Transitions and Losses

There are a few certain things in life: Death and taxes, as they say, but two other certainties are loss and transition. They are different, but related. In an academic counseling book on Grief (New Techniques of Grief Therapy, Robert A. Neimeyer) the author wrote, “Life is a series of losses and transitions”. It might sound a little dark, but like it or not, it isreality. What shapes our experiences, however, is how we respond to those losses and transitions. All things come to an end. Childhood ends, school ends, and no matter what level of sports you compete at, your competition days will come to an end, as well. This lesson snuck up on me when I least expected it.

I had just earned my 1st degree blackbelt in the fall prior to moving to Denver, Colorado for my husband’s job. I had deep sadness about leaving my home in New Jersey and my Tae Kwon Do school and community. I was just beginning to embrace sparring and competitions, requirements of all blackbelt candidates and had enjoyed some relative success.

Now in a new city, I suddenly felt uncertain about my competency and wondered whether I was as good as I thought I was. So, I decided to play it safe. I solicited Master Kim, the director of my school in NJ to help me find a reputable school and good teacher in Denver. Being part of a small elite network of Grand Masters (5th dan or higher) he was a good and trusted resource. Master Kim connected me with another Grand Master who ran a school in my town and a meeting was arranged.

I explained that I preferred private lessons initially (without admitting that I wanted to be sure my skills were on par). With Master Kim’s recommendation behind me, Master Li agreed to be my teacher and work with me through the second-degree blackbelt curriculum. Even after successfully completing the grueling 1st dan blackbelt test, I had imposter syndrome and worried that my NJ skillset would not match Tae Kwon Do in Denver. Even typing this, I realize how silly that sounds. Unlike mixed martial arts, the prospectus for TKD students is structured, standardized, and overseen by a sort of governing body of the sport. Still, if I’m being honest, I played it safe. For four months I trained multiple times a week privately- just me and Master Li. Finally, he strongly encouraged and assured me I was ready to attend the advanced class to continue with my second-degree training and preparation. Reluctantly, I agreed.

It was April 1st, 2014. Class began in a similar fashion to that of my classes in NJ. To my relief, I quicky realized that my level of competence and fitness well-qualified me for the class and I settled in. I felt calm and reinvigorated to have found my way back into a community, and quite possibly a new team! As the class was nearing the end, we were individually practicing various kicks and sparring techniques (no contact). I chose to finish on a “high note”, practicing my favorite skill- the tornado kick. Though it sounds fancy, it’s a common kick and one learned early on in training, then perfected over the years. I thought of my execution as particularly sound. Master Li did not. After observing several reps, he offered some adjustments and tweaks, which I was eager to implement. Taking his suggestions, I briefly visualized the kick again with said adjustments, then executed. It felt perfect as my body spun in the air; leg extended. Then I landed. I don’t remember hearing anything, but I had a sharp pain in my leg and my knee buckled sending me to the floor in a heap. Part embarrassed and partially confused, I quickly gathered myself as best I could and remained seated on the floor for the “wrap up” of class. Master Li had witnessed what happened and with a worried expression on his face, asked if I was alright. I assured him I was fine, though I sensed I wasn’t, but refused to entertain otherwise as I hobbled out the door to my car and drove home.

I had torn my ACL which was promptly diagnosed by my husband who moonlights as an armchair orthopedist. Post surgery the recovery was long and arduous, but I had been through injuries and other surgeries that sidelined me. So, I was mentally well-prepared. I shifted my mindset to my new form of “training” (rehab) which I approached with diligence and determination. I fully expected to return to competing in TKD and having the opportunity to test for my 2nddegree.

Ten months later, I did return. Within months, while training I stepped back to load for a roundhouse kick and felt a sharp pain in my knee. I didn’t realize it then or would admit it, but my Tae Kwon Do days of competing were over. I would have another surgery and go through months more of rehab, always with the intention of return to sport. And I did return to some of my sports. I returned to running races and hiking, but it was different. My last Tae Kwon Do competition was well over a year ago and I hadn’t seen it coming.

I share this story as part, cautionary tale and partly to share a simple mindset tool I wish I had when I was struggling through my fear of failure. Every day you get to compete or are training to compete is a gift and an opportunity. Sport is a privilege. On your absolute worst day there are millions of people your age that would trade places with you in a heartbeat. It is an athlete’s responsibility not to squander their abilities or opportunities. So, on days when motivation or energy wanes or when doubt becomes the loudest voice in your head, you can use this 2-part tool that has helped me approach anything I do with my best effort and at the highest level of energy.

1.     Last game mentality is the mindset tool where you set the stage and ask a few simple questions:

If I knew this was my last chance EVER to play my sport, how would I show up? How would I talk to my teammates, coaches, officials…MYSELF? What level of effort would I give? How would I handle mistakes?

2.     First game mentality asks similar questions in a slightly different context.

If I knew someone special or important were in the stands; coach, scout, recruiter, etc. what kind of first impression would I want to make? Again, asking- How would I show up? Mentally and physically? What would my body language communicate? How would I behave when I’m on the bench?

This tool is respecting the impermanence of life. It is human to lose your mojo or feel uninspired at times, but our mindset will always be in our control and therefore our responsibility to ourselves and to others. Be diligent and purposeful in how you approach each day, hour, minute, moment. Honor the opportunities and celebrate the chances, even those that challenge you most. Feeling that something is hard reminds us we’re alive! Sports happens in the present moment. So be there.