Muscle Memory

Nov 13 2015

The secret was

not to think too much

or think at all.

Not of broken bolts, frayed rope.

Of a flayed body,

rag-dolling down

the face of rock.

Not of the rapture

of a man-sized speck,

the rarefied beauty

of thinning air.

And never of death;

because the moment was all.

I remember the ball-player

who lost his mojo, throwing to first

when the arm got in his head.

Gravity, friction

the arc of the ball,

the point of release

the perfect toss.

The inscrutable art

of the emptied mind.

The things you can

and can't control.

Finger-tips jammed

in a seam of rock.

The point of release

where the bolt let go.

I was reading a short article (by Nathaniel Rich, in the Nov 2015 Atlantic) about the world's most famous free-climber, Alex Honnold. (The occasion was his new auto-biography, Alone on the Wall.) He is an elite extreme athlete, solo-climbing without ropes. His accomplishments are astounding; his lack of fear, even more so. There was a lot about focus and risk-taking. I briefly wondered if he might have a disorder of his amygdala: that he is neurologically wired for fearlessness. But I thought even more about his ability not to think: "non-thinking", as the piece put it. Because I over-think too much, and could use some of this enviable skill in everyday life.

I also thought about "the yips". And in particular, a former major league all-star 2nd baseman (with the Twins and Yankees) named Chuck Knoblach, who later in his career developed a horrible case of the yips: he could not make the simple throw to first. He started to think too much, and the muscle memory that enabled his arm to mindlessly execute perfect throws was lost.

So there is much to be said for not over-thinking things. And also for not worrying about the things you can't control. You can't think about the release point of the ball. You can't worry about a broken bolt. Because if you do either, you'll soon find you can't go on.