One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned about myself came from a badminton match 1 or 2 years ago. The Badminton Club I used to train at was hosting an intramural tournament and, being one of the stronger players in the club, I was able to advance to the finals.
In the finals I played against a left-handed player. In general, left-handed players are uncommon and thus tricky to play with as their racket hand is opposite of most players. On top of that, he was quick and aggressive, a playstyle I can’t handle very well. Before the match started, I warmed up with him by hitting the shuttlecock with him back and forth. During the warm-up, all I could think about was, can I really beat him? I can try, but I don’t think I can.
I felt butterflies in my stomach, and my whole body was weak and tense. When the warm-up period concluded, I did a few more practice air-swings and got my legs ready by practicing my footwork around the court as final preparations to get ready for the match.
The match was close from the first serve, with the score going back and forth. He was fast but he made a lot of mistakes, allowing the score to stay even. The score continued to stay even, but each time I tried to gain momentum to build a lead, he would win a few points of his own.
Usually, the nervousness would go away after a while into the match. However, in this match I felt my body continue to tense up and stay tense throughout its duration. This hindered my ability to strategize on how to win against my opponent, causing me to only retrieve the shuttlecock, which is not the way to win a match.
After many long-fought rallies, the score was tied at 18-18. I only needed three more points to win the match, so I tried to focus up and win the next three points, but my mind and body had other plans. In three quick rallies, my opponent took me down and won 21-18.
What a shame to lose the match. At least I did the best that I could, I thought as I shook my opponent’s hand and walked off the court. Following the awards ceremony, my dad took me out to eat lunch. On the way there, he did what he usually did after every single one of my matches: point out what I did wrong.
At one point, he asked me, “do you think you did your best in that match? Did you display all your skills and abilities in that match?” To which I would answer “yes.”
My dad, however, thought differently. “I was very surprised that you lost that match. I thought that you would win. Even many of your friends thought so as well.” I was baffled at that, but more so when he asked, “did you think you had the chance to win?”
“No, I didn’t think so. I think he’s better than me,” I replied.
“There’s the problem. How do you win a match when you don’t have the inner belief you can win?”
That was a big wake-up call. Up to that point, I hadn’t realized how much my mental strength was affecting my game. That conversation taught me a very important lesson: I had to believe in myself in order to perform to the best of my abilities, no matter what I was doing. This match taught me the importance of mental strength and how much I lacked in that department.
In the finals I played against a left-handed player. In general, left-handed players are uncommon and thus tricky to play with as their racket hand is opposite of most players. On top of that, he was quick and aggressive, a playstyle I can’t handle very well. Before the match started, I warmed up with him by hitting the shuttlecock with him back and forth. During the warm-up, all I could think about was, can I really beat him? I can try, but I don’t think I can.
I felt butterflies in my stomach, and my whole body was weak and tense. When the warm-up period concluded, I did a few more practice air-swings and got my legs ready by practicing my footwork around the court as final preparations to get ready for the match.
The match was close from the first serve, with the score going back and forth. He was fast but he made a lot of mistakes, allowing the score to stay even. The score continued to stay even, but each time I tried to gain momentum to build a lead, he would win a few points of his own.
Usually, the nervousness would go away after a while into the match. However, in this match I felt my body continue to tense up and stay tense throughout its duration. This hindered my ability to strategize on how to win against my opponent, causing me to only retrieve the shuttlecock, which is not the way to win a match.
After many long-fought rallies, the score was tied at 18-18. I only needed three more points to win the match, so I tried to focus up and win the next three points, but my mind and body had other plans. In three quick rallies, my opponent took me down and won 21-18.
What a shame to lose the match. At least I did the best that I could, I thought as I shook my opponent’s hand and walked off the court. Following the awards ceremony, my dad took me out to eat lunch. On the way there, he did what he usually did after every single one of my matches: point out what I did wrong.
At one point, he asked me, “do you think you did your best in that match? Did you display all your skills and abilities in that match?” To which I would answer “yes.”
My dad, however, thought differently. “I was very surprised that you lost that match. I thought that you would win. Even many of your friends thought so as well.” I was baffled at that, but more so when he asked, “did you think you had the chance to win?”
“No, I didn’t think so. I think he’s better than me,” I replied.
“There’s the problem. How do you win a match when you don’t have the inner belief you can win?”
That was a big wake-up call. Up to that point, I hadn’t realized how much my mental strength was affecting my game. That conversation taught me a very important lesson: I had to believe in myself in order to perform to the best of my abilities, no matter what I was doing. This match taught me the importance of mental strength and how much I lacked in that department.
