Just Do It?

Recently, in my clinical practice, I have been hearing the word “just” an awful lot.  Perhaps more precisely, I must have been hearing it for a while, but am now listening to it in a new way.  It is usually in the following contexts: “I just need to get over it,” or “I just need to move on.”  “S/he just doesn’t get it.”  And I have begun to notice that the word, used like this, hides an entire skill set necessary to just do the very thing people are talking about.  Of course, that’s the power and brilliance of the ad campaign: don’t get bogged down in a lot of thinking, just do it.

While I think there’s a lot to be said about quieting and simplifying the noise in the head—just see my last post--, there are two main problems I have with this usage of the word: oversimplification and self-blame.  Both get in the way of peak performance, and both should be guarded against.

Oversimplification.  As I alluded to above, I have begun to hear the word “just” in my practice as a signal that there is some skill, skill set, or process that is being elided when someone says something like, “I just need to get over it.”  I usually ask when they are imagining when they say “just,” and I usually get an answer that is akin to “I’ll just wave a wand.”  So, there is some magical thinking going on.  For example, when people or athletes are talking about getting over a major loss or trauma use the phrase, “I just need to get over it,” they are usually using some rather strong defense mechanisms like denial and avoidance about what it would actually take to get over it.  As a result, they are usually almost guaranteeing that they won’t get over it, and won’t reap the valuable lessons that come from loss, or even, trauma.  And often, it’s usually not that they’re over-thinking the event, it’s that they’re thinking incorrectly about the event, which, again, guarantees that they won’t get over it, and even runs the risk having it happen again.

Self-blame.  I have also been noticing that this usage of the word “just” has behind it a good well of self-blame, because, in our magical thinking culture, we think we should be able to “just get over it.”  So, when someone says to me, “I just need to get over it,” I think both about the unseen, unknown skill set necessary to do so, but I also probe for some sense of shame or self-blame that the person must be experiencing since s/he hasn’t been able to do so to this point.  In this sense, the word is a signal to the kinds of cognitive traps we fall into when it comes to major losses or trauma.

So, what’s the answer?  Well, as I have written in other posts (Scott’s Lytham Opportunity, August, 12, 2012), the main task is to turn toward rather than away, and look at the event with your therapist or coach in as much picayune detail as possible.  “I guess I just choked,” becomes, “I really need to get better at breathing or narrowing my focus toward the end of my match/game/event.”  Or, “I need to really prepare better for all stages of the competition, beginning, middle, and end.”  “S/he just doesn’t get it,” means: “I need to be more interpersonally effective and communicate to her/him what it is s/he’s not grasping, and what’s so important to me about that fact.”  In either case, those point to skills either not learned or not employed in important moments.  Finally, a great deal of self-compassion is to be brought to bear on this practice.  There’s a perfectly valid reason you don’t have that skill set or couldn’t bring it out at the desired moment.  Shoring up that gap is precisely the value of engaging in sport or therapy: so that you can acquire it and bring it to bear the next time.  Yes, definitely don’t forget the self-compassion.  After all, you’re just human.

Think Like Dustin: A Lot Less

The US Open golf tournament is always one to produce incredible drama, and this year was no different.  But, this time around, the extreme difficulty of the course, or golfers’ collapses weren’t the story, but rather, the utterly bizarre way in which the USGA enforced the rules of the game on one of the leaders of the tournament on Sunday.  On the fifth hole, Dustin Johnson, on his way to addressing the ball, noticed that it had moved.  The rules official with that group determined that he had not caused it to move since he had not addressed the ball, and so would not be assessed a one-stroke penalty. Then, on the 12^th hole, Dustin was informed that the USGA was reviewing tape of the incident and would decide at the end of the round whether he would be assessed that penalty or not.  This decision led to a situation which is not only unique in USGA history, maybe in the entire history of the sport, and perhaps in the history of sport psychology: the players would have to play without actually knowing the score.  Knowing the score, in any sport, is paramount because it is, after all, the way by which we measure who wins and who loses.  But, it is also vital because it dictates to a large degree the strategic decisions made by the players as they try to win.  In essence, the USGA said to the players, “you go ahead and play with blindfolds, and we’ll remove the blindfolds when the golf is all over.”  While it’s hard to imagine a more bizarre, and indeed absurd, situation, it’s equally hard to know how to handle this situation were you to be in it.  Well, you could do a lot worse than to take a page out of Dustin Johnson’s book, not only because in going on to win the tournament, he taught us how we might manage this situation, all the while reinforcing some very important lessons of performance psychology.

The first one: thought stopping.  When asked how he handled the incredible distraction as to

whether he was going to be assessed a penalty from the 12^th hole until the finish, he reported several answers: “I decided that I hadn’t made that ball move, and so that was that.”  While some people might say that he chose to lie to himself, ignoring the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, those of us in the sport performance business see that he was engaging in one of the more difficult cognitive challenges imaginable.  It’s like putting a chocolate cake in front of you and telling you not to think about chocolate cake.  But, it is a crucial skill because it keeps us from racing ahead into future dreadful scenarios and “what ifs.”  Thought stopping keeps us from falling into wormholes, just the kind of holes the mind loves: usually future, calamity related ones.

The skill of thought stopping did not only extend to keeping himself from imagining future demise, it also covered not racing to past catastrophes, of which he has many to call upon, moments of collapse right on the brink of winning major tournaments (2010 US Open, Pebble Beach; 2015 US Open, Chambers Bay), even including problems involving (bizarre) rules’ infractions (2010 PGA, Whistling Straits).  In this regard, he did not fall into the well known “not again,” or “why me?” cognitive trap.  Dustin made it clear that he was not engaging in these past-driven thoughts, when he was asked what kept him from thinking about the past. “I just thought I was playing the golf course, that’s all I was thinking about.”  His three perfect finishing shots to birdie the 18^th hole was proof that he successfully stopped any negative past-oriented thought from derailing his play, and allowed positive, present-orient thoughts drive positive play for a positive outcome.

 
Another aspect to discuss about this remarkable aspect of sport psychology is that Dustin Johnson is often spoken about on Tour as someone not blessed with a very bright intelligence.  I don’t know how that rumor got started, nor am I in a position to comment on it.  I will say that one way to think about this rumor in light of this winning piece of sport cognition is this: perhaps Dustin just doesn’t have that much going through his mind as he plays golf.  And, there is no doubt that one result of having very little going through the thought stream during performance is that there is much less to filter out in order to get to the right thought.  So, when it comes down to it: thinking too much is clearly a problem, thinking well is something you can train, and thinking well may mean thinking less.  Whether by nature or nurture, find your way to thinking a lot less during your next important sport event.

Mighty in Battle: Mantras

I don’t know if you happened to catch last year’s British Open.  If you did, you saw one of the more pressured situations in professional sport: a several-hole playoff to determine the ‘Champion Golfer of the Year.’  While any tournament brings with a great deal of pressure along with it, the majors set themselves apart because they tend to define careers much more than regular tour wins.  Thus, the pressure of a playoff is yet another level.  As a player, you know you are that much closer to realizing this remarkable achievement, but you also know that victory, so tantalizingly close, can slip through your fingers in an instant.

What made this year’s three-man playoff between Zach Johnson, Louis Oosthuizen, and Mark Leishmann remarkable to me was how calm and at ease Zach Johnson appeared.  While his competitors looked somewhat seasick, Zach looked as though he was out on a Sunday stroll with friends.  In fact, he was chatting and chuckling with Louis Oosthuizen as they walked down the fairway of the first playoff hole.  Noticed by the media, he was asked after the win what allowed him to seem so at peace.  He stated that he had been reciting scriptures to himself “all day,” and in particular Psalms 24, verses 7-8: “Lift up O ye gates, and be ye lift up ye everlasting doors; and the king of Glory shall come in; Who is the King of Glory? The Lord, strong and mighty, mighty in battle.”

When Zach Johnson let the public in on that very private bit of cognitive work he was doing during this event, he reminded us of the importance of developing personal and private mantras for pressure-filled situations.  He was also speaking to a scientific truth that many athletes need to know and tap into: mantras, like prayers, engage the parasympathetic nervous system, the one that calms us.  In order to succeed in sport, we need both the part of us which keys us up with adrenaline (the sympathetic), and the part that calms us enough to perform our task with steady head, hands, and heart (the parasympathetic).

Thus, I encourage you: in conjunction with your coach, identify the most pressure-filled situations in your sport, and develop encouraging mantras you can say to yourself.  When you do this, you will be participating in the “letting go” skill I have outlined earlier (“The Jesus Club,” August 25, 2012). This skill allows us to get out of our own way just at those moments when we might have the tendency to overcontrol and not perform well.  Here are the basic elements of a mantra:

1)    A mantra should be short.  A mantra should be short enough to say to yourself in short transitions, quick moments, brief pauses when you are re-setting yourself to perform your skill.  Golf is perfect because all golfers have a pre-shot routine.  Such a time is a great time to engage a mantra.  "Mighty in battle," is perfect.

2)     You should believe your mantra.  A mantra is not going to work to overcome anxiety if it’s something like, “you’re going to win,” or “no fear.”  If you don’t believe those statements, they won’t calm your nerves.

3)     Easy to remember.  The last thing you want is a mantra that you can’t remember, or that is going to stress you out to try to remember.

4)     Appropriate to the occasion.  It is important to have several mantras for the various difficult moments in your sport.  Some might be to help focus you right before you engage in a very tough skill, while others might be used to calm nerves in down time.

The well-chosen mantra can be just the thing to quell the self-doubt and help avoid a negative outcome brought on by a victory of nervy play over steadfast, grounded, competent execution.  Develop one today and find yourself mighty in battle tomorrow.

The Truly Helpful Entourage*

Several Sundays ago, I had the opportunity to watch some junior squash matches. It was the last day of one of the JCT (Junior Championship Tour) events, and so nerves were high. I stationed myself at one court, which allowed me to watch matches progress upwards from U11 girls all the way to the U19 boys’ final. Since that day, the phenomenon of encouragement from the entourage has been on my mind. It struck me that how parents, coaches, and even friends communicated their encouragement might be doing the exact opposite from the intent of their message. Of course, the entourage means well, but their words, the tone of their words, and even the intrusion that their words represent might actually pose an unwelcome distraction for the athlete. Here are a few observations and thoughts from that day:

The first is that, particularly with the younger athletes, parents gave certain vocalizations, such as “c’mon!” Or,“this point right here!” Or, “c’mon! Bear down!” Often, they uttered these comments when the young athlete looked out of court after losing a point, or string of points, and had a somewhat stricken look on their face. Now, while none of these comments are, on their surface, bad things to say, it is unclear what purpose they served. I had the thought that if you stopped the action, and asked the young athlete what their parent or coach meant, the young athlete would be stumped. Not that there was ill intention, but that the very thing the athlete needed or might have wanted in that moment was not served by such encouragements. What if the words were a big distraction, rather than a useful tool for focus and motivation? What if the athlete took their parents’ comments as scolding? Sometimes, the tone in the parents’ voice did take on a scolding tone. In that case, the young athlete was concerned about having angered their parent instead of managing whatever anxiety they were facing on the court. Even the comment, “you can do it!”might contribute additional stress for a child wrestling with the very idea of whether or not he or she could, in fact, do it. Given these thoughts, you will not be surprised to hear that there was little correlation between whether the young athlete lost or won the next point after the exhortation from the crowd. Mostly, I noticed that such comments didn’t help reverse a negative spiral, if an athlete were in one.

The other thing that stood out to me was that as the matches went up the age range, and the players got more skilled, and the matches became more intense, the noise from the parents and coaches tapered off. There was almost a reverential silence between points, apart from clapping and “nice point!,” after particularly good efforts. The difference was striking. The main thing that it suggested to me, is something that I have written about at other times, which is that if you want an athlete to improve their focus or their play, one of the worst things you can do is to yell “focus,” “bear down,” “this point,” or “right now.” Essentially, what you are doing is complicating the athlete’s attentional challenge by bringing their focus out of the court, over to you (and all the complex dynamics involved in your relationship), only to require them to bring it back into the court and onto the matter at hand. The parents and coaches of the older athletes knew that the best way to support their athlete was by not complicating the intense attentional demands of the moment. So, I offer these quick points for you and your young athlete, as you come up with a game plan for supporting your athlete:

1) In conjunction with their coach, help your athlete develop some mindful awareness of what it means to focus and what it means to lose focus. An athlete cannot “focus!” if they don’t know what scattered versus focused attention looks like.

2) In conjunction with their coach, develop some tactics that your athlete can use to bring their attention back when it has wandered. You will see top athletes bounce the ball several times before serving, staring at a spot on a wall for a second, or even wiping their hands on the wall, as if to be managing a perspiration situation.  Usually, they are using those gestures to refocus their minds.

3) Develop some agreements about what sorts of communications will help and what will hinder your athlete. Some athletes might say something like “I only want to hear my coach’s voice.” Or,“please only say positive comments,” which is good advice under any circumstance.

4) Remember that if you are nervous, you will communicate that to your young athlete in every utterance and facial expression, even if you don’t think you are. So, spend some time mastering your own nerves before you attempt to help your young athlete overcome theirs. If nerves are a problem for you, be receptive to hearing that you should watch from a greater distance, and refrain from vocalizations during the competition.

Viewed this way, the entourage can (maybe) help avert a total collapse of attention and a total victory of nervy play. Also, a well-oiled pit crew will be able to ensure that they are helping the athlete rather than hindering optimum performance. Some athletes may like a lot of verbal encouragement, and some might like very little. Something tells me, though, that the top athletes on that day knew what was going on by having very little communication between them and their entourage, except during the 90 seconds of a game break.

Have fun watching your athlete. Engage them in the incredibly empowering task of putting them in control of their attentional battles. And make it a truly collaborative venture. It will be good for their game, for their enjoyment of the game, and for the good of your relationship. 

*A version of this article was first seen on The Daily Squash Report, in the column, "What's on My Mind," Nov 12, 2014.

Herding Cats: American Team Play in Individual Sports

A FEW WEEKENDS AGO, the American Ryder Cup team received its now routine drubbing by the European team in their biennial matches.  As they usually do, the Americans boasted a far stronger team on paper than the Europeans, and so it’s not without merit that the Americans come away scratching their heads about what happened…yet again.  People often comment on how difficult it can be for people to play individual sports in team format, moving from competing for yourself to competing for a collective.  But, this answer is insufficient because the Europeans are making a similar switch.  So where are we to look?

In some research I did comparing international and American squash players, I looked at the various messages these players were receiving from their environment (parents, coaches, and peers) on their squash participation to try to answer a similar question: what made the international players seemingly more invested and more successful than their American rivals at pulling off the switch between playing for themselves and playing for a team?  Here’s what I found:

1. American players received the message from early on in their playing careers that playing squash could help them get ahead in life, whereas the international group in the study received the message that playing squash could be a good way to have fun, meet other squash players, and see the world.  That is, their participation was framed less in terms of personal advancement and more in terms of personal engagement with a broader canvas outside the self.

2. International squash parents were less part of the atmosphere of competition, whereas American parents were seen directing all aspects of the athlete’s experience.  Thus, participating in sport was seen, by international parents, as a developmental move away from parental control, whereas American sport participation was experienced as staying connected to the parental orbit.  In that sense, international sport participation was viewed as moving out into the world to form new bonds, and American participation was seen as strengthening familial bonds and controls.

3. International squash players learned from an early age that major decisions about continuing or discontinuing sport participation resided within them, whereas American athletes were often kept on track by parents, who made all of their coaching, scheduling, and tournament decisions.

In short, everything about the international experience moved that athlete closer to the collective, whereas everything about the American experience moved that athlete more closely to themselves and their parents, with more limited reference points for success and achievement.  If we apply this rubric to the American Ryder Cup experience, we can see some of these forces manifest.  The Americans have more superstars, which means that for them, the necessary lowering of ego boundaries required for successful team play is much harder. This phenomenon is a version of our well-touted cultural “individualism” at work.  Secondly, it appears that their team leadership, Tom Watson, had a similar, insular vision of his own powers, when he engaged in unilateral, non-inclusive decision-making, and expected excellent play just because he, Tom Watson, demanded it.

The European superstar, Rory McIlroy, was quoted as saying: “Personally for me, it puts the icing on the cake of what's been a fantastic summer, and obviously looking forward to more Ryder Cups and more great weeks with these guys."  And, of his Sunday singles match: “I was probably up for this match more than I was for the final rounds of the majors I won this summer.” Can you imagine Tiger Woods making such comments? 

So: the future success of American team golf will reside in the next team’s captain’s ability to break down the very strongly enforced value of American exceptionalism.  It is not impossible, as the last successful Ryder Cup captain, Paul Azinger, showed, but it is coaching against the grain for us.  But it is very worth it, for everyone's sake.  Imagine telling our children, “One day, son, you will have a great time contributing to a great team effort,” rather than, “one day, son, your name will be in lights.”  Now, that would be the day.