The last decade of my career has been dedicated to working with injured athletes, several of whom compete at the highest levels of performance. From seven years with Navy SEALs to now working with NFL athletes, I have been exceptionally grateful to work with some of the most incredible humans. Beyond the physical prowess and human-defying capabilities, these individuals are also regarded, at least by most accounts, as what we would consider to be the consummate definitions for “tough” or “relentless”.
Consider for a moment the unmistakable magnitude of investment for these individuals- the sacrifice, the sheer volume of time and effort, the risk, and the unrelenting pursuit commanded of them. Trying to imagine yourself having accumulated decades of tireless work, defying the imposing odds of attrition prevalent in each respective field, only to have your world unraveled in an instant because of an injury. Success is fleeting in both the Special Operations and professional athlete realms, and the separation between career advancement and career ending is razor thin.
Beneath the Surface
Pain and injuries can be devastating for us all, and there is very much a relativity with injury occurrence. But beyond compromising us physically, injuries also eviscerate us mentally and emotionally. In both Special Operations and professional athletics, the individual’s identity is often inextricably woven into their professional careers. When these individuals are unable to play or perform due to injury it can spark a crisis in identity, and sometimes value.
There is a constant, omnipresent instability that belies the worlds of pro athletes and Special Operations. A single injury, much less an accumulation of such injuries, can be the severance from the only world they’ve every truly loved or even known. In addition to the pressure of getting back, being ripped from the environment of the team (“the brotherhood”) is arguably the most challenging aspect for most of these individuals. The internal sense of letting others down or not fulfilling their responsibilities becomes a crippling reality to cope with.
While it’s much easier to observe mechanical impairments or physical deficits following injuries, being able to detect what’s beneath the surface is arguably just as critical of a factor for success. And for all intents and purposes athletes don’t make it easy on us to get close enough to understand this side of them. But it’s our job, to the best of our ability, to allow them the space and environment to be transparent, and see the intangible sides of injury as just as much of a restoration project as the physical component.
Human First, Athlete Second
“Umm… I’m actually not sure how to answer that, I’ve never had someone ask me what my goals are.”
A foundational heuristic I’ve modeled my coaching around is to treat the human first and the athlete second. As it applies here, the excerpt above was an answer that I got from a tenured, high-level Operator a few years back. The question I had asked him was, simply, “what do you want to get out of this program, what are your goals?” His response was as shocking to me as apparently my question was to him. How could someone at this level of service, with this extensive medical history, never at any point be asked what his goals were?! It was astonishing to me that someone would be in such a position. But this was an encounter I would never forget.
With pain and injuries, it’s very easy for us to be consumed by the diagnostics and prospective outcomes needing to be met. It’s easy to fall into the trappings of automating our procedures and finding ourselves fixated on outcome measures or proverbial “timelines”. But no matter the population or setting we work within, we cannot grow calloused to the human aspect of what we do. Although the objective component is obviously a necessity, the medical chart does not tell us remotely about who the individual is or how the injuries may be affecting them. Not to mention, everything else that may be going on in their world that we cannot gather from a medical chart or surface level conversation.
For this reason, my point of initial contact with any athlete I work with is to always take designated time to understand “who they are” prior to determining “what they need.” Human first, athlete second.
Athlete (Perspective) Reframing
When athletes sustain significant injury there is an initial shock and overwhelming reality that crashes down on them. “How long will I be out? What if I’m never able to return? I don’t know who I am without my sport/ability…” There is an immediate sense of control being completely revoked from them, and this can quickly fester into a crisis complex. What feels insurmountable to them is our responsibility to reframe, not telling them, but showing them that this is an avenue; there is hope.
When internal belief collapses a large part of our vitality shatters with it. At the end of the day for us all, it is belief that pushes us towards the prosperity of whatever we aspire for on the other side of our present reality. An underlying but fundamental aptitude of coaching, injury restoration or otherwise, is formulating a belief structure through evidence of action. What we do from a tangible and prescriptive standpoint is a part of this process, but again, does not provide a complete solution. We need to remodel the athlete’s perspective- of what’s possible, of progress, of belief, through this medium of training and restoration.
You’re Not Broken, You’re Building
No human is immune to pain and injury, not even the “superhumans”. While these individuals are fundamentally capable of enduring the most unfathomable physical demands and tasks, we cannot be misguided by the perception of their resilience. Despite an uncanny ability to mask or overcome effects from pain and injury, we must recognize that beneath the surface there is still an unfurling of uncertainty and unfamiliarity that can manifest as a fragmented identity.
Suffering in silence is an unfortunate but common ‘strategy’ these individuals are often conditioned into. Acknowledgement of pain or injury is the equivalency of showing weakness, and in these worlds, weakness is preyed upon. But we have the opportunity to amend this. Allow them to struggle, allow them to be vulnerable. It’s ok that this is hard, but you’re not broken, you’re building, and these are just the steps to getting back. Reinforce that what they do is not who they are, and what they’ve felt is lost can be regained. What feels insurmountable as a whole can appear manageable in pieces, our job is to breakdown and define those pieces.
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