I woke up this morning and seriously contemplated calling in sick. I was just going to pick up the phone, use my direly ill voice to get me out of work and spend the day in bed. The plan sounded so appealing as I looked into the bathroom mirror after my morning pit stop. My body felt as if it had been beaten in my sleep and the culprit taped my eyes open while they slapped me around.
I've been in prep mode for the last week. It starts one month prior to competition--early wakeups, cardio workouts, practice and on course prep work before the day tapers down with a hard anaerobic workout and stretching. Then I move onto my golf psych mental preparation. It is a complete and hearty day, but on this particular morning, the previous day had left me feeling lame.
I sat plunked down on the couch and nestled into the cushions. The tv was turned onto the only english station my antenna picks up: strange online messages were flashing across the screen as American songs played in the background. If I took a sick day and spent the day resting I would be fresh for tomorrow I thought. "Tomorrow, yeah, I'll make it happen tomorrow. I'll be twice as productive."
It was almost 9am. I had overslept and already disrupted my daily prep routine. Even if I wanted to get everything started now, I would be working into the night before sleep and then my sleep cycle would be thrown off. I'd be twice as tired tomorrow if I decided to start my day now. I started to flip through dvds.
I looked across the room to my Asian Tour Q-School Prep Plan (I have a large white board where I write the next days schedule every night). I looked back to my dvds and began to wonder whether I should start my day off with The Weather Man, seeing how it was monsoon season? It seemed appropriote for a sick day.
Sometimes, inspiration comes from unlikely sources. When I saw Charles Howell III in Singapore, he had an entourage at lunch with him-- a group of people that likely included friends, coaches, maybe his agent-- his possie. These are the kind of people who are around for moral support, intellectual challenge and to inspire confidence. They are what Napolean Hill would call "The Mastermind Alliance (TMA)." My TMA consists of various people I know genuinely love me. This morning I only had one member of my TMA with me.
All 5'11'' of her stood over me as I justified to her why it was alright for me to spend the day on the couch watching Nick Cage and Michael Caine in The Weather Man. She is usually a person who supports the decisions I make without any quarrel. She responded with, "I'm sure that is what your opponents are doing. They are waiting until tomorrow to get ready to beat you. Today, they're all taking the day off and watching movies too." She walked away.
She cant understand I thought, aggrivated. I need my rest. My body is tired, it'll be ready to kick some ass tomorrow. I almost felt satistfied. I nearly convinced myself until I had a delayed reaction to her rationale. I invisioned an opponent, another pro. He was on the driving range, grinding away. Hitting ball after ball crisply today and he was thinking about beating me. Usually my inspiration comes from the idea of beating the golf course. Hitting it close to the hole, away from the challenges and adversity that the course has planned for the other golfers. Today, that image, that challenge, didn't appeal to my motivation. But this image was so powerful that it immedietly got me to my feet and out the door.
Inspiration comes in various ways, from different sources. Even the monotony of preparation or office work needs to be kept fresh. Sometimes all it takes it a slight tweak of perspective from an unlikely source to provide that reignition of passion.