I wrote a lot of articles last season about struggle. To me, struggle is a very negative word; it implies trying, wrestling, jockeying, and even fighting to overcome some obstacle that has planted itself very firmly in front of you - no matter how you try to position yourself or your attitude, you’re always on the outside looking in. You always “fight the good fight,” but can’t seem to ever quite win the war.
With struggle, uphill battles are a recurring theme and understanding failure is the name of the game. I finally came to the realization that this understanding was the missing component for me all along, even through the World Series in Detroit.
Sure, I’ve heard the following comments plenty of times before: “keep your head up,” “don’t give up,” and my all-time favorite, “stay positive” (<--- isn’t that profound? It’s like saying “stay dry” as someone heads out into a downpour. Please excuse my sarcasm...I’ve been away for a few months!). But what do they really mean?
Over the past year, I’ve had swing issues, mental-game breakdowns, and angst about leaving behind my wonderful family and home for another week in one of America’s finest two-star hotels. Telling someone you’re struggling usually elicits one of the above cliched responses, as though your fight is a noble gesture or some honorable act of chivalry. The truth? It isn’t noble or honorable, it just is (how profound is that?). No, really! You struggle because, honestly, what other choice do you have?
Ok, so hopefully I haven’t made you depressed or off-put so much that you’ve quit reading. Here’s the good part...the understanding of failure, of why we put up with struggle, is rooted in the challenge. Challenge is simply the positive twin brother of struggle. To struggle is to fight not to lose, but accepting a challenge embraces a committment to learning how to win. Don’t believe me? Go watch Rocky and then tell me you don’t agree (except for Rocky V...what was Stallone thinking??). Moreover, you find meaning in struggle by making sense of the challenge - the process (struggle) helps you decipher the goal (challenge).
Think of it like a book with, say, 40 chapters, and you dive in and read Chapter 40. It probably makes very little sense, and you certainly can’t appreciate the plot. Now go read 1-39, and boom! - it all becomes clear. *steps off soapbox*
At the Earl Anthony Memorial stop last week, I failed to make it out of the TQR. Not the first cut I’ve ever missed, but it was a turning point. How can missing a cut be a turning point?
Well first of all, I shot 130-something the first game (sidenote: the real struggle at that point was deciding if I should actually pull all of my hair out or if I should leave some for later, just in case). Being in next-to-last gave me outstanding odds for moving up the leaderboard in game two. Over the next four games I managed to steadily outpace the field and climb up to 19th place, a mere 10 pins out of the money, and only 50 out of the cut with two games to go. *applause!*
I was feeling good, was matched up well, started game six with an early double, and then got stabbed in the back (pause for effect).
Obviously I wasn’t really stabbed, although the excruciating pain led me to believe I just got shanked mid-backswing. My first worry was getting the ball off my hand, followed ever-so-closely by hoping that it didn’t land on my head or take me down the lane. I’ve had pain before; cuts, sprains, spasms, cramps...but nothing like this.
Stretching provided little relief, but I couldn’t quit - I couldn’t let my hard work fade because of pain that may only be temporary (if you’re a doctor or concerned mother, please feel free to shake your head and call me stubborn and stupid!). It certainly hurt badly enough to withdraw, but there was no way I was going to stop at the doorstep of success.
So I labored on...Knowing I could have made that cut, minus the injury, is what made me upset. I didn’t feel sorrow or pity for myself, but just anger. Boiling, seething, face-flushing anger...or at least as much of it as I could muster without wincing. It’s hard to shake off missing a cut when you have control of the situation, but this was just inexcusable and unfathomable. I did everything I could to put myself in the hunt, and this injury severely inconvenienced me! (<---ahem...more sarcasm)
Agonizing over the situation only made me more frustrated, so I resolved to leave the issue alone until I got home the next morning.
Wednesday was the true focus of my turning point. I couldn’t lift a bag higher than my knees and had trouble looking behind me to back out of a parking space. What did I do to my back? Or more realistically, what did it do to me? I didn’t care about the bowling or the tournament anymore. I cared about the extent of the injury.
You may ask, “what’s his point?” My point is that it’s hard to understand and accept failure at the hands of an evil stone-9 or a merciless 7-10. Injury? That’s a more pressing issue, and somehow easier to swallow. I couldn’t have controlled what happened, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I was ok with it. No whining or agonizing over my struggles (unless you ask my wife, in which case she will undoubtedly confirm that I whined about my back quite a bit...but it did get me out of some chores), just focus on getting healthier and rebounding.
I had set my sights high for 2010, and had hoped to start it off well with a shining performance in the House that Earl Built. As a lefty, it’s like a badge of honor to bowl well in a tournament honoring the Greatest Player in PBA History. But it wasn’t meant to be.
However, I think I may have learned a more valuable lesson...I learned how to understand - to accept the challenge, and not give a second thought to the struggle.
