“…What’d you just say?”

“You’ll never get Bella to be the vision you have for her.”

That was the line I threw at Digit Murphy as our call was winding down. She paused. Hard.

“…What’d you just say?”

I could hear the shift in her voice—the sudden stillness. My grin was already forming.

“I’m just trying a little reverse psychology,” I said, chuckling. “It’s worked for you before, hasn’t it?”

We both burst out laughing.

That playful jab wasn’t just a joke—it was my way of honoring the fire inside her. Because Digit has a track record of doing the impossible. And not just doing it—doing it loud, bold, and brilliantly.

Technically, our conversation started earlier that morning. But the first call barely made it past the opening credits. She rang while I was out on my walk. Before we even exchanged proper hellos, she said, “My daughter’s calling—I’ll call you right back.” I smiled, hung up, and kept walking.

When she called back, it felt different. Her voice carried something new—momentum. She called it “arrival.” She said it felt like everything she’s poured into others over the years was finally rising back up, like harvest sprouting after years of faithful planting.

We talked about coaching, but not just the X’s and O’s. Digit talked about coaching with PRIDE—literally.

P – Perseverance

R – Respect

I – Intensity

D – Discipline

E – Energy

She lives those values like scripture. And when she explained the “E,” I lit up. Not just the energy you bring to the game—but the kind of energy that allows you to read the game. To live it. To play free.

That phrase stuck with me—*play free.*

She told me a story about a woman she met on a plane. A retired grandmother. Formerly a special education teacher. Full of experience and heart, but carrying the quiet weight of feeling like her time had passed. Like she was “out of the game.”

Digit didn’t let that fly.

She spoke life into her. Reminded her that she still had something to offer. That her story wasn’t over. That she wasn’t too old, too late, or too finished to make an impact.

And in that moment, as I listened, I realized something: that’s exactly what I do, too. Whether it’s a kindergartener convinced he can’t climb the jungle gym or a high school senior facing doubts before a championship game—I show up to remind them: You still have greatness in you.

Time slowed down. The rhythm of my walk matched the cadence of her words. The sun warmed my back. I could hear the doves nearby. The scent of freshly cut grass caught the breeze. My fingertips pulsed with energy.

I was aligned—in purpose, in presence, in calling.

Throughout our conversation, she kept dropping breadcrumbs of greatness. Little reminders that greatness isn’t about titles or trophies. It’s energy aligned with mission. And when you keep showing up—legacy starts forming around you.

Then she told me the story that sealed it.

Years ago, Digit was in a room full of people—men and women alike—when she asked a question that no one else seemed willing to voice:

“Why isn’t there an NCAA Championship for women’s hockey?”

At the time, there wasn’t one. No national Championship. No formal recognition. No platform for college women to compete on the same level.

Some stayed silent. Others dismissed it.

But Digit didn’t.

She became the catalyst. The spark. The voice that shifted the conversation.

She pushed the narrative until it took root. Through persistent leadership and collaboration, the system began to change. USA Hockey eventually funded the initiative, and what once seemed impossible was now institutional.

And while Digit played a pivotal role, she’s quick to remind anyone—this wasn’t about her.

It was about the community. The message. The movement.

Today, that NCAA Championship exists. When she first entered the women’s college hockey scene, there were only 14 Division I teams. Now, there are over 40.

Back in 1995, men’s college hockey had around 50–55 teams. Today, there are 64. That’s progress. That’s growth.

What made it all the more impactful was the role of facilities. If the men had access to a rink, then the women deserved access too. It was a Title IX issue. And Digit and her peers knew it. Having a men's program as a complement allowed them to leverage the law—ensuring equity, access, and legitimacy.

“It was quite a journey,” she said.

And it’s one I believe the world needs to hear more of.

So when I teased her about Bella, it wasn’t just for laughs. It was a nod to the fire inside her. Because I know she’ll help Bella unlock her own greatness—just like she’s helped so many others do the same.

As we wrapped up, she said she had to get to her workout class.

“Discipline,” she reminded me.

And again—I laughed. Because even in her exit, she was still preaching what she practices.

When the call ended, I stood still for a moment, soaking it all in. This wasn’t just a conversation. This was a generational exchange. A collision of two people fully aware of their assignments.

She knows what she’s here to do. I know what I’m here to do.

And when purpose-driven voices link up? There’s no limit to what can emerge.

Digit Murphy isn’t done.

She’s just now playing free.

And that…

is where greatness begins.