Timely piece, sis, as I've been dealing with a bit of the flip side of that coin... not listening to my body when it is talking to me. The many years of being an athlete combined with my years in the military, I learned to quiet that voice that told me I can't do something, push through the pain ("pain is just weakness leaving the body,")... NEVER QUIT. Last fall, with turning 60 on the horizon, I had that conversation with myself in the mirror to stop using the long hours of work, our 5 kids, working the property, and assorted other things as excuses, and to get back into a dedicated and serious healthcare/fitness regimen. In typical Wiley fashion, I went all in, and for the first time (really the second, which is another story) experienced where my mind knows exactly what it wants my body to do... and my body is not doing it. I pushed, perhaps too hard, and my body pushed back. But rather than taking the "quit being soft" attitude I often did in the past (maybe a little wisdom does come with age) I am changing my approach to what you speak of here. How about I try this instead? I'm listening, and my body is, too. Thanks for the reminder. Hugs.
I think I’m going to have to recruit you as a guest writer for this column! I want to hear the rest of that story, and I’m sure everyone else does too. So grateful you’re here. Thank you for your words.
I don't know that the rest of the story is dramatically different than what a lot of injured athletes face at some point. But a lot of it is also typical of being a young, 20-something who thinks they're bulletproof.
Of all the sports that I played, swimming was the one that I excelled at most and the sport that I truly came to love. I had predominantly played team sports. Swimming, with the exception of the relays, is just you. Often it had little to do with competitors standing on the starting blocks to either side. It was you... and the clock... and the clock doesn't lie. You could still "win," but if you are posting mediocre times, you know the truth.
In college I swam the IM (individual medley), an event that required proficiency in all four strokes - butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, and freestyle. Your split times would out you faster than a Coldplay kiss-cam, exposing where you were weak (backstroke was my nemesis). Nevertheless, I loved the accountability of the sport. Cruising down the center of the lane, your lungs and shoulders on fire, if you had been coasting in your workouts and not been putting in the work, that lane may as well have been a Catholic confessional.
By the end of my sophomore year, however, I had to come to grips with a nagging shoulder injury. Four years of HS swimming and two in college had taken its toll. I was living on ibuprofen by the handful. By the end of the season I could no longer raise my upper arm above the horizontal plane of my shoulders. An orthopedic surgeon told me that if I put in another season, I would likely be looking at a major surgery. Worse, surgery and the required post-op recovery - if everything went well - still would have ruined my timeline for attending officer candidate school. So, as much as I loved the sport, I hung up the suit and goggles.
Maybe had I not been so hard-headed, I would have red-shirted a year and taken the time to address the issue. 35+ years later, it really doesn't matter... except when I pass by the pool and wonder if the masters swim club that existed pre-COVID is ever going to come back.
Beautiful words!
Super helpful reminder about the way we talk to ourselves :-)
Timely piece, sis, as I've been dealing with a bit of the flip side of that coin... not listening to my body when it is talking to me. The many years of being an athlete combined with my years in the military, I learned to quiet that voice that told me I can't do something, push through the pain ("pain is just weakness leaving the body,")... NEVER QUIT. Last fall, with turning 60 on the horizon, I had that conversation with myself in the mirror to stop using the long hours of work, our 5 kids, working the property, and assorted other things as excuses, and to get back into a dedicated and serious healthcare/fitness regimen. In typical Wiley fashion, I went all in, and for the first time (really the second, which is another story) experienced where my mind knows exactly what it wants my body to do... and my body is not doing it. I pushed, perhaps too hard, and my body pushed back. But rather than taking the "quit being soft" attitude I often did in the past (maybe a little wisdom does come with age) I am changing my approach to what you speak of here. How about I try this instead? I'm listening, and my body is, too. Thanks for the reminder. Hugs.
I think I’m going to have to recruit you as a guest writer for this column! I want to hear the rest of that story, and I’m sure everyone else does too. So grateful you’re here. Thank you for your words.
I don't know that the rest of the story is dramatically different than what a lot of injured athletes face at some point. But a lot of it is also typical of being a young, 20-something who thinks they're bulletproof.
Of all the sports that I played, swimming was the one that I excelled at most and the sport that I truly came to love. I had predominantly played team sports. Swimming, with the exception of the relays, is just you. Often it had little to do with competitors standing on the starting blocks to either side. It was you... and the clock... and the clock doesn't lie. You could still "win," but if you are posting mediocre times, you know the truth.
In college I swam the IM (individual medley), an event that required proficiency in all four strokes - butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, and freestyle. Your split times would out you faster than a Coldplay kiss-cam, exposing where you were weak (backstroke was my nemesis). Nevertheless, I loved the accountability of the sport. Cruising down the center of the lane, your lungs and shoulders on fire, if you had been coasting in your workouts and not been putting in the work, that lane may as well have been a Catholic confessional.
By the end of my sophomore year, however, I had to come to grips with a nagging shoulder injury. Four years of HS swimming and two in college had taken its toll. I was living on ibuprofen by the handful. By the end of the season I could no longer raise my upper arm above the horizontal plane of my shoulders. An orthopedic surgeon told me that if I put in another season, I would likely be looking at a major surgery. Worse, surgery and the required post-op recovery - if everything went well - still would have ruined my timeline for attending officer candidate school. So, as much as I loved the sport, I hung up the suit and goggles.
Maybe had I not been so hard-headed, I would have red-shirted a year and taken the time to address the issue. 35+ years later, it really doesn't matter... except when I pass by the pool and wonder if the masters swim club that existed pre-COVID is ever going to come back.
Yes! I want to hear the rest!
BEAUTIFUL ❤️❤️❤️