Gbajabiamila - EVERYONE CAN BE A NINJA: find your inner warrior and achieve your dreams

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Raising four kids is truly a blessing from God to my wife and me, and it comes with a tremendous responsibility. When youre in the trenches of parenting, you can get caught up in directing instead of connecting. So I want to dedicate this book to my children, Elijah, Saheedat, Nasir, and Naomi, whom I love dearly. You know me affectionately as Dad, but I hope that this book will give you insight into my life experiences and a little more context to who I am as a person.

A pril 10, 2013, was probably the worst day I ever had in my career. It was also my first day on the set of American Ninja Warrior . When I arrived at the Venice Beach location that afternoon, I was trembling with excitement and nerves. The enormity of the moment and what the opportunity meant for me was in the forefront of my mind. Dont blow this , I told myself. I was scared, but it was a good fear, a respectful fear. The job was bigger than any I had had in my four years of broadcasting. As a former NFL athlete, I had gotten my start calling college football games, offering insightful analysis and color commentary to augment the action on the field. It was a medium I had worked hard to master up to this point, and I believed that the effort I had put into my craft would show on ANW .

What I quickly learned when I entered broadcasting is that to talk well in front of a camera isnt natural; its a skill I had to learn. The way you talk to your friends and family just doesnt work when youre talking to millions of viewers. I spent years developing this new skill and I became good at itgood enough at least to land a spot on the NFL Network, and then on ANW. I knew the format would be slightly different, but the gist was the same: The audience would feel my words; they would be able to taste my excitement, as each competitor jumped, climbed, and pulled their way to the next obstacle. At the same time, I understood the stage I was entering was larger than any I had ever walked on. The show was in its fifth season and had a passionate, devoted fan base. Would they accept the new guy whose claim to fame was football? Would I be able to understand this compelling, new sport well enough to analyze, dissect, and appreciate what these amazing ninjas were doing?

I felt like I could. I had spent the previous month since being hired watching countless episodes as a crash course on all things Ninja Warrior . I felt ready. This was my moment. There I sat in my trailer, about to go out and tape the introduction.

Someone hands me a script. Memorize this! I look down and see more than a hundred words staring back at me on the page. I look at the clock. Thirty minutes till taping. Thirty minutes to memorize this? Its possible, if everyone could get out of my trailer and give me time to concentrate. But thats not how television works. Youre never alone on set. I hold the script to my face as someone applies the makeup. I look at the clock. Twenty-five minutes. Someone else enters my trailer.

New script! they cry, handing me another sheet of paper.

New script? What about the one I had spent five minutes absorbing? Never mind that. Please, would everyone just leave me alone for the next twenty minutes? I stare at the script, digesting the words. A sudden fear grips me: This isnt my voice. I dont talk like this....

Wardrobe! Have you ever tried to memorize something while someone helps you dress? Because I never had. I look at the clock. Fifteen minutes.

My stomach grumbles, and I suddenly remember that Im going to be on set for four hours without a break. I look around for some food, reading the script as I cram something in my mouth. Then I think about the bathroom. I should probably go. Four hours is a long time.

I look at the clock. Ten minutes. No time. Keep reading. Keep memorizing. Do I have it? I try to recite the script and stumble on the first sentence. I dont have it. I look at the clock. Five minutes. Time is running out.

Then Im rushed out of my trailer and hurried to the spot in front of the cameras. My cohost, Matt Iseman, a veteran of the show since Season 2, is already there, looking cool and collected. Someone pushes me onto my mark; the lights are blinding. Someone else shoves an earpiece in my ear, and voices come alive in my head. More talking, more directing, someone screaming, Smile! I break out into a smile, maybe because its the only thing I can understand at that moment. Someone else yells, Action, and Im on. Its on. Its starting. My moment. My chance. My opportunity. Here we go!

And I bomb.

The jumble of words in my head makes no sense. I try to repeat them, I try to remember, but they dont come out. They stop the cameras. I try to collect myself. We go again. Action! But I cant do it. I stumble over the words. Its a cool night on Venice Beach, but Im in a cold sweat. I can feel the heat of humiliation in my stomach, the streams of perspiration dripping down my forehead. Suddenly, I panic. I cant remember what I just said.

I go several more times, and still nothing. Then I get a bright idea. Can we use a teleprompter? I ask. I had never used a teleprompter before, but how hard could it be?

Someone rolls out a teleprompter. Great! This will work... except I cant read a teleprompter. It sounds so stupidand you feel so stupid when you cant do it. I feel like everyone looking at me is thinking the same thing: Cant this guy read? This went straight to the heart of my insecurities as a child and a studentthat little kid inside me who always suspected I wasnt smart enough. Except that I could read. I loved to read. So why couldnt I read a teleprompter? I dont know, but what made it all worse was that I was the one who had suggested it!

Eventually, the executive producer decides to end my suffering. Why dont we just go to the runs? they say, meaning, lets go to the live-action part of the taping. It was the part of the job at which I felt most confident, because it required those skills I had honed calling live football games. There arent any takes or scripts to memorize. The competitors take their turns in quick succession and Matt and I do our thing. But Im already in my own head. My focus is shot. My confidence is in tatters. My career? My career is likely finished.

How did I ever think I was good enough to do this?

My whole life I have had to fight to achieve my dreams. Since I was a child growing up in South Central Los Angeles to that first day on the set to today, I have faced moments of trial, hardship, and extreme, almost crippling, self-doubt. Yet we live in an age that doesnt have much patience for feelings of inadequacy. Sure, were told we can fail, time and again. The great ones of sports, business, tech, politics, and the arts have all failed. Failure is part of success! We get that. I get that. And, boy, have I failed spectacularly. But to admit that we cant do something? That we arent good enough? We recoil at the thought. Admitting weakness lets people behind the curtain of our carefully constructed imagean image we nurture on social media, on holiday cards, and even within our own circle of friendsof a happy, confident, successful person. Look at my beautiful family! Look at my beautiful career! Look at my beautiful life! Dont you wish you had the things I do?