on disappointment

Losing is difficult, no matter how you look at it. And beyond the consolations of knowing that I put up a good fight, made her earn her win, used tools that weren’t necessarily my bread and butter, or should have had more points scored for me – a loss is still a loss and it's still incredibly disappointing.

I suppose I’ve known this all along, but in this tournament especially, it really hit home that the best person does not always win, and that the 4 best people will not necessarily receive medals. Beyond knowing that at the highest levels anyone has a chance to win on any given day, it’s also just a reality that the uncontrollable factors of bracketing and referee/judging bias exist. It was rather disheartening to see the number of talented people get eliminated in the first round, or less spectacular athletes get pushed through to the next round with help from the judges. The blatant cheating from Day 1 of awarding Turkey all 3 gold medals was just depressing, and reinforced what our coaches said from the beginning: that no one would be doing us any favors and we would be fighting uphill.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t wish the bracketing had been different. My half had not only the strong countries, but people who had been Jr, Collegiate, or World champions. It was almost ridiculous how stacked one side was compared to how empty the other was. Watching the semifinals from the other half was hard, as both Turkey and Belarus were downright awful. So bad that Liza told me I should probably stop watching. I wonder how many times I'll lose in the quarterfinals to the eventual champion and have to watch someone else take a medal on the other side.

I suppose in an ideal world where seeding was always accurate, there would be easier matches leading up to harder matches – but if put in the perspective of goals, and if the goal is to win a gold medal, then it really shouldn’t matter the order in which you fight whomever. Looking back on my last four years of competition, this is where my goals on the national level have shifted – from being satisfied to medal to wanting to be a champion. As I compete more internationally, I see that it is not so unrealistic to have the same goals in a bigger arena, even if I don’t have the medals to back it up. The China girl I fought was hands down the best in my division, but even with her I didn’t feel outclassed or defeated at any point.

My competition date marked the one year point of my move to New York and West Side. Through all the ups and downs (and to some extent because of them) in the past year, I can step back and see much growth, both technically and mentally. And though the results may not show it, I could feel the difference in the ways that I have changed. While I retained much of my cerebral nature that sees a match as a game of strategy and skill, I also feel that I’ve picked up some amount of sheer desire to win beyond calculated odds. So perhaps all of this hard work and pain and lots (and LOTS) of tears was good for something - but it still stings that despite the sacrifices, there is no tangible reward.

This was the hardest and longest I’ve consistently prepared for a tournament, and the most prepared I’ve ever felt. And even though I made some mistakes, I felt like I fought that match with everything that I had. Up until this point, most of my losses have been because I took myself out of matches by hesitating, doubting, or choking. Somehow it’s a different kind of disappointment in knowing that I may have given my best but that it just wasn’t enough to reach the goal...remembering that referees choosing not to push buttons negated the crucial point where the match could have turned around.

I spent the rest of that day replaying that match in my head and thinking that I could have been a world champion – but simultaneously facing the reality that I wasn’t even a medalist. For the first time, I understood that I have what it takes to belong at this level, and furthermore, that if circumstances are right and I’m on my game, I could very well win it all. Beyond a certain amount of skill, timing, speed, and other points of technical merit, it comes down to adaptability, instinct, the ability to focus and create opportunities, and luck.

I wonder what it will take to be able to put it all together when it counts. Whether my time will come, and whether all of these ‘learning experiences’ will amount to tangibly achieving my goals.

Or whether it'll just continue to be a series of 'almosts'.

strange rituals

Strange rituals - do you have any of them? Sabs, Jaac and I were at dinner last week and the subject of James's hat came up. He had this old Adidas cap that he wore every finals week or something and then he lost it and flipped out. (And by flipped out I mean...sank into a surly depression). He ended up getting a new hat and it was way better than the first (in my opinion) so it was all good in the end. But it does raise an interesting question...what rituals do we make for ourselves in preparation for an important event, and what value do these superstitions have?

I have a couple of pre-fight rituals, myself. M asked me once about them, she said that skaters will get neurotic about putting on one skate before the other. Before an important competition I like to wear my 'lucky pants'. Which are actually just R's pants that are really comfortable, that I borrowed once and accidentally took to a tournament because they look kind of like another pair of Adidas pants I have. And the I won. And I took them to the next tournament, and I won again. And for awhile I was on a streak, so they became lucky. I remember joking around with R once and he said that the magic would go from his legs to his pants to my legs and then I'd win. Back then he was really freaking good, so maybe a small part of me believed that I'd inherit some of that talent. But really the pants were also just something familiar, especially since I went to a lot of tournaments that year by myself and he helped me train a lot that year.

Pre-fight ritual #2 - Sr has to hit me on the head before I go into the ring. He started doing this in Greece last year at Collegiate Worlds, because I was so nervous. I think it stemmed from the fact that they always hit me on the head in practice to get my head back on straight. It's good as sort of a wake-up, kind of like how I used to have to kick E 3 times really hard in the hogu before she would fight. I think he kind of gets a kick out of how I'll go into a ring and then run back for him to hit me, but...that just sorta sums up our relationship I suppose. Tough love, abusive with a purpose. But yeah, can't fight without it.

Pre-fight ritual #3 - have get a pep talk from Jr the night before a competition. I asked him if he was going to give me one in Turkey, and he said of course...even though it won't be any different than any other pep talk. I suppose he's right, they're all sort of the same...but there's something about the act of talking, if even for just a few minutes, that is reassuring. For how much he tries not to baby me and give in to me about everything else, I really value that he goes out of his way to accomodate my dependency on these pep talks, frequently international and across time zones.

Obviously these things don't make an actual difference in circumstances or ability - it's not like wearing the hat necessarily made James smarter (or not wearing it made him dumber) or wearing the pants makes my legs faster or stronger. But it seems that in the end, it's about putting yourself in the right mindset - and if these self-made rituals happen to do that, then they have some value. At least for me, I think these things come down to small acts that remind me that I'm supported...and in the end I think that's what anyone needs going into a challenge.