his side. 

“I just remember thinking, This guy is massive.” 

When Smith left to attend to meet preparations, DeAnna found herself chatting with Lambert. They spoke for nearly an hour, everything from training habits to non-track hobbies, before J.C. had to head off for his own event. She still remembers everything about that afternoon, from the shoes he was wearing to the advice he offered. 

What she didn’t know, and only learned after they were engaged to be married, is that Lambert was equally impressed with her. 

“Apparently, he went over to Coach John and said, ‘Hey, I’ll give you half of my full ride to get that girl here.’” 

Even though an amused Smith told him that’s not how scholarships worked, J.C. was undeterred. 

He and DeAnna spoke some more after the meet, and in the end, she worked up the courage to ask for his phone number.  

“I said it was because I wanted to know more about the sport of track and field,” she says, chuckling at the memory. “Yeah…I know, right?” 

On the way home she called a boy she was currently dating and, as gently as possible, ended the relationship. It wouldn’t be until May of her freshman year at Southern Illinois that DeAnna and J.C. would “officially” begin dating, but the connection had already been formed. 

Years later, and recalling her own vivid memories of that initial conversation, DeAnna playfully challenged her fiancé:  

“You probably don’t remember what I was wearing the first time you saw me.” 

J.C. didn’t hesitate. “Yup, I do.” 

“No, you don’t,” she teased. 

Without hesitation, J.C. rattled off DeAnna’s entire outfit from that January day, including hairstyle, shoes and the earrings she was wearing. Figuring there was no way J.C. could have internalized all those details — and uncertain herself — DeAnna asked her mom to dig out a photo from the visit. 

“Sure enough, that’s exactly what I was wearing.”

 

Connection II: Definition – DeAnna Price 

Connection, that’s something J.C. and I came up with. It’s about the balance between strength and technique. Whenever I feel connected, I feel tension on the wire the whole time and I know exactly where the ball is at every moment. Whenever you feel not connected, the ball will jump in front of you or you lose control of the ball. Usually, if I don’t throw very well, it’s because I don’t have connection on those lines and on my entry. So, when I’m winding it around my head — for me, when I connect, I need to connect off one. If I connect off one, it’s going to be a bomb.

 

Sponsorship 

The last week of July was a good one for DeAnna Price. 

First, the newly minted national champion inked a sponsorship deal with footwear giant Nike. 

Then, two days later on July 27, she received word that she’d been awarded one of 25 Stephen A. Schwarzman grants from the USATF Foundation. The funding, intended to support rising track and field athletes “with podium potential,” is worth $35,000. 

“We’re very, very fortunate,” J.C. says. “Happy that we have good support around us, with New York Athletic Club, which she’s been signed with for a couple of years, Nike which just happened recently, and of course the USATF Foundation.” 

But if the grant and the Nike sponsorship have moved the needle for Team Price in terms of opportunities and plans, they’ve done nothing to diminish DeAnna’s appreciation for the support she received long before she was paid to wear a Swoosh. 

Her first major sponsor — literally — was the place she grew up. 

Lincoln County, Missouri. 

When DeAnna qualified for the 2016 Rio Olympic Games with an upstart, third-place Trials performance while still a student at Southern Illinois, she realized it was unlikely her parents could afford the trip. 

“We were quoted $20,000 dollars by a travel agent,” DeAnna recalls. “My mom broke down in tears, saying ‘There’s just no way.’” 

Unable to imagine the Olympics without her parents in the stands, DeAnna created a Go Fund Me page, hoping to raise at least some of the funds.  

Buoyed mostly by small, individual donations from members of the local community, the page raised $18,000 in 11 days. 

Mom and Dad were heading to Rio. 

One of the larger contributions came from a 12-year-old boy who placed his hog for sale at a 4-H fair. The boy insisted that whatever price someone paid, the money would be donated to support DeAnna and her Olympic dreams. 

He didn’t expect what happened next. 

“Someone would buy it,” DeAnna recalls, “then they’d give it back to the kid, and he’d put it back up for sale. Someone else would buy it, and give it back to the kid to put back up for bid again. It just kept adding up, more and more money.”  

In the end, the boy and his hog raised several thousand dollars. 

“I remember running into the kid, and I just gave him a huge hug,” DeAnna says. “That’s something I can never thank him enough for.” 

As the Olympics approached, posters began appearing in the nearby towns: Our Hometown, Our Girl. 

Out on Highway C, at the exit for Old Monroe, someone arranged metal hoops on a fence into the Olympic rings. Painted them the five symbolic colors. Hung an American flag and a sign: We're pulling for you, DeAnna. 

She never had to form a connection with those rural communities northwest of St. Louis. 

They were already connected to her. That’s how small towns are.  

If you’re from there, you’re from there.

 

Connection III: Definition - J.C. Lambert 

Connection? No one’s ever really asked me that before. Connection is basically the relationship between the athlete and the hammer. It’s knowing where the hammer’s at, and what the body needs to do. I guess, when we say ‘connection,’ it means finding the hammer and staying with the hammer, to build speed and power up into your throw. It’s basically body awareness and implement awareness, both at the same time.

 

Role Model  

DeAnna looks out at a roomful of elementary school children. Or peers into gym bleachers crammed with middle schoolers. Or a crowded high school auditorium. 

A variety of speaking engagements. 

Wondering — how can I connect with these kids? How can I be both approachable and an Olympic hero at the same time? 

How do I reach these kindergartners, these pre-teens, these teenagers? 

But the truth is, she doesn’t have to try hard. 

She was them. 

She was the girl from the small town with big dreams. The talented all-state athlete, still riddled with adolescent doubts. The tomboy tagging along with her brothers and the girl who just wanted to fit in. She was the girl who was bullied on the bus. And the girl who inadvertently, once, acted the bully. 

When DeAnna uses her newfound platform as an Olympian and American Record holder to speak to audiences of children, she tries to be the same person she was in that media mixed zone after the U.S. nationals — genuine and authentic, candid and accommodating. 

She alters the message for different age groups. 

With younger kids she leans more heavily on the experiential, telling stories about the Olympics. 

“They all know who Michael Phelps is, or Gabby Douglas. So they always get a kick out of it when I say I got to hang out with those people.” 

With older students, she focuses on positivity and kindness, being comfortable with who you are, where you’re from, how you look. 

Not living a life filled with regret. 

Sometimes, she shares her own experiences of bullying. Talks about times she was a victim, subject to the casual cruelties of classmates. 

Other times, she talks about one regrettable moment, from grade school, when she unintentionally bullied another child, a boy with difficulty speaking. 

“It was a verbal tic, I didn’t understand it,” she says now, aware that her mistreatment wasn’t deliberate. 

But the memory of it still haunts her.  

“I never got to say I was sorry for not knowing, for not understanding, because he ended up passing away,” she says, her voice hinting at the impact the story might have at a school assembly.

“I always carry that around with me.” 

She acknowledges that sharing her story can be intense, but she and J.C. agree it’s an important extension of her growth as an athlete. 

“Once she got that chance to be a role model,” J.C. says, “that’s when you saw her really thrive. She loves helping people as much as she can. A lot of people look up to her.” 

As her fiancé, he’s encouraging of those connections; as her coach, he knows he has to help her manage the commitments, make sure they don’t interfere with training.  

“We’ve managed to find a happy in-between with that, a happy balance.” 

And when the speeches are over, when students are milling around near the stage after the assembly, sometimes a kid will approach DeAnna with additional questions. Or a story to share. Or a favor to ask.  

It’s another chance for connection. 

Another opportunity to form a bond. 

Usually, DeAnna will pass along her contact information, encourage the student to reach out on social media. She’ll try to be authentic and genuine and real. And she’ll be clear about one thing: if it feels like no one else is listening, she will. 

Because she’s been there. 

“I’ll be that ear for you. I’ll be that one person you need.”

 

Connection IV: Realization 

This October, when DeAnna and J.C. are married at Immaculate Conception Church in Old Monroe, the same parish where DeAnna attended grade school, it will mark almost nine years of knowing each other, six-and-a-half years of dating. 

In those years, the relationship has shifted several times: from recruiting visit crushes to college teammates, boyfriend and girlfriend to coach and athlete.  

And finally, to fiancées. 

At each step along the journey, they’ve had to define those relationships, discern how to coexist within overlapping roles. 

“You’re always going to have challenges when you’re boyfriend or girlfriend, fiancés, husband and wife — paired up with being a coach,” J.C. acknowledges. “At the end of the day you realize that you both want what’s best for each other.” 

DeAnna has learned to shift names and titles to maintain healthy boundaries. 

“When we’re at practice, he is Coach Lambert,” she says. “I even call him ‘Coach Lambert’ when we’re there, because we have to separate that, between coach/athlete and personal relationship.” 

But then she cracks up, relating how occasionally, at home after a particularly difficult practice, she’ll turn to J.C. and mention, as if speaking of another person entirely, “Coach Lambert was not very nice today.” 

J.C. will smile and wryly suggest, “I think he’s doing his best.” 

To which DeAnna will reply, “I think you’re a little biased.” 

Her engaging laugh tells you they both take it in stride. 

“We actually work really well together,” she says. “We both have a great temperament for it. There’s certainly times when we might get frustrated, but we try to work it out at the field rather than taking it home.” 

In a breakout year that includes an indoor national weight throw title, an outdoor title in the hammer, and a pair of American records, it’s clear that the partnership is working. 

But one of the keys to success — according to both DeAnna and J.C. — could have easily been fraught for two people balancing a coaching relationship with a personal one. 

DeAnna, who’d spent much of her college career believing that in order to get better she needed to be bigger, realized in conversation with J.C. after the 2017 season, that dropping weight while maintaining strength might be the key to gaining necessary speed in the ring. 

As his fiancé set out on a yearlong, structured plan that eventually saw her dropping from 265 pounds to 225, before settling at what she sees as her ideal throwing weight of 230, J.C. knew that balancing his dual roles might be difficult at times. 

“It’s a little tough,” he says now, “if you’ve never talked about it before. How do you bring that up — especially from our perspective of being coach and fiancé? We try to separate that, but sometimes there’s crossovers. 

“I wasn’t harsh on it. We just got the idea out there and talked about it a little bit. Finally, it got to the point where she took hold of it and got serious with it.” 

From DeAnna’s perspective, he’s been the perfect combination of coach and partner. 

“He’s fantastic. He really listened — and helped me listen — to what my body was kind of saying and what it was needing. It’s a big part of why I’ve improved in leaps and bounds, going from 74 meters to 78.” 

Both are aware that discussions of weight in sports, particularly for female athletes, can be complicated and challenging, but DeAnna consistently frames the conversation around getting to the right weight for her body and this particular event. 

“As long as I’m able to stay strong and still pull and squat as much as I did when I was 265 — I’m stronger now than when I was bigger. And I definitely feel that’s why my throwing has taken off, because I’m able to capitalize at that (balanced) level.” 

And if J.C. is surprised, as a relatively young coach, to suddenly find himself mentoring the fourth-best women’s hammer thrower in history, he doesn’t show it. 

“Honestly, it’s felt like a natural progression,” he says, pointing to year-on-year improvements at Southern Illinois. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy about it, but the way we do things, you can kind of see things coming. It’s not like it was a surprise, or we never expected she’d be a good hammer thrower. It was just a question of when — when would it happen?”

 

Point of Connection 

Some days, everything comes together. 

On certain afternoons, DeAnna steps into the cage and toes the seven-foot circle and begins to wind up and finds her line on the first pass of the handle over her head. 

A woman, a wire, and a metal ball. 

Each in perfect rotation. Balletic and bellicose, all at once. 

There’s no distinction, then, between athlete and implement. She’s spinning and balanced and swift and strong and getting her right foot down. Nothing is rushed. 

The angles are right. True. 

The window that opens to the sector, normally so constrained, looks a mile wide. 

The ball doesn’t race ahead or lag behind. DeAnna and the ball are one. She’s not trailing the ball, or out in front. She’s lined up, joined — connected. 

Exactly where she’s supposed to be.