It's election day across the states, and while I have big thoughts and fee fees about that business, I ALSO really enjoy not thinking about any of it, and since I am the only person with login access to this blog (sorry to my international correspondents, or maybe not "sorry" as much as "you're welcome"), I've decided to write about something else.
That "something else" is something that Otter Guy (The Appalachian Gentleman) (Rob) said to me whilst at Choptober this year. We were...Oh I don't know...maybe eating waffles at the Sleep Inn? Or we were having Bloody Marys on Suday Morning at Choppers itself? Who knows. I don't remember where we were, but I remember what he said. And if that's not the beginning of a meme your aunt sends you near the holidays to guilt you into travelling, I don't know what is.
Anyway, here's what he said. Right here. Here's what he said, now. Here's what he said about getting better at axe throwing:
Getting better at axe throwing is creating more space between "the wheels coming off"
And that made my lil' Badger brain just sing with the excitement only language can bring. Let's break it down a little bit:
We all want to become better throwers. And a large part of that effort comes in the form of practice, or finding the "right" axe, or doing some weird shit with your feet and wrist like you're inventing a new kind of disco. And all of that is important - point in fact, it's essential (yes, even body modulation stuff) - but there's also, naturally, the brain stuff.
The brain stuff includes being able to keep yourself calm in unfamiliar situations (those tourney yips, is what I'm referring to). The brain stuff training yourself to not get so frustrated that you give up before even finishing a match - or getting yourself in such a grump you stop caring about your next match's outcome. The brain stuff is visualization, confidence, and an overall, positive attitude.
But there's a brain thing Otter Guy brought up I hadn't considered: instead of only seeing the effort to "throw better" as outright success, instead reframe it to this: did my successful throwing last longer this time? Did I do my very best before "the wheels came off", and was my very best longer-lasting than last time I threw?
We exist in meat sacks that are, in fact, unreliable.
Unless you're Big Time (an Adonis of function and form), your body gets tired. It is an imperfect meat machine with electronic messages zipping around all over the place. It's gonna mess up. It's gonna make you hold on to an axe for too long, or misjudge the angle of a throw. It's inevitable.
But rather than seeing said failure as a stopping point - or the end point of your success, view it as a measurement. Can you, through your practice and your mindset, make your next run of everything going good last a bit longer? Because if you can do that - if you can extend the space between your last goof and your next goof, you're going to absolutely do better overall. Hell, there's an argument to be made that the very best throwers in this sport have simply reached a level where the space between goofs (the SBG) is just a little bit longer than tourney length.
Like all things that are revelatory to me, there's a good chance you already had this thought in your brains - but it's new to me, so I'm excited about it.
What this means in practice (and in practice)
I think what draws me to this way of thinking is twofold. For first-fold, it redefines what failure means. Failure isn't a dropped axe or a missed bull/clutch - it's when the space between one "failure" and the next isn't as long as the last space-between-failures. For second-fold, it gives a bunch of opportunities for gradual, measurable, true achievements. I'm probably a long way off from getting a podium finish at any bigger tourney - but I'm well within reach of becoming more consistent and going a bit further before my wheels come off, you dig? It's a goal that, simply by being aware of it and "measuring" it (however that looks), I can determine if I'm progressing or stagnant. It makes growth feel a bit more real, all without that 900 pound axe of a podium finish hanging over my head.
I'd say give it a try, but it's almost entirely a mental exercise, so I don't know...like...think about it, I guess?
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