Rose Colored Glasses

Why play sports?

Indeed, why play sports? With all the injuries, the time involved, the cultural toxicity that seems to be present in some places? Is it worth it?

I’ve been accused of looking at things through rose-colored glasses.  For those too young to understand that metaphor, it basically means that maybe I see only the positive things when I look at them.

OK.  Maybe that’s true.  I’m sure I do like to look at the better side of things, at the better side of people. That rose-colored glasses thing--maybe you might think that I’m oblivious to the negative side of situations but I don’t think that is the case at all. I just choose to look on the bright side, to try and find the good in everyone, to find the positive in every situation.

Yet, I know there is a darkness out there. I know that the gymnastics coach in Michigan did some really bad things to young female gymnasts. He’s in jail for that. It does seem like that soccer coach in Franklin did some really bad things.

I know that those things are out there. I listened to Bobby Knight yell and cuss at whomever was in the room. Players, referees, the media. Everybody. Nobody was spared. I saw him throw a chair when he disagreed with a call on the basketball floor. He may have had some success but he wasn’t a nice person.

I remember an AAU coach that fancied himself a Bobby Knight-type coach, even wearing that red button-up cardigan. I remember he yelled at his 12 year old players, my 12 year old players, every referee he encountered. Even a few parents in the stands. Such a bad example.

I wrote about a flag football coach that laughed in the face of my grandson when he asked if he might be allowed to run the football just one time in their last game. His coach the year before (Matt Miller, for the record) had made sure that everyone got to carry the football from time to time.

I remember one local high school coach that would scream and cuss at his players after every game, win or lose. Every game. The parents of the players would wait patiently in the gym, knowing what their sons were being subjected to. It hurt.

I know there are coaches out there that believe in winning at all costs. That’s just wrong. It’s not why we play sports. I know there are coaches out there that play only their best players—leaving all others to languish on the bench. For young kids, that is irresponsible.

I know that injuries occur.  My son’s football career was ended in a rather brutal injury on the field at Florida State. I saw the heartbreak when a local college soccer player suffered back to back ACL injuries, both requiring surgery.

And yet, the triumph from injury can be the best possible lesson. Through adversity, we gain strength.  By way of the toughest situations, we learn just what we are capable of.

Life does that to us sometimes, but does so uncontrollably. Sports gives us that but in a controlled, monitored environment. Sports allows us to test ourselves, to prove what we are worth, where the worst case scenario is maybe you lose a game or don’t get to play.

Sports are not life but they can be life lessons.

 

Climb back on that horse!

I’ve got quite a story to tell this week. On Thursday a week ago, I had a mountain bike wreck. I was crossing a dry creek bed that I’ve crossed a hundred times when somehow I went down. I came to a stop when I hit the stump of a log with the left side of my chest.

It knocked my breath out and hurt like the dickens but I felt like I was OK. My riding buddy checked on me and we agreed to ride downhill the mile or so to my truck. That wasn’t a fun trip but once I was seated in my truck, everything seemed OK.

I went to Care Today just to make sure I was OK and the PA and I both saw a rib fracture but nothing more so I headed home.

I went to work the next day and did fine, but toward the end of the day I started feeling rotten. I saw my last patient and immediately headed home. Still, not too bad, I had dinner and sat down to watch a movie with my wife.

About 9 PM, I awoke to my wife calling my name. I only remember gasping for breath and that it really hurt. We went immediately to the Emergency Room at Blount Memorial Hospital, where it was discovered that I had a pneumothorax, or collapsed lung.

Dr. Jerry Price, an ER doc that has been at BMH for many years, placed a chest tube in my side and wrapped me up for transport to UT Hospital. For pneumothorax patients, our ER has a protocol and an agreement to ship those patients, once stable, to UT, where a trauma team is better equipped to handle those issues.

I must mention the excellent care that I got at BMH (yes, I know they are my employer). Ryan, whose last name I forget, and Kimberly Stewart were my nurses and could not have been better. Compassionate and knowledgeable, I felt safe in their hands.

And Dr. Price—when he walked in the room, I knew I was going to be OK. I had a sneaking suspicion about what was wrong but didn’t know how bad it was. They put me to sleep and Ryan later told me of the “whoosh” when Dr. Price reinflated my lung. It was then time to move.

Becky and Eric from AMR transported me to UT Hospital where my first nurse Noah, and second nurse Josh, were understanding, competent, and efficient. Over the next few days, as I recovered, many other medical professionals took great care of me (well, there was this one medical resident that was not the best but he was the only one).

I have several points to make about this. Emergency rooms sometimes get a bad rap, but if you have a medical emergency, they know what they’re doing. If you’re sick or maybe have a medical issue that would best be taken care of by better health habits or your primary care physician, you might not have the best experience in an ER. They are always going to prioritize the patients that need them the most—the patients that might need them so as to not die.

So, if you’re sick but not a medical emergency, you might not like the wait you experience while they save someone’s life.

Nurses are essential, important, and your real connection to medical care. I had good doctors and I had good nurses and their teamwork is essential. I appreciate those nurses more than ever.

Hospitals that collaborate on care are doing the work that they are meant to do. I got exactly what I needed at the BMH Emergency Room. AMR did their job, just as they do every day. I got exactly what I needed out of UT Hospital.

I’m still sore but I’m back to work and I feel fine. It might take me a few weeks to get back on the bicycle but I WILL be back on the bicycle.

The bicycle didn’t do this. I did this. And with the help of excellent medical care, I will ride again. Not yet, but in time. I need to heal first. And I will probably wreck again sometime, but hopefully I won’t do the pneumothorax part. That wasn’t much fun.

Senior Athletes

I often address the young athlete here. The high school or younger person. Quite often, I will preach to the parents of those younger athletes.

But what about the old folks—those people that are still athletes yet burn a lot of birthday candles? What about them?

Caroline Haynes comes to mind. I’ve written about her before. Still an internationally competitive tennis player when most of those her age have long ago given it up.  She turned 85 this week. She looks 60 and plays like she’s 40.

Dr. Charlie Raper—still running. I have no idea how many miles he has run in his adult years. He turns 86 in August and is still running 5 days a week.

I knew a group of folks that were playing basketball 2-3 days a week, most in their 50’s. I’ve seen several senior citizens on local tennis courts. And then there’s pickleball.

Go by the courts at John Sevier and you’re likely to find a crowd. And it’s all ages. Someone a bit less mobile and a bit slower can compete at pickleball and have fun.

So, what does it take to play a sport when you leave your 20’s?

Basically, it’s the same things that allow you to be competitive in the first place. Strength. Agility. Flexibility. Endurance.

Before you go out and join an adult volleyball league or tackle a marathon, let me make one thing perfectly clear—you need medical clearance first.

If you don’t have a Primary Care Physician (PCP), then get one. Do not rely on the internet for medical advice. Let me repeat that: Do no rely on the internet for medical advice.

It’s OK to ask your PCP questions. Medical care should make sense to the consumer (you). If your PCP can’t explain the logic behind what they recommend for you, then maybe you should look elsewhere. But then do what they say.

The next step is to train for your sport. Sound familiar? You’ve got to spend the time in strength training. You need to make endurance activities that are not your sport a part of your regular exercise regimen.

Starting in our 30’s, we lose muscle mass at a rate of about ½% a year unless you do something about it. You work at a physical job? Doesn’t matter. You still need sport specific exercises.

You need to work on flexibility. Every. Single. Day. I’m a huge advocate of yoga but in a class, with a real yoga instructor. A video just won’t do it. Yoga will not only provide you with flexibility but will also teach you correct movement patterns and develop balance and agility.

As we age, balance and agility diminish. You’ve got to spend time every day to minimize the impact that your age imposes on you. It doesn’t have to be complicated. Talk to your physical therapist about that.

Just like all athletes, you need to eat well. The nutritional component to sports performance is huge. Ginormous. Garbage in, garbage out.

Sleep is huge. (And yes, I’m doing much better—sleep has never been one of my vices but I’m doing well now.) It is definitely more important to listen to your body as you get older. If your body is telling you to back off, you should listen. But if it’s your head doing the talking, you might ignore that. That could just be laziness speaking.

Train for it and there should be no reason why you can’t continue to participate in your sport of choice for a very long time. Just ask Caroline and Dr. Raper.

 

Danny's Song

I talked about time last week.  Our most precious commodity. You think you have plenty of it until you don’t.

Time ran out for a great friend of mine this week. A two plus year battle with cancer ended on Monday. Danny Smith was his name. He was a physical therapist and athletic trainer in Elizabethton.

The second best compliment I have ever had was being described once as the “Danny Smith of Maryville.” (The first is being told that I was a Don Story-kind of person by Jim Campbell.)

On Tuesday, friends from all across the country will converge on Elizabethton to celebrate our friend. We will love on the family but mostly will sit around and tell Danny stories.

Don’t worry—this is not about to turn dark and maudlin. That wouldn’t honor Danny at all. His smile would light up a room.  His laugh was huge and his stories were memorable. We will all laugh until our sides hurt when rehashing those memories.

It’s all about life and the pursuit of happiness. The life of the athlete and the pursuit of good health. What I write about most every week.

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that an athlete that loves their sport is going to be better at it. They will work harder, remain focused, and pour all they have into that sport.

In my long (really long) career, I’ve seen lots of little guys that loved football. Loved everything about it.

Five foot five and a buck and a quarter-there shouldn’t be a place for them on a sport that seems designed for big people—right? That didn’t matter. They loved the sport and so they stuck it out and got good at it. Some really good.

They told Mugsy Bogues he was too little for basketball at 5’6”. He didn’t listen. His NBA career is legendary.

Lesson #1: Follow your passions. Lesson #2: Don’t listen to the naysayers.

I’ve told you about my tennis playing grandson. Loves the game. Will always go out and hit. He loves it.

That is the life you have to live if you want to be good. When it stops being fun, when you lose the love, move on.

Just a couple of months ago, one of my best friends realized that he didn’t love the bicycle anymore. This is somebody that I’ve spent 10-15 hours a week biking with for 30 years. We’ve done the equivalent of crossing the country several times together.

But when he didn’t love it, he quit. Sold all his bikes. Isn’t even tempted anymore. Although I miss him, I respect his decision. Biking should be fun. When it’s not, do something else.

Didn’t make the team? Work harder. Something is standing in front of you and your dreams? Conquer that something. Somebody tell you you’re not good enough? Prove them wrong.

I’m not saying that any high school athlete can play for the Lady Vols or make it to the Olympics, but you can be the absolute best you that you can be. You can play. You can compete.

Love the process.  Love the practice. Love the preparation. Love doing the little things. One day you might even surprise yourself.

Where did the time go?

Time. Where does it go? When I was a teenager, it seemed like time stood still.

I can remember knowing how many days, hours, and minutes until I turned 16 and could get my driver’s license. Had a chart in my room. It seemed like it would never get here.

Back then, when I would go to bed at night, it seemed like it would take forever to get to sleep. At the factory where I worked in the summer during college, an 8 hour shift felt like 8 days.

When I got to UT-Memphis for physical therapy school, things started speeding up a bit. Classes, labs, work, being a newlywed, clinics, student government…there didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day.

Then…whoosh…it was over and I moved to Maryville with my pregnant wife, starting a new job in a new city. I’m certain that those 9 months of pregnancy slowed things down for my wife, but not for me. She was in labor for like a year (not really).

And then, blink, I’m old with grandchildren and a new knee and life is hurtling breakneck speed toward something else. Where did the time go?

Many times, I’ve heard coaches tell their freshmen athletes that before they looked around twice, they would be seniors and looking at their final year.

I’ve heard George Quarles many times tell senior football players to savor each moment, enjoy every game, that before they would know it, their season would be over.

When it’s hot and you’re tired and practice is hard, it’s quite difficult to understand that but it is true. I’ve heard senior class after senior class bemoan that their final season was almost over. “Where did it go?”

Maybe it played out with success and wins, but did you enjoy the process? Did you enjoy the pageantry and the competition? Did you enjoy your teammates? Did you even enjoy the practices, where your real effort lies, and the wins, where your effort was rewarded?

So here’s the thing—you don’t have time to waste. Take a day off from training? Is your competitor? You think you have plenty of time but you don’t. In football, you’ve got 10 games. Make the playoffs and a few more.

Other sports? Usually double that or more but still a finite number. You have only “X” number of games or events to play the game that you love, to be the player you dreamed you could be.

Your family is going on a vacation this summer? Great! You don’t have to stop training (and you shouldn’t). You can find a gym to work out in. You can run. You can do body weight exercises if stuck in a hotel room.

We took a volleyball into the Canadian wilderness one time and put a strap up for a net and played volleyball on the shores of a remote lake. We took a basketball to a Caribbean island and somehow found a game or two. You find a way.

You’re tired and want to take a day off from your workouts? If you’re getting enough sleep then it’s OK to back off on your workout, but don’t abandon it. Rest is essential but don’t make excuses.

Then maybe one day you’ll be standing on the podium or hoisting that trophy, and then it will all be worthwhile. All the blood, sweat, and tears. The hot August workouts and the stadium steps until you think your legs will never move again.

But if you’re not the champion, you will still be the best you that you can be. And you will have learned incredibly valuable lessons about what it takes to get there that you will hopefully go on and apply to life.

But whatever you do, don’t you quit!

Time to get out on the water!

It occurred to me that I’ve never talked about what a great place this is for watersports. For the most part, I’m not talking about motorized watersports but I do believe it’s a great place for that too.  We even used to own a couple of personal watercraft that were both a nuisance and a joy.

No, I’m talking about human powered vehicles. Canoes. Kayaks. Paddleboards. Even sailboats. We have everything. Or if we don’t, it’s not far away.

Have you ever rafted the Ocoee? We’ve been going down there for years. I think my son was 10 the first time he did it (there are rules against that now). He was a strong swimmer and a big boy and I had no doubt he could do it safely.

Last summer, I took my two oldest granddaughters on an Ocoee rafting trip. I wasn’t sure how they would do, but they loved it. I couldn’t get either of them to ride the bow of the boat through Hell Hole but they were immediately ready to go again.

The good folks at Adventures Unlimited and our barefoot guide took great care of us and now the rest of the grandchildren are chomping at the bit to get down there. The Ocoee is truly a world class whitewater stream but there is lesser but still worthy whitewater to be found closer by.

The upper reaches of the Little River, as you enter the park, have numerous short runs for the expert paddler. I guess I don’t count the tubers—you sit, you float, you get out.

On the Ocoee, you will see whitewater kayakers toying with rapids. It’s fun to watch them flip and cavort on waves that the rest of us hold our breath on as we safely glide by on rafts. You will also occasionally see a whitewater canoe.

Even closer to us, you can often find whitewater enthusiasts on the Tellico River. Shorter and choppier, folks tell me it can be a blast there.

A bit over an hour away is the Nantahala Outdoor Center, the center of whitewater in the southeast. They have it all. If you haven’t seen the now closed Olympic Whitewater Center on the upper Ocoee, you will find it interesting. It’s hard to imagine the throngs of crowds there in 1996 but it was quite a spectacle.

There are two main types of kayaks, whitewater and flatwater. Our nearby lakes are perfect for flatwater kayaking. A local group that calls themselves the Pungo Paddlers head to area lakes on a regular basis. I prefer my old Grumman canoe but my wife and I will join them from time to time. They don’t seem to mind.

Paddleboards look like surfboards but you stand up on them and paddle with a long handled paddle. A couple of my friends are into whitewater paddleboarding. It looks hard (and I suspect it is). They travel all over to find the best water, sharing many of those rapids with the kayaks. 

Again, our lakes around here are perfect for paddleboarding. My own paddleboarding is confined to the week our family spends at the beach each year. It is heavenly to get up well before everyone else, carry my paddleboard down to the ocean, and get in a couple of miles.

The ocean is quieter, the water is clearer, and the peace surmounts all the troubles in my world. I glide along almost silently which means that you get a great view of rays and turtles in the water below.

I’ve always thought I would enjoy sailing and when I see the occasional sailboat crossing the lake just about the Fort Loudoun Dam, I’m envious. My own sailing is confined to an infrequent bout with a Hobie Cat.

Whatever floats your boat, it’s about time to get out there. And if you don’t really care for all the motors on the lakes, keep looking—I bet you can find a bit of solitude just out your back door.

Parents as the Support System

I can be pretty critical of parents of athletes. I’ve seen the worst. I’ve seen kids quit sports they love because of their parents. These days, I’m witness to a whole new set of parents—tennis parents. That’s another story.

But I know that there are far more good parents than bad. I don’t talk about them enough. Parents that run a taxi service to get their kids to whatever practice or game they might have, then sit quietly, patiently.

Taking them places. Buying the equipment that they need. Cheering them on when they do well. Consoling them when they fail. Good parents are a support system to their kids.

You need to be there for everything--their concerts, their games, their recitals. What you don’t need to do is to coach them from the sidelines. Chances are, they’ve got a coach. 

That’s something that really bugs me. At times, it seems as though there are two kinds of parents: Those that coach from the sidelines and those that officiate from the sidelines.

I’ve talked about this before—officials make mistakes, all of them will admit that, but none go in with a bias against one team or another. They aren’t trying to help one team win or one team to lose. They may even be terrible at it, they may be inconsistent, but they aren’t favoring one team or another.

You’ve got to believe me on that one. I’ve seen more games and events in my career than just about anybody. The late great Galen Johnson and I used to compare notes about who might have seen more games.

Good parents are helping their kids with their homework, making sure they eat healthy food (plenty of vegetables and fruits), and get enough sleep. Support system.

Good parents pick their kids up when they fall and help them understand that winning a championship can never be the best thing they ever do. Support System.

That’s something that I’ve heard now departed coaches George Quarles and Gary Rankin say many, many times. With tons of championships between them, they’ve been there and done that. Got the t-shirt. But they never failed to tell their young charges to take those lessons, take what got them there, and turn them into a life.

It’s OK for your kids to celebrate winning a game. It feels great. It’s OK for you to celebrate with them.  But celebrate the effort too. Celebrate improvement. Even celebrate the participation.

I’ve got one grandchild who one day will figure out all this sports stuff. I think he’ll be good one day. But what’s most important right now is that he gets out there and moves. He participates. He pays attention. He’s part of a team. He celebrates the success of a teammate.

He probably won’t be a professional athlete (very, very few reach that point) but he will most definitely be a successful adult. A good man. That’s what he’s learning right now. That his team wins a game is important—it gives structure and meaning to the games. But right now, at this point in his life, all those other things are far more important.

Parents everywhere need to understand that. Somebody tells you that your 12 year old child is going to be a superstar one day? Hogwash! My volleyball playing daughter never touched a volleyball until she was 15 and she was good. Her sport sort of found her.

Remember too that we never stop being a support system to our children. My kids are 41 and 43 and I like to think that we’re still their support system. Not just a taxi service for my kids but there for whatever they might need.

Right now, my son Nick is running for Chancellor. The hard part is the job covers 5 counties, so his campaign goes from Grainger to Jefferson to Cocke and Sevier Counties. Plus Blount County. It’s daunting.

I’ve put a lot of things on hold to help him with his campaign. I’m not biking much, not hiking, not farming. I work and then help him. Because I’m his support system.

Because that’s what good parents do. And that’s what I aspire to be.