Mental Toughness - Insight

I just read this and thought what an inspired insight it really is.

During my 1975 Wimbledon Finals match with Jimmy Connors, I was occasionally seen with my eyes closed when resting between games. This prompted the post-match inquiry, "Were you meditating?" My answer was always "yes and no." "Yes" in the sense that it was a formalized technique of mental and physical relaxation. "No" in that I was not reciting any special words or mantras to myself for ninety seconds. I had simply come to believe at age 33 that I performed better when I was physically conditioned, had a firm game plan in mind, was totally focused on the encounter itself, and remained in control of my actions.

This notion of self-control became an integral part of my tennis training at the very beginning - but for an unusual reason. As part of the first group of black youngsters in the south to aspire to tennis greatness, I was warned that my future participation depended largely on my ability to exercise an extraordinary degree of self-control. Some tournament directors in the 1950's, it was thought, would use any excuse to deny me entry. My decorum, therefore, had to be beyond reproach.

My tennis mentor, Dr. R. Walter Johnson, thus had a sign posted on the wall for all to see: THOSE WHOM THE GODS WISH TO DESTROY THEY FIRST MAKE MAD. I looked at that sign for eight summers. At first I followed its dictates because I was told to do so. I soon became a true believer, after dozens of parents of my junior opponents approached Dr. Johnson and marveled at his students' self-control.

I began to see for myself what my nonplussed game face did to my opponents when matters became tense. I displayed little or no emotion, no matter what the score. The other guy was frequently throwing his racket, cursing, and unraveling. Not only did it continue to rattle the opposition, it enabled me to minimize the time lost trying to contain nonproductive frustration.

I began to see a heightened interest in this mental side of sports in the early sixties. Television close-ups brought the strain of world class competition into our living rooms, and the fan saw a very wide range of human emotions. Doug Sanders missed an eight-inch putt that cost him the British Open. Weight lifters went through psyching rituals that were associated with mental patients. Tommy Bolt threw his golf clubs. Muhammad Ali's pre-fight weigh-ins became case studies for psychiatry students. But one man became a cult figure and the paragon of what the mind can do to enhance athletic performance: Bruce Lee.

The Chinese-born Lee fascinated westerners with his martial arts prowess. His movie, Enter the Dragon, captivated audiences and, despite Hollywood special effects, graphically showed the power of the totally focused mind. Professional athletes such as Kareem Abdul Jabbar became disciples. By the late sixties owners of professional teams hired consultants to help their players through slumps and to improve performance. In the early seventies, amateur and professional athletes began enrolling in courses designed to improve concentration. Transcendental Meditation, or TM, and EST sessions became very popular.

The place of mental discipline in sports has continued to evolve, and now in the nineties, we have a manual that details the 'whys and hows' of putting the full powers of the mind to work in athletic competition. Jim Loehr has, in essence, crystallized in plain English the recent contributions of Eastern influences on standard Western practices. Though his emphasis pertains to athletics, it becomes clear to the reader that his advice has relevance to ordinary life as well.

A Personal Journey:

The journey into mental toughness, a seemingly subtle and intangible journey, is captured in the following passage:

The game is about to begin. In less than an hour, I'm going to be put to the test. All of my training, hard work, and effort are suddenly past. There is only now.

Somehow, though, things are different this time. The new learnings and understanding have changed me. I'm still a little shaky inside, my palms are wet, and I am a little nervous. That's the same, but there are differences. I'm looking forward to performing in a way I never have before. I feel like a kid again–I'm excited. I feel lucky to have the chance to do what I'm about to do. I've never felt that way. In the past I've always felt a crazy combination of obligation, expectation, commitment, and fear.

Oh, I can't say it was never fun or that I never looked forward to it. But it wasn't the same as now. Before, I was too busy trying to perform well to enjoy myself. I was too busy trying not to look stupid or trying to break some new record. If I broke the record, I was extremely happy. If I looked and performed lousy, I was miserable. During the performance, I always got caught up in which it would be– a new record or another catastrophe. I hated losing. That hasn't changed, but the focus has.

I'm not playing 'not to lose' anymore. I still want to perform to my best, to break that new record, to walk away victorious, but something important has changed. My focus now is the MOMENT. After much convincing and experimentation, I finally put into practice something that has transformed me into a performer. The outcome is as much a surprise to me as it is to everyone else–I can perform! And the changes in myself that are responsible for the transformation seem subtle and insignificant; the changes are almost too simple to put into words.

I have learned to focus on the MOMENT.I savor the moment.Every moment of every performance is something to be fully experienced and enjoyed. I take each moment for what it is, and whenever I do that, I immediately experience a sense of calm, strength, and energy. I seem to glow inside.

When I savor the moment, a new and powerful source of energy gets released within me. I immediately feel more positive and more in control. Things start flowing automatically. There's no tension, no anxiety, no fear. As soon as I lose this moment, however, as soon as I start thinking about winning and losing, what I should have done or what could happen, all the negatives come charging back.

I had been told and had read many times that I should perform in the present, but It didn't make sense to me. It seemed like so much philosophy–not related to my everyday trials. I'm a jock (whatever that means), and I resist intellectual and philosophical verbiage. I like action, doing things, getting the job done. As soon as living in the moment became real for me, my performance began to change dramatically for the better.

The one basic understanding that made the difference is that I perform best when I savor the moment, hence I am right here and now and love every minute of it. As long as what I'm physically doing at that moment is what I am mentally doing at that moment, everything happened naturally. I don't have to try to get psyched or try to concentrate or try to perform well. I just do it. And when I'm there, I've got excess energy, and I'm mentally on target. My mind and body seem to click. I'm no longer fighting against myself. I understand what is meant by flowing with the current rather than against it. The price I paid to reach this point has been high. I wonder if it was all that necessary. As I reflect back on the years of struggle, the frustrations, the doubt, the self-condemnation, the agony of knowing what I could do against what I did do, I feel a genuine sadness. Jock or not, my eyes begin to swell as I relive the years. The price was great. Why was it so hard? What made the whole thing so damned difficult?

The answer is painfully clear–I did! I kept getting in the way. I was bound and determined to succeed, and I wanted to win at all costs. Nothing would stand in my way. I wanted to prove to myself and to everyone else that I could do it.

My answer was simple; try harder and be stronger. No one ever told me that trying softer, not harder, might be the key, or that inner calmness would bring me strength. The anger, frustration, agony, and disappointment were not so much from losing as from knowing that I performed considerably below what I was capable of doing. When I wanted it most, I was incapable of performing well. And the reasonis now clear–I tried too hard: I was forcing it.!!

Performing well, I've learned, occurs naturally or it doesn't occur at all. For me, trying to play better, trying not to get angry, trying to concentrate, or trying not to be nervous made the situation worse. I was fighting the current rather than going with it. I've learned there's a difference between trying harder and giving 100 percent effort. I still give 100 percent effort, and I still don't like losing, but there is something distinctively different–I don't get in the way as much anymore.

I used to worry about the guy on the other side. I understand now that it's me, not him, that I should be concerned with.

By comparison, he's easy. I've always been my own toughest opponent (or worst enemy) and I suppose I always will be. The odds are much better now, though. Savoring the moment gives me a handle. It does two things: it brings me back to doing what I'm doing, and it suddenly makes it fun again. Playing my best always seems to happen when I'm feeling a particular way. I feel pumped-up, positive, confident, and invincible. Keeping those feelings for any length of time used to be a problem. Something would happen, even something little, and suddenly they would be gone. All that was left was to try harder, so I did. When I stay with the moment ('within myself') the feelings are much easier to keep, and when I lose them, I can get them back in the same way.

Don't misunderstand. The feelings don't always come, and I still lose them sometimes and can't get them back. I'm still my own toughest opponent, but I'm winning that contest most of the time now. And sometimes the feelings don't come. Even when I go to the moment, they can be a little stubborn. To help them along, I'll start acting 'as if' they are there. Often that's enough to get the feelings going again. As soon as that happens, I start becoming a performer again.

I used to think those feelings came only when I played well. I had it backwards. I played well because I got the right feelings, and there's a big difference. When I feel right, I perform right, and when I don't, I don't– no matter how hard I try. The right feelings come when I live in every moment, when I love and savor every moment– when I am in the NOW.
I don't know how or why I stayed in sports for as long as I did. I nearly called it quits a hundred times. Whatever it was, I'm thankful because it's been a real personal triumph, a triumph that has made the payoff worth much more than the price. I suppose the price was necessary for me, but that was only because I didn't understand. If only I could get others to understand, but...Would it all seem like just so many meaningless words as it did to me? Maybe not...

Words from the late Arthur Ashe

Nice read lkv2, inspiring stuff!

I vow to take the same mental journey the next time I have a craving for KFC.

Some good stuff there lk, it sure makes for an interesting read

Arthur Ashe was without doubt a tennis player unlike any other - never the most exciting of course, but surely the most cerebral. It's a different sporting world today in so many respects, and these reflections of his show just how much changed over the years. His triumph over Connors was not only a truly massive upset at the time, but probably the best-ever example of tactics and strategy over coming raw power and youth.

And quite a topical article right now, in the sense that before Federer's victory last Sunday you had to go back as far as Ashe in 1975 to find a player older than Federer claiming a Wimbledon title ......

Brilliant stuff - a pretty good template for how to make the most of life as well as tennis!

Very good article lk. I very much enjoyed reading it.

I find a lot of what's said here relevant when you look at mental toughness and containing one's emotions on court. I personally think there's a very strong link between the two, in fact, they're without a doubt linked in my view. I been reading John McEnroe's autobiography recently and it's fascinating that even he says his outbursts probably cost him more than he gained. What's even more interesting is that at the scene of his greatest match (and subsequently his first Wimbledon title) on Centre Court, he says that when it comes to Borg, he never lost his temper because of the immense respect he had for him. Strange you might think but that calmness perhaps explains how he eventually overcame him? It's also noteworthy that after Borg leaves the tennis scene, McEnroe, despite his immense talent, only adds another 3 slams to his haul and interesting losses 3/6 of his slam finals, whereas when Borg was around, it was 1/5 he lost.

Despite what SA and other posters have said, mental toughness is an aspect I admire about Federer and why I'm a big fan. It's clear that he can't always sustain it in every match (like with Nadal) but then again, the 18-10 H2H is better now then it was before. I think it's Fed's ability to remain calm, more often than not, that sees him eek out the win. Just look at Wimbledon, in the last 3 finals (2008, 2009 & 2012), he lost the first set. He did lose 1 of those finals, but remember, he went down 2 sets and yet he was able to push it to 5 sets after facing match points in the 4th set. In 2009 & 2012, he came immensely close to being 2 sets down. I think what's often overlooking is that when players are on the back foot, they often crumble and that's it, they're done. Personally, I think it's Fed's difficulty to keep calm/positive in adversity after Aussie 2010, that cost him and it's funny how so much talk post Madrid was that Fed's new found confidence and new lease of life was going to deliver him a slam. All that talk evaporated after the two defeats to Djokovic & losing Halle. I think many of us (me included) underestimated that all that confidence Fed had gained would see him through to the Wimbledon title. The record speaks for itself, Fed won 5/6 finals he's been in this year, that's his best record since 2005 (11/12), hence why I'm excited about how the rest of the year goes!

It's remarkable how so often, player's don't appear calm under immense pressure in these finals or important matches. Djokovic and Murray come to mind and I've noted that Djokovic's appearance of increasing frustration this year has also seen him lose more often. A coincidence? I think not. The mental toughness was most evident when you watched the Djokovic vs Nadal matches (7 in a row streak), when Nadal appeared not only mentally fragile in comparison but would often make the first error, something, which if we're honest, we'd never seen prior to 2011 and has undoubtedly taken the gloss off Nadal's stature. Arthur Ashe's spread of 3 slams is impressive, I mean, Borg, McEnroe never got titles @ 3 different slams, only Jimmy Connors did. Also, how many first time Wimbledon finalists win their title first time? Not just first time, but against the defending champion no less, as Arthur Ashe did? Not many.