So I did sports as a kid.
I’d been in gymnastics since kindergarten. Some of my earliest memories are fantastical compilations of magically executed tumbling moves. As an adult, I am now painfully aware that in reality I was just being marginally supervised, rolling around on the mat with a dozen other kids in leotards, while the moms were off doing errands for an hour.
Somehow, gymnastics took hold and became as natural to me as breathing. Sure, I dabbled in soccer and other organized sports here ‘n there, but the truth is, I sucked at that stuff. Like, really sucked. Somehow all the other kids knew the dynamics of offensive and defensive positions and I just didn’t get it. But in the gym… in the gym I could fucking fly. I could spin and twist and stretch and I learned how to leverage gravity and physics and centrifugal force to accomplish things that a body just can’t do with brute strength.
In the gym, I learned how to think. I learned how to recognize when I was failing at a particular skill. I learned how to reflect on why a move wasn’t working for me. I learned to examine the root cause, and make adjustments to either correct or modify the situation.
And I learned how to listen. I listened to my coaches. I trusted them when I was unsure of my own abilities, and they pushed me to grow past my fears. I listened to my teammates. They cheered me on, regardless of a good or poor performance. And I listened to myself.
The hardest lesson came when I was 15, and I stopped winning. My body changed. Hormones kicked in. Hard. In the space of about 3 months, my upper body strength was decimated. I struggled everywhere, especially on bars, I felt heavy all the time even though I hadn’t gained any weight. It was obvious to me that I was going to get hurt if I decided to force the issue and continue. It was time to go, I was done. And I was devastated.
I had one ace up my sleeve. I had dabbled in springboard diving, and my gymnastics background was a natural fit. The physics were a substantial adjustment, but hey, so was my now 16-year-old self. New sport, new body, new start. Once my brain understood the center of gravity had now shifted from my shoulders to my hips, everything snapped into place and I was fucking flying again.
Literally flying. And I was good at it. Like, really good.
I had the good fortune to be accepted into a private club team where I trained year-round with a national Junior Olympics coach. I remember making the decision to not pursue the JO path, because at 16, I wanted diving to be a balanced part of my life, not my whole life. I was still coping with the loss of my beloved gymnastics, so I realized that one day, I would age out of this as well. Anyway, I stayed with that club team for a few years, and it was amazing.
In high school, I was undefeated in dual meets. Championships were a bit tougher, but I still did well. As a senior in HS, I was the only one from my swimming & diving team to attend the CIAC State Opens, and I placed seventh in my event. I wasn’t the best diver there that day, but I beat 15 other competitors. And it was the first time in 12 years that my school sent someone. It felt damn good to see my points on the board for my school that day, and know it was 100% my contribution.
The college recruiters made their bids, and I accepted an NCAA scholarship for a state school. The competition was tougher, I had to work harder, and swallow a lot of fear. But this was my ticket to higher education and I wasn’t going to let it go.
I made mistakes while learning new skills. Yes, I’ve had to overcome paralyzing mental blocks. Yes, I’ve hit the water so hard I was out cold in the pool for a few seconds. Scary AF. Yes, I’ve gotten bruises and welts and black eyes from landing wrong. Yes, I’ve hit my head on the board. I’ve even lost two toenails when I hit the board with my feet once. Every single one of those results related to a mistake on the board, not a mistake in the air.
And you know what my coach always said?
“If you don’t like how it feels, don’t do it that way.”
At the end of the day, after all the physical training and mental prep and technical precision and motivational bullshit, it really is that simple. And that’s the one resounding lesson I bring to the rest of my life on a regular basis.
“If you don’t like how it feels, don’t do it that way.”
I think about that a lot sometimes. Relationships, office politics, finances, nutrition, dog training, you name it. When I notice myself – or others – getting so wrapped up in the details and minutiae that the main objective becomes lost… I try to step back and ask, “Does this feel OK?”
So yeah. That’s it. After all the hours in the gym and the pool, after learning how to think, how to listen, how to make the tough, analytical, heart-wrenching decisions, after learning how to start over new again, and to work harder than ever, learning to conquer fear, anxiety and pain… The singular guiding principle was “How does it feel?”
Maybe it doesn’t work for everyone, but very often it puts me back on track.
What about you? Do you have a particular experience that you parlay into a broad-sweeping life-lesson?