The Win Within: Capturing Your Victorious Spirit

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Introduction

GROWING UP AS A THREE-SPORT ATHLETE, playing lacrosse in college, and coaching at Johns Hopkins, all I know is sports. Today, as a sports doctor and an orthopedic surgeon, I repair broken bones, torn cartilage, dislocated shoulders—you know, the things that snap, crunch, shatter, and pop.

My professional life has been devoted to the care of, and research and development of innovative strategies for, athletes at all ages and levels of sport—young and old, recreational and professional, Olympic and collegiate. Some I fix so they can return to play in a World Cup and professional sports; some so they can keep up their Sunday hike in the canyons.

After thousands and thousands of cases, I’ve seen severe injury, immense struggle, dramatic recovery, and the incredible spirit of victory that propels my patients through it all. It’s become clear to me that anything can happen to anyone at any time—injury, illness, adversity can sneak up on us without warning, and even when we do expect them. They’re often even harder than we anticipated, and yet, I’ve also seen many people boldly take on the journey through adversity. I’ve seen elite athletes accomplish almost unthinkable recoveries, and I’ve seen my non-professional athletes find their own inner victories that are, for them, just as life changing.

People often ask me about the behind-the-scenes mechanics of my work with elite athletes. They want to know the mysterious process that motivates the extraordinary among us. How do they reach such high levels of performance? And how do they go from a devastating injury to return-to-play? How do they stick it out when they suffer a setback that would put others out of the arena for good? The short version is this: They marshal their inner victorious spirit—a resource that is inside all of us—to push through setbacks and perform at peak levels, physically and mentally. They capitalize on the genetic legacy of survival and perseverance that’s part of our collective history, using their biological drive not just to survive, but also to thrive. They recognize that being a victor is most about the taking part in the sport of life, about enjoying the journey, the highs and the lows, without worrying about the destination.

For years, I’d been quietly observing these principles in action through my work as a sports physician, but it wasn’t until I got an out-of-the-blue request that I started thinking about how to coherently express what the victorious spirit is and how we can nurture it in ourselves. It was a typical Tuesday afternoon in January just a few years ago, when my cell phone rang. It was a busy day at the clinic, as usual, but I had a moment between patients, so I answered.

Hello, said the voice on the other end of the line, this is Erik Bitterbaum, the president of the State University of New York at Cortland. He then asked whether I was sitting down. A sinking feeling came over me. I felt like a nightmare was unfolding. I walked into the next room and immediately sat down, bracing myself for bad news. What had happened? What was the problem? My heart raced as I listened intently to his words: Congratulations, Dr. Mandelbaum. You’ve been selected to receive an Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters and give a graduation speech in May.

I took a long breath, sighing with gratitude. In that one micro-moment, my plethora of negative emotions had been transformed into a wave of relief and gratefulness at the honor the university saw fit to give me. I hastily thanked him and told him I’d be happy to give the graduation speech. As the phone call ended with a smile, I slowly placed the phone on my desk, gazed out the window, and realized that I already knew what my address would be about: the spirit of victory I saw in the athletes I worked with, and how the same spirit can enrich the life of anyone.

Standing before that crowd of young, optimistic faces, I laid out my ideas: how we’re all bred for success, how we all have an inner athlete, and how there are actions we can take to strengthen our victorious spirit. These themes apparently resonated with the graduates, the parents, and faculty—the energy was palpable, with each phase ending in a thunderous applause. That speech, and the reaction to it, sparked the urge in me to flesh out these concepts fully—into the book you now hold in your hands.

My intent within these pages is to show you what I’ve observed, in the trenches and in the training room, about the victorious spirit that drives elite athletes to attain physical and mental greatness. I want to show you that the tools they use aren’t mysterious and that their practices are doable by everybody. You’ll read about how David Beckham rapidly recovered from a torn Achilles tendon prior to back-to-back LA Galaxy championships. You will see how the underdog US Men’s Soccer Team used optimism as a tool in the run-up to Landon Donovan’s ninety-first minute goal to get to the second round of the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. You’ll witness the inspiring journeys of Olympic athletes Tim Daggett and Cliff Meidl, both of whom refused to give up when devastating physical setbacks threatened to take them out of the sports they loved.

You might be thinking, Well, I’m not David Beckham or Tim Daggett. Of course you’re not. Neither am I. They’re inimitable. But, we all have much to learn from their stories, even if you have no professional athletic goals of any sort. Experience has taught me that we’re all athletes—even the most ordinary among us—and that we’re all navigating through the life of sports and the sport of life, connected to ancient imprints hardwired in us a long time ago. We run all kinds of races, literally and metaphorically. Sometimes at full sprint, sometimes sluggish, and every now and then, limping. We each engage in a personal journey of success, defeat, recovery, and growth, where purpose is more about the process than the result.

Many of you are faced with financial burdens, professional setbacks, health issues, family problems, and a variety of other diverse challenges that often arrive unexpectedly. These problems, sometimes shocking in nature, can in many ways put an end to your plans and goals, and cause you to lose your will and your focus on survival. How does a person react when they are diagnosed with cancer? How does a person find the will to run when they have lost both their legs? Where does a person find the confidence to compete in Olympic-level competitions against athletes half their age? These types of questions were asked of many of the individuals in this book, and we’ll see how they answered: in short, they found the win within.

The principles in this book apply holistically to your life, because that win within—your victorious spirit—has less to do with your physical body and much more to do with what’s inside, including those unmistakable genes. So no matter your size, health status, age, gender, or interest in organized sports, you can use the tools of elite athletes to discover and enhance your own inner victor.

One of my patients, an award-winning television producer with several hit shows, struggled with weight issues from childhood. It impacted her health, joints, and gait. I fixed an orthopedic problem, and set a course for rehab. I also took the opportunity to talk to her about overall well-being. I mentioned that she might not know it, but she’s intrinsically hardwired to be an athlete. I told her that she’d already mastered how to channel the forces of will and determination, as seen in other parts of her life, and that it’s a matter of adapting what she already has to this kind of project: herself! She started with small accomplishments, walks and hikes, and in time progressed to running. Now, she’s fallen in love with it, never having believed that she could be a fifty-plus woman, jogging up and down hills, showing up as her best self.

My patient learned what I learned and what you can learn: The most common triage responses elite athletes employ to get back on track soon after injury are not mysterious and do not involve superpowers. They’re simple, commonsense responses to reset focus, problem solve, and face challenges.

I know these principles work because I’ve seen them in play firsthand—not just in my patients but also in myself.

Snowbird, Utah. It’s been a great day of skiing. When I’m done, I stop to watch my youngest daughter, Ava, on the bunny hill. I’m watching her laughing and I’m so happy and focused that I don’t see the out-of-control snowboarder racing in my direction. Whack! I’m struck from the side, just in my blind spot. I fly forward and land with a terrible thud on the cold snow.

I’m motionless. A burning, numbing sensation radiates down my left side. In the minutes it takes for patrol to get to me, I slip into default surgeon-mode. So this is what an L5 disc injury feels like, I think. I can already tell that my disc has gone out—avulsed is the medical term—and is obstructing my nerve root. I’m in shock, but I’m also cognizant of three other very important things:

I’m not okay.

I can’t get up and I can’t walk.

Surgery is inevitable.

Mostly, I’m aware that in a split second my life as I know it has changed. I’m just praying the damage isn’t irreparable. For a lifelong jock like myself, someone who relies on his daily run for energy and inspiration, this would be devastating.

Once my family finds me and sees that I’m badly injured, I’m taken straight to the hospital. One week later, I have surgery on my back, and in two more days I’m released from the hospital and home recovering. The operation went well—or as well as could be expected. I’m still going to be out of commission for quite some time. One morning shortly after my release, I’m sprawled out on the chaise in the backyard, the dogs at my feet. My wife is at work, the kids at school. I’m forced to rest—not my strong suit. I’m in a funk. Impatient.

The irony is not lost on me. I have been on the other side, thousands of times. The cheerleader. The holder of the vision. The in-charge, you-can-do-it, and this-is-how doctor. I admit it: I’m not liking the view from this side. I’m not liking this total loss of control. At all.

Later that day, my surgeon—who’s also a friend—calls with updates. I ask him the same question I’m asked routinely: When can I run again?

Silence.

You can’t.

It wasn’t You can’t for now. It wasn’t You can’t, but.… It was just You can’t. Period.

My daily run is critical to everything I do. I live a somewhat Spartan life. My work requires long hours on my feet, a fast pace, and the job is physically demanding. Running is intrinsic to my resilience, fortitude, and emotional balance. But mostly, I’m like all runners and weekend jocks—it’s my thing. I look forward to it. It’s the endorphins, the rush, my Rocky moment when I reach the top of the neighborhood hill and stretch my arms to the sky.

You can’t.

My Rocky moment starts unwinding before my eyes. In slow motion, step by step, backwards. Down, down, down all the summits I’d achieved, down the steps of my life, down my mountain, until it’s just me at the bottom, staring at the impossible climb.

It’s not just the disappointment that I can’t run anymore, but I’m a type-A guy, the hard-charger archetype. My mandate is I can! I push myself to the limits, too much, even. I’m not ready for this—not me, not yet. It doesn’t even feel like me. Deep down, I know the only constant is change, but this change is tough to swallow.

You would think that with all I’ve seen and all I know, this would be easy.

No. It’s not. In fact, it’s horrible. I know intellectually what it takes to recover from something like this—I’ve seen elite athletes do it many times. But I can’t find a way to connect that to my current reality. I’m pissed. My spirit is shut down. My confidence is wrecked.

This much I know—I need to get moving, regardless of how crappy I feel on all levels. I know that’s the first step, and I make it, after great effort. I struggle to the door and pick up the cane. I limp carefully and very slowly down the small steps. The dogs are wagging their tails and run out ahead of me.

And?

Well, like most life-altering epiphanies, mine happens unexpectedly.

At first, I limp very slowly, up the block and back, on a flat surface. I’m a little bit impressed with myself because I know I’m walking pretty well, considering the level of injury and the usual timeline of recovery. I have to laugh that I’m surprised. This is rehab boot camp. I know this. I tell my patients all the time the importance of developing daily exercise habits in the best of times, as they’ll serve you well in the worst of times. It’s true and I’m elated. Just being able to do that short walk, even with the expectations adjusted for where I am, is an accomplishment. One doable goal set and met. I’m inspired. I’m progressing.

My spirit gets back in the game. My momentum is recharged. I have that magic that I see in athletes as they perform at the top of their game and overcome their physical challenges: the victorious spirit.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I add more goals and accomplishments—longer walks, then hikes, and swimming. I finally feel ready to get on my bike and I do—and I’m great for a long time.

Then one day, I’m again reminded of what I mentioned earlier—that anything can happen at any time. I’m happily tooling down the surface streets in town on my bike, when out of nowhere a car hits me. The driver didn’t see me; I didn’t see him. Once I get back up and assess the damage, I see that I was banged and bruised, requiring rest, but that nothing was broken or reinjured. Yet it rattles my confidence. A month earlier I’d never been hit, and now suddenly it’s like I’m a moving target. There I am, back on the chaise, with the dogs at my feet. I’m feeling beyond vulnerable. Like I’ve lost my mojo. Or worse—like I’ve lost my sense of who I am.

But after a couple of days of rest, my spirit resurfaces. I’m reminded of what I tell my patients: Stay the course, and when an obstacle comes up, respond with ‘What now?’ rather than ‘What if?’ Restrategize and readjust. A few days later I’m ready to reverse the backslide. I turn this way, I’m okay, turn that way, I’m okay. How do I feel? I feel good. Am I confident? Check. It’s my own calculated leap of faith and I return to action. I go out to the garage, strap on the helmet, snap on the back brace, and force myself back into battle and onto the bike.

Our town is known for the 5- and 10-K races it holds every Fourth of July. That summer after the injury, when my wife and kids were putting on their running shoes, and out the door by 7:00 a.m., I was suiting up with them. But instead of running, I reset my head to another goal, bypassing the temptation to focus on what I couldn’t participate in, and instead strapping on my helmet and riding to the top of the mountain.

There is nothing to prevent you from attaining feelings of greatness, mastering the awe of your peers, or shivering with pleasure from the mighty sensation of good health. All this comes when you uncover your inner athlete and capture the victorious spirit that’s already inside you. Every one of us can be a victor, no matter what position we’re starting from or where we end up. All it takes is struggle and forward movement—a