I don't recall any of my coaches telling us to sit still and visualize our routines. But I did read it one hundred times over in my various gymnastics books/biographies. The power of mental imagery! All of the testimonials: "I was injured and visualized my routines so much that when I returned to the gym, I didn't lose a thing."
Truth be told, I always struggled a bit with visualization. I switched in and out of being in my own head to watching myself. While still being in my head. If you know what I mean. A flip from internal view to external, like a camera following the action. Either way, visualization certainly never hurt any of my performances and it was a convenient way to zone out in school/the car/boring conversations.
"Everyone sit down and close your eyes," I tell the older girls.
"I don't want people watching me while I have my eyes closed!" Jamie says, and throws herself face down on the mat.
Okay.
"You're going to visualize your beam routine, and I'm going to time you. When you're done, open your eyes and look at me. Don't say anything. Don't move around."
The goal: to visualize the routine in real time.
Not surprisingly, there are suppressed giggles and full-out laughter in the first few tries. But then they quiet. Some eyes open after thirty seconds, others after 1:30, but most are on time.
"Where were you when you did your routine?" I ask Jamie.
"Uh. Here."
"What time of day was it?"
"It was sunny," she says, looking confused.
"I was at the World Championships," Kelsey throws in. "Everyone was cheering for me."
I explain that the more detailed the images are, the more engaged they are in the mental experience. (Or maybe it's just the writer in me.) I say that we can be physically prepared but we also need to train our minds. That this is a tool they can practice outside of the gym. Nod nod nod.
Will it help? Who knows. Will it hurt? At least I know that it won't.
 |
| Get yo concentration on. |
Truth be told, I always struggled a bit with visualization. I switched in and out of being in my own head to watching myself. While still being in my head. If you know what I mean. A flip from internal view to external, like a camera following the action. Either way, visualization certainly never hurt any of my performances and it was a convenient way to zone out in school/the car/boring conversations.
"Everyone sit down and close your eyes," I tell the older girls.
"I don't want people watching me while I have my eyes closed!" Jamie says, and throws herself face down on the mat.
Okay.
"You're going to visualize your beam routine, and I'm going to time you. When you're done, open your eyes and look at me. Don't say anything. Don't move around."
The goal: to visualize the routine in real time.
Not surprisingly, there are suppressed giggles and full-out laughter in the first few tries. But then they quiet. Some eyes open after thirty seconds, others after 1:30, but most are on time.
"Where were you when you did your routine?" I ask Jamie.
"Uh. Here."
"What time of day was it?"
"It was sunny," she says, looking confused.
"I was at the World Championships," Kelsey throws in. "Everyone was cheering for me."
I explain that the more detailed the images are, the more engaged they are in the mental experience. (Or maybe it's just the writer in me.) I say that we can be physically prepared but we also need to train our minds. That this is a tool they can practice outside of the gym. Nod nod nod.
Will it help? Who knows. Will it hurt? At least I know that it won't.
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