Iron Sharpens Iron

 

I am part of a group called The ICCUS Society.  ICCUS is a group of sports physical therapists that come from around the world to meet every summer and argue for two days. Really.

It’s an iron sharpens iron thing. More on that in a bit.

All physical therapists graduate from physical therapy school with a doctoral degree, and all are considered generalists until they pursue advanced competencies. That can be in pediatrics, neurology, lymphedema, wound care, pelvic health, and others. Most of these are under the umbrella of the American Board of Physical Therapist Specialties.

There are a several avenues that a physical therapist can take to become a specialist.  For me, I became an Athletic Trainer and then a Sports Clinical Specialist (SCS). To become certified as a Sports Clinical Specialist, you must have post-graduate coursework in things like Emergency Care, years of experience working with athletes, and pass a rigorous examination.

For clarity, Athletic Trainers are a separate profession, today requiring a Masters Degree in Athletic Training.  Athletic Trainers are most often found on the sidelines of games and sporting events, but can be found in a variety of settings including clinics, schools, and industries.

There are other avenues to become a Sports Physical Therapist, most notably by completing a Sports Residency or Sports Fellowship, programs that require 1-2 years in a combined academic/athletic setting.

Back to ICCUS—there are 56 members, from around the globe.  Those members include international speakers, authors, and many that serve professional athletes and teams at the highest level. And when I say that we close the doors and argue for two days, it really is true. It can be daunting.

That’s where the iron sharpens iron comes in. Every three years, each member has to provide a presentation that is then critiqued by the whole group. To say that this group can be brutal is an understatement.  Either you know what you’re talking about or you get embarrassed in a hurry. Not everyone is up for it.

Iron sharpens iron.

That’s why you want to play the best competition. Sure, everyone likes to win, but champions want to get better.  So, you play the best.

That’s why you want coaches that will push you.  That’s how you find out how good you can be.

That’s why we keep the score in games. That’s why we crown champions. That’s why we keep won/loss records.

If you want to be the best version of yourself, regardless of the arena, you seek out the best of the best and challenge yourself to compete in that arena. 

That’s how you get to be the best.

Coaches Care

 

Most youth leagues could not function without parents that volunteer as coaches.  It’s almost rare to find a team of youngsters where the coach isn’t also a parent of one of the players.

I did it.  The first sport for my kids was T-Ball and that first year, I was determined to allow someone else to coach my kids.  It worked well—they both had really great coaches.  I still appreciate them for taking on six year old kids. 

But the need was so desperate over the next few years that I started coaching. And, before you could turn around, I was coaching everything that they did.

One year, I agreed to help coach a youth soccer team.  The head coach was “the only certified youth soccer coach” in the area.  I have no doubt that he knew a lot about the game of soccer but I have to tell you that he struggled in coaching 7 and 8 year old boys and girls.

So the next year, a friend and I decided we would take a Parks & Rec soccer team.  Go back a year and I will tell you that the first soccer game that I ever saw, I coached. If you could call it that. 

About all I knew about the game was that if we kicked it in their goal more than they kicked it in our goal, that we would win.  I also knew enough about sports to know that we didn’t need everybody to always run to the ball.  That second year, we did quite well with those basic principles.

Years ago, Charlie Finley and Tom Ware had started an AAU basketball program here called Blount Stars.  When my kids got old enough for that, I restarted their program then ran it and coached a couple of the teams for the next few years.

But that’s it.  After that, I put away my coaching hat. So, I’ve put in my time.  Been there.  Done that. And probably made every mistake in the book.

As an Athletic Trainer, I have had pleasure of being on the sidelines for literally hundreds of games that my kids and now my grandkids participate in. Keep in mind, though, that I was on the sidelines of Maryville High School football long before my son was on the team and was there for many years after he graduated.

With all that being said, I believe I can make this statement without prejudice and with a great deal of credibility--coaches will be better for an athletic career than parents.  Sound strange?

Here’s the thing—parents never want you to fail while coaches will push you to failure so you can discover what you’re capable of.  It’s really that simple.

In 45 years of doing this stuff, I can tell you that almost every coach I’ve ever encountered had the best interest of your child at heart. They my push and may coach hard, but they want the best for your kid.

And there’s something pretty special about somebody that will invest themselves in a kid that isn’t even theirs.

Be Safe

I was on my way to work recently. That’s not unusual—despite rumors to the contrary, I have not retired.  I still go in to work 5 days a week. Monday through Friday. Weekends too, from time to time.

It was quite early in the morning, which is also common for me.  I’m an early riser. I was on the road when I came around a corner, maybe a bit too fast and came upon a line of vehicles stopped at a red light.

No problem. I braked, maybe a bit too hard, but I had no trouble stopping in time.

But my mind got kicked into high gear at that point.  What if my brakes failed?  What if I had been texting at the same time?  What if I just wasn’t paying attention?

I would have plowed into that pickup truck at the back of the line. And that truck would likely have been pushed into the vehicle in front of it and so on and so on. 

Catastrophe averted because I was awake, paying attention, and not on my phone.

My daughter-in-law got T-boned a few years ago by a teenager who ran a red light, likely because she was texting with her friends.  Both drivers walked away but it could have been bad.

Statistics tell us that a huge portion of automobile accidents are due to distracted driving, and that the chief culprit there is texting while driving. (It is against the law, by the way.)  I think the statistics could be deceiving—I think the number could be higher than current estimates.

Anyway, the admonition to focus on driving when you’re behind the wheel is only part of the story today.

Oh sure, it’s the main point.  I’ve got three teenage drivers in the family, one more almost there, and a fifth not far behind.  I want them to be safe drivers. I want them to arrive alive.

It is a bit of a dark thought, but while attending a high school graduation recently, I thought about the fact that somewhere, some high school senior didn’t make it to their graduation.  They were killed in a car wreck. 

I still worry about my own children, now in their 40’s—still wanting to know when they arrive at their destination should they be making a long drive.  Always have. Always will.

The other part of the story is a simple bit of advice:  Focus on what you’re doing. Give the task at hand your full attention, whether it be your studies, your job, your sport…really anything you might be doing.

If you are true to yourself, you want to give the best of yourself at all times.  The world needs…the world deserves, your best effort.  In everything you do.

Be safe. 

Back to Basketball

 

I did a thing last week.  For the first time in 12 years, I played a game of basketball!

It seems crazy now, but I played regularly until I was 59.  I didn’t play in high school, choosing football instead.  But I kept playing whenever possible. Intramurals. Pick up games in the HPER building at UT.  Anywhere I could find a ball and a basket.

After college, I played pickup basketball wherever I could find a game.  Springbrook Park.  Sandy Springs Park. Everett Park. The Courts at the Candy Shop in Alcoa.

I played in Parks & Rec leagues back when the “over 28” league was considered the “old man’s” league. I played a few years in a church league, but that one got too rough. 

We had a standing game at noon on Tuesdays and Thursdays at Maryville College and one on Sunday evenings at Maryville High school. That one went on for decades.

In 2013, my right knee problems just got too bad. I couldn’t run, couldn’t cut. Never could jump much so that wasn’t impacted.  After going off ibuprofen for a week before a colonoscopy, I was achy for days.

So I quit playing basketball.  I could still ride my bicycle without pain so I had to be satisfied with that.

But oh, did I love playing basketball!  Loved it.  In my dreams, I never missed, made great passes, and rebounded like Dennis Rodman.  But only in my dreams.

After I quit, I missed playing dearly.  But it just wasn’t prudent.  Then, in 2019, I had my right knee replaced.  The result was life changing. It had been years since I could run—now I could run. 

During the 2019 football season, before I got my new knee, a white-hat referee made fun of how slowly I moved onto the field.  In 2020, with a new knee, I made a point to sprint past that same official on my way onto the field.

Yet, returning to basketball was never on my radar.  I often thought I might be able to play again, with the new knee and all, but never did. No real opportunities came up.  Then, a patient of mine suggested that I join this group of “older” players for a weekly game. She assured me I would be fine.

So, I showed up. And played. It wasn’t really an “older” group, but I didn’t care.  For an hour and a half I played, without coming off the court.  It was heavenly.  I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn door but the basics of my game were still there.  And although I doubled my Aleve before bed, I didn’t really hurt that much. I do plan to go back but my work schedule often interferes. 

For years, patients with knee replacements were told that they could only do sedentary activities, like easy biking, golf, walking, maybe doubles tennis.

I’m not going to tell you that you can do anything on a replaced knee, but I know for certain that you can do more than you could before replacement.  Do the rehab and be smart about it and you can do most anything. Although I still don’t recommend jumping out of perfectly good airplanes.

Be Prepared

 

It happens. Sometimes, just when you least expect it. They don’t call them “accidents” without reason.

Just a little over 2 weeks ago, a colleague was out walking her dog. Nice evening. Weather was good. Nothing too ambitious.

Unfortunately, her dog suddenly went one way and her ankle went the other.  In a flash, she was lying on the ground with a badly broken ankle. She was alone and her dog didn’t understand what was going on.

Her training as an Athletic Trainer kicked in immediately. She knew her ankle was broken. She also knew that it was dislocated. The pain was bad but, with all that, she was still able to reach down and reduce the dislocation. In other words, she put the ankle back where it was supposed to be.

A couple of Good Samaritan strangers arrived maybe 10 minutes later, and, well, to make a long story short, she headed to the hospital where X-rays confirmed what she already knew.  

Later that evening, Orthopedic Surgeon Shane Asbury put plates and a whole bunch of screws in her ankle, holding it all together and setting the stage for a great recovery.

So, what would you do if faced with the same thing?  Would you be calm and know the proper steps to take? Maybe.

Maybe not. Several years ago, I had a patient who was a mountain biker and who had wrecked while riding alone.  He had badly broken his hip and could barely move. Unfortunately, he was in a bit of a remote area and his cell phone wouldn’t reach emergency services.

In what must have been an achingly long time, he crawled about thirty feet to where he was finally able to get a cell phone signal, so he called 911 for an ambulance. 

In most cases, that’s all you need to do—make the call and wait patiently until emergency responders arrive.  The only problem with that is that you might be hard to find.

This fellow was.  Stuck on the side of a mountain on a narrow trail, it took forever for those first responders to find him.

I was on a bike trip in Colorado a few years ago when one of the guys on the trip became severely dehydrated. There was no choice to it—we had to get him out of there.  Our only problem was that the nearest phone was 17 miles away and we were on bikes.

While a couple of us stayed with him, two more headed out to find a phone.  Fortunately, we were traveling by GPS coordinates and a back country rescue team found us easily.

So, here’s the advice for today. Ride, hike, swim—whatever—with a buddy. Know where you are. Carry your cell phone. There are phone apps that allow you to be traced. Have a plan. Anticipate the worst case scenario. 

Stay calm. Work the plan. Breathe. You’re going to be alright.

You are making a difference

 

I had a recent visit back to my hometown. I was there to celebrate the life and passing of the Mom of one of my best buddies growing up, one of the “Three Amigos.”

Growing up, we were inseparable. We were as close as brothers, without the sibling conflicts. Oh, we had rivalries, but those were all on the tennis court.

Ronnie the handsome one, Teddy the best athlete, Joe the smart one. Or so it would seem. Truth is, we all had more in common than in difference.

We are friends to this day, and although we don’t see each other often, that deep bond is always there.  You may have friends like that—you can go forever without seeing them and then, when you do, it’s like time hasn’t passed.

It’s rare when all three of us get together, but when we do, it’s special. We remember good times and bad, telling many of the same stories.  It always comes up that we were involved in a food fight in college, each of us blaming the other for starting it. Truth be known, it was probably Marty from Oak Ridge, but that was a long time ago (a REALLY long time ago) and maybe the memory is fuzzy.

I was also able to chat with one of my high school football coaches.  Coach Gary Dutton was a Loudon native that played football at Maryville College and then coached football at Maryville Junior High. He and Alcoa’s Clint Abbot remain best friends to this day.

After coaching the 1967 MJHS team, he returned to Loudon to coach football there. That ’67 team is notable because that was the team that went on to win the 1970 State Championship at Maryville High.

I played for the Loudon team that Maryville beat on the way to the state championship in 1970. Loudon had won the ’69 championship so it was definitely the game of the year for both teams, as the winner was the odds on pick for a championship.

Here’s the sidebar that makes for an interesting story—since those were the boys that Coach Dutton had coached at the junior high, we knew their names. Johnny and Joe Emert.  Tommy Beaver. Jim Allison. Gary Burchfield. There were more.

I was a linebacker/guard on the Loudon team and I made a point of calling out the Maryville players by name. You can imagine their surprise, hearing their name called out.  I guess it was a bygone era type of trash talk but it was fun. Going into the fourth quarter, we were up 28-21 but two scores by Maryville, the second coming in the last minute, won the game for the Rebels.

I’ve now lived in Maryville for 46 years and have made great friends from that ’70 MHS championship team, including Coach Ted Wilson. It’s been a blessing.

But here’s the point to all this. After that game, a broken hearted Loudon linebacker was walking off the field when Coach Dutton came up to him and put his arm around him and told him that he was proud of him.

It was almost 55 years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday. It’s hard to explain why or how, but it truly changed my life.  Thank you Coach Dutton.

Coaches, teachers, folks that interact with kids and teenagers—you can make such an incredible difference in lives with the most innocent of comments.  Never forget that.

Carry Your Own Bag

 

Remember in school when you had to write an essay on Pet Peeves?  Maybe you didn’t have to write that one. I did. I have no idea what I wrote about.

Given the era, it was probably something idealistic about saving the world or lasting peace. Or barking dogs. Who knows. It was a long time ago.

If I was to write that column today, it would probably be about helicopter parents. I definitely see my share of those.  You know that creature.  Hovers over their child. Won’t let them speak.

I see it all the time.  The parent strides boldly into the clinic with their child 10-15 feet behind, head down, maybe looking at their phone. The parent does the talking. The parent fills out the forms.

Keep in mind, that a lot of the work that I do is with teenagers. It’s been that way for a long time. I believe it’s what keeps me young (but it may be more  about giving variety to my music choices).

Here’s what I see—parents that want to do everything for their child. And it doesn’t matter how old they are, from 6-16. And, tragically, older.

I get that parents don’t want their children to be hurt. I get that parents want their children to do more, have more, be more.  Boomers benefited from that.

Parents of Boomers went through a World War, maybe even the Great Depression (my parents did). They experienced the Korean “Conflict” then the Cold War. They saw (and some experienced) poverty and racism and the War in Vietnam.

Those parents defined wanting more for their kids than they had. My Dad quit school in the 6^th grade to go to work in a factory to support his family.  My college degree meant more to him than anything in the world.

So, I do get it. But what I’m seeing today is parents that won’t let their children develop life skills.

Let me tell you what a good parent does. The good parent lets their child speak. They don’t talk over them.  They let them answer questions. They let their child fill out the forms, instead of doing it for them.

The good parent doesn’t make excuse for a bad performance. They don’t allow their child to blame somebody else. “The referees were against you.” I hear that all the time.

“The Coach is an idiot.”  I hear that one too much too. Coaches make mistakes. They’re human, after all. But with very few exceptions, in my 47+ years of working with athletes, the coaches I’ve known wanted what was best for the team and for the players.

The good parent doesn’t try and coach their kid on the ride home from a game or event.  Just the opposite. They talk about their day and what makes their child happy.

The good parent lets their child carry their own bag.