I used to be an avid follower of pro football. My Sundays were spent parked in front of the TV. Then I realized I already had too much disappointment in my life; I didn’t need to add continual frustration over the Detroit Lions inability to get their shit together. (Stay with me here. I have a metaphor about work).
Football is a tough, physical sport. But when I watched, I started grouping tackles into two different categories. I don’t know if they felt any different to the players (I suspect they did), but as an observer, I would have a very specific physical reaction to one kind.
First, there are the hits the player sees coming. Whether a quarterback trying to scramble away or a running back physically trying to plow through defenders, the player getting taken down knows exactly what is happening. They are prepared for the hit.
But then there are the wicked, unanticipated hits that seemed to come out of nowhere, sometimes from two (or more) defenders barreling down from different directions. These types of hits are often on a receiver mid-air, focusing entirely on making a clean catch.
A receiver who not only can’t see the hit coming, but could not in anyway prepare himself physically even if he did. He has to protect the ball. So the moment his feet near the ground, he is welcomed with the speed and force of impact.
As an observer, I could in some ways feel those second kind of hits on a visceral level. I could see what was about to happen and would brace my entire body as if I could somehow protect the receiver. (I am not the only football fan who somehow thinks their actions can influence the players).
And I’ve been thinking lately about how challenging some of my work is, our work is. And how many hits I’ve taken in my career. And how after each hit, it feels like I’m slower to get up.
And how those second type of hits, the ones I don’t expect or cannot prepare for, leave me dazed and blinking and literally sometimes lying on the floor trying to catch my breath. And sometimes I think to myself “maybe this is the last hit I can afford to take”.
And today dear friends, I don’t have a snarky or inspirational comment beyond that. Some days are best spent laying on that floor, catching your breath, and thinking not about getting back up but about how many more hits you can afford to take.
(originally a Twitter thread)
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