Finish
My first tennis coach suggested that we do 90-minute lessons, instead of an hour. He said it always takes at least 5 to 10 minutes to get warmed up, even if you’ve stretched and jogged and your body is ready to go. And, he said, people always quit early, so what we’re left with then is about an hour where we can really get things done.
Then I said, “Hmmm,” while in my head I was thinking, “Who are these people he trains?”
Quit early? Who does that? Stopping before the finish line was not a thing that I signed off on, was accustomed to, or would be doing when I trained. Nonetheless, I was ecstatic with his 90- minute proposition. (More is always better, right?!) I could not wait to dive in.
My coach was awesome, which meant I got better fast. He was clear with instructions, he was patient, he was challenging, he was creative. He was also right. About the quitting early stuff.
We all quit early. Almost always. We mostly just don’t know it when we do.
It clicked for me one day after I hit several balls into the net in the final minutes of an otherwise really good workout. I was flummoxed. It was as if another person had come in and grabbed my racket and started trying to play. Exasperated, I said out loud, “How does that even happen? Out of nowhere, suddenly I can’t hit a ball in the court.” To which my coach responded matter-of-factly, “You’ve gone on to other things.”
The casino bells and whistles started screaming in a grating, catastrophic way inside my head. Ugh. Not only had I quit early, I’d become a member of the status quo by doing so. In one fell swoop I’d gained membership into two clubs I never wanted to join.
My coach was so spot on it made my stomach hurt. My body was still swinging the racket, but my mind had moved on to my practice plan and recruiting calls, and the staff meeting I needed to outline. I hadn’t consciously gone there—I didn’t even realize I had left until he pointed it out--but this amazing autonomous machine in my head had jumped the gun and was already readying things. I was still on the court, but my mind was across the parking lot in the chair behind my desk tending to everything I had or wanted to do next.
This involuntary movement from the present moment to the next thing on the list happens everywhere all the time. How many basketball games have you watched get super sloppy in the final minutes of play? The in-game announcer at OU, as part of his identifying repertoire as the courtside voice of Oklahoma Basketball, used to make an announcement as our games wound to a close: “One minute remaining!” he’d say as the numbers on the clock picked up their pace. And it was almost as if it was a signal for all the players to go to recess. They’d reach on defense instead of moving their feet, and they’d start throwing the ball all over the gym. I couldn’t understand why suddenly everybody had forgotten how to play. I bet they wondered the same thing at the time.
Quit before it’s over? It’s a hard thing not to do.
Finishing doesn’t come naturally. Though it sure seems like it should. Finish your plate, our parents said. Finish your homework, our teachers said. Finish your swing, our coaches said. Getting to completion is something most people have to focus on and train themselves to, habitually, do. As a coach I would implore our athletes to run through the line, not to it. We didn’t want deceleration to happen until after the tape had been crossed. But that’s not human nature. Human nature says, “I’m almost there. What’s next! What’s next! What’s next!” Our minds are like runaway ponies chasing the carrot up ahead.
The motto for one of our high school state championship teams was “FINISH.” It still stands as my favorite season theme of all time. Just finish. It’s so cleanly apparent and concise. Whatever it is you start, we told our team, see it through. Cross the line at the end and THEN slow down or change horses or lay down and pretend you’re in a coma for a while if you want. But finish first. Finish the sprint, or the cut, or the drill, or the shot… and the play, and the game, and the season. Wrap things up once they are over, not in preparation for them to be.
Cross the line at the end and THEN slow down or change horses or lay down and pretend you’re in a coma for a while if you want. But finish first. Finish the sprint, or the cut, or the drill, or the shot… and the play, and the game, and the season.
We talked about that so much my guys took permanent markers and added “ed.” to their “Finish” t-shirts after we were done.
There’s nothing easy about it, finishing that is. But there are spoils for those who do.
Sherri Coale
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