The Echo of a Screeching Halt
Things are going well, really well — hell, you might even say according to plan. You’re settling into hard-won habits, carefully monitoring all systems for any warning signs, but nothing pings on the radar.
You are cleared for awesome.
And something fucks it all up.
Nearly three weeks ago I was playing a standard match and wranked my right foot in a REALLY weird way. The match ended shortly thereafter, and I limped to the car. I could barely push the gas pedal on the way home.
Over the next few days it got better, but not markedly so. I was left in a maddening limbo where I was capable of cross-training, but frustrated by my inability to play tennis. And my drive to cross-train sputtered to a crawl.
Some of the days off were well deserved, but others I knew, were just laziness. My pay-off (playing tennis) was removed, and I stopped putting in time on the work I didn’t like.
Sure, I added stretching and strengthening in. Sure I still did SOMEthing, but my spirit had changed. I started focusing on what I couldn’t do. Maybe tomorrow.
But this is exactly the reason I started logging my training — to objectively be able to see how I respond to changes, good or bad. You can’t measure success if you don’t measure failure.
So this week I focused on what I can do. Can’t move side to side? OK — I’ll work on my serve. My volleys. My mental game. Watching tape. Looking at strategy. It’s actually incredible how much you CAN do once you stop focusing on what you can’t do.
My lesson? I always need to remember that competitors aren’t tested on sunny days in California — they’re forged when you’re stuck in the rain. Or Chicago. Which may be one and the same.
