The inner game of ... toxic relationships
Reflections on Timothy Gallwey "The Inner Game of Tennis"
What was I thinking when I went to read this book? To be honest, I actually wanted to get closer to him, my Mr. Big.
Of course, It was the swan song of a toxic relationship, but like any great love that affects me, I'm glad I got inspired and adopted something from them to make it my own. When I met the big Croat, I was already an experienced runner, although I still lacked confidence. I didn't see myself as an athlete, still the memory of the many years of smoking I felt with every inhale / exhale while running. I felt heavy on every footstep on the asphalt. In my eyes I saw the fat drooling from the sides, from the stomach, liquidly moving in an uncontrollable chaotic movement.
Although I had already run several races and even half marathons, I was not satisfied with the results. In my mind I was that chubby anxious teenager hating the world. I thought once they’ll see me, “they” will automatically find out the truth about me. They will automatically know about binge eating nights of cookies and chocolate, they will find the empty wrappers I hid in my underwear drawer.
When I met the big Croat I was just a month before my first marathon. He told me about an occasional knee pain he has, so when we went for our first date to a 30km run, he stopped after 21. At the same time, he started learning to play tennis. A game for old people in the community center, I thought to myself. But hey, when I grow up, maybe I'll learn as well, why not?
As our relationship became more toxic, as his words drifted further away from his (lack of) actions, he got better at tennis and stopped running.
I continued to train, and finished my first marathon in 4 hours and 50 minutes. The next marathon, I ran in 4 hours and 17 minutes. And yet, I was not too happy with the results.
I didn't realize that over time I improved in the frequency of runs, distances and paces. All I saw were the faster runners passing me, those cute skinny girls wearing small tights and tiny bras.
The chubby anxious teenager hating the world would be sitting on a couch in my head, lighting up cigarettes one after the other, next to the overflowing ashtray, she has a plate of chocolate chip cookies and scolds me, "You're so bad! Slow and fat!'
In the competition with myself I argue with that chubby anxious critical teenager. In the competition with myself, I am at war with myself every morning to carry my heavy body to training. In the competition with myself, I get drunk walking by the bakery and smelling fresh pastry. I keep reminding myself that I'm not like everyone else, for me it doesn't end with "just one".
The competition with myself is related to how much I can hate myself for causing myself suffering so that I can later forgive myself, and maybe even love myself.
So as I come with good intentions to the big Croat, I bought him “The inner game of tennis”, By Timothy Gallwey. Reading that book changed my perception about this competition with oneself.
Gallwey presents another competition that I hadn't even thought of, and like everything in sports, it's an allegory for real life.
The competition with the self is the competition against the inner voice, whether it’s that chubby judgmental teenager, or that bestie cheering you up with a sign “you go girl!”
How many times have I hated myself for poor performance, lousy results in competitions, bad writing and so forth. But there were also some good moments, finishing a 10-kilometer run with a new personal record, arriving at training during a period pain, or resisting the temptation and not ordering that indulgent fresh pastry at the cafe.
According to Gallwey, these two voices are both judgmental. Yes, even the self-congratulatory voice, the cheering up bestie. This voice that gives a pat on the back, the voice that encourages and flatters, this voice is also judgmental. It is a voice that causes us to have high expectations, to compare our performance later on or even become arrogant, it’s a voice that will later disappoint ourselves and fall even lower points.
Instead, Gallwey suggests referring to actions from a far. To distance ourselves and have no opinion about them. Every action, deed, punch, is what it is. No better, no worse. Just an arbitrary number, The question I have to ask myself is how I can change this number, increase it or decrease it. But never get overly attached to it.
Once I don't attach a positive or negative meaning to this number I measured, whether it's running results or my waist measurement, I can release it, I can change it.
Gallwey portrays allowing oneself to learn naturally, to practice the actions, the movements, whether in sports, or in any area in life, as themselves, without thinking about their meaning as success or failure.
Every action is made for its own sake. Every practice is just a practice. It’s not successful nor is it a failure. It is essence.
And at some point, I lose awareness of the action, just like I brush my teeth every morning without thinking about it. That is when magic happens. The action becomes imperceptible, non-judgmental, action for the sake of action itself, it becomes intuitive, it is embedded within the identity of the doer.
And just like that, without me noticing, that fat judgmental teenager, I didn't beat her up, I didn’t fight her. Without doing anything active against her, she just evaporated from my mind.
Now I look at that toxic relationship from afar, without giving it good or bad value. I’m no longer judging myself for my actions, just see them as they are. I did what I did, he did what he did. Perhaps, the fat teenager in me prevented the big Croat from loving the cool athlete/writer I am today.
Perhaps I didn't see the fat sensitive boy hiding within him, under 2 meters of muscles and tattoos.
Guess we’ll never know.