Beyond the Game: The Transformative Power of Sports Practice

The Paradox of Practice

The relationship between hours of practice and ability creates a paradox. An athlete may practice very specific skills that have a specific effect on their ability to execute those skills. What often goes unnoticed, however, is how the effects of practice often have much broader impacts. Playing a sport involves the discipline of practice, learning to tolerate the stress of competition, and interacting with teammates, coaches, and opponents. Practicing a sport can often lead to general skills that transfer into how we work, interact with others, and persevere in light of the obstacles that we might face.

An article in Frontiers in Psychology asked whether sports skills transfer over to oncology health management. On the surface, this seems like a very odd pairing. However, the authors of this article make a convincing parallel between an athlete and a cancer patient. Both require a supportive environment and a coach/doctor who can listen to the individual. Athletes and patients are in vulnerable situations in which they must use tools to overcome adversity. Both also benefit from getting information in all different forms. This could include videos, written material, and group discussions with experts or those going through the same experience.

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The transfer from athlete to patient was a clear reality for a friend of mine, Carl Poston, who was diagnosed first with prostate cancer and then later with lymphoma. He used the lessons he learned on the tennis court and in life to help him persevere through intense treatment.

From the Inner Side to the Outer Side of the Court

Carl was already in his 50s when I met him in 2007. He had played in college and had faced McEnroe and Connors among other great players. Playing tennis against him was very difficult. Even playing at my absolute best, I could only stay with him for so long. Eventually, he would prevail, and there were times when it was not that close. Carl also seemed to have much larger chunks than I did. To him, tennis was like a chess game, and he could read his opponent, the environmental conditions, and his own state much better than I could. Every time I changed something, he would adapt. Playing him gave me a glimpse into what it must be like to play high-level tennis.

After college, Carl realized that a professional career in tennis was not the best use of his talents. He had studied math and decided to go to law school. He then applied what he had learned along the way to a new career path. He became a sports agent. He has represented a number of notable players both in the NFL and the NBA.

The years of experience both on and off the court added up. Every so often he would get a call on the phone from a client. When I heard him speaking, I could see that the players did not just see him as an agent, they saw him as an advisor. In our own conversations, I could see that as well. One time, I asked him why women think so differently from men. He told me women ask themselves the same question. The way we, as men, act is also strange from their perspective.

In tennis, he was an expert at reading people’s games. I had seen him, at times, play other people completely differently than he played me. When I asked him why he did not play that way against me, he would tell me that it would not work. In life, he had learned to see other people’s perspectives, a skill he had developed and used in his tennis matches. The chunks he had developed as a tennis player morphed and changed into life-skill chunks. Once again, life, like tennis, depends on your perspective.

Lessons in Perseverance in the Face of Adversity

There was another unusual aspect to playing Carl. Sometimes he showed up but was much less than 100 percent. In 2016, he had a car accident and suffered a concussion. His tennis level dropped, and, yet, he kept playing. I could see that he was not able to concentrate as well and that his former level of staying ahead of me was no longer possible. Other times, he might have had a slight injury or had a particularly grueling night and had not slept much. Carl would show up to play anyway and try his best. His thinking was that he had to see what he could do when he was not at his best.

After lymphoma treatment, Carl continued to play tennis even though he reported not being able to feel his hands or feet very well. I honestly could not notice it. All those years of playing were still inside of him, and he had learned to compensate for his weaknesses. Once again, Carl was still doing what he could with what he had. It was a lesson that I took to heart when thinking about my own game and my own life.

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The story of Carl, like the story of all humans, is one of emergence. As I am a cognitive psychologist and interested in hours of practice, we could focus just on the number of hours he played. We could measure the speed or consistency of a particular shot. And we would find that the number of hours he spent practicing was related to his skill in this particular shot. However, the effects of practice go beyond just a single skill. In the case of Carl, they mushroomed beyond his tennis game. Playing tennis became integrated into the many facets of his life. These skills helped him as a lawyer representing athletes, his own family life, and later in his battle with cancer. At some point, all of these skills got absorbed into a much greater whole that became so much more than the sum of his parts.