The Pancake Mind Trials
The Pancake Mind Trials
By Grant Young
I’ve spent my whole life playing baseball, a sport where visualization is crucial for success. As a pitcher, I’d love to practice throwing off a mound each day hundreds of times over. But I can’t, because my arm would practically fall off. Pitching requires contorting the body and arm in such a way that calls for proper time to recover. So us pitchers must find a means to get as many repetitions as possible, without putting our bodies in harm’s way. How do we accomplish this? Visualization. But I’d tried this technique countless times throughout my career, yet still wasn’t sold on its potential value.
During my first three years at the University of San Francisco, our coach Mike Herman (a.k.a. Herm), would have all the pitchers lie on the ground before starting every practice, taking one minute to imagine what we’d accomplish that day. But instead, I’d usually let my mind wander aimlessly before Herm told us to get up because it was the last opportunity I’d have to not think about baseball for the next few hours. That was the extent of my participation. It wasn’t worth a single minute of my attention. And it remained that way for me until recently, during an everyday ritual of mine, when I finally experienced the pure power of visualization at work and the internal harmony it can bring.
***
Every morning, I make myself a pancake for breakfast. Just one very dense and preposterously large pancake, weighing anywhere from 14.4 to 14.6 ounces—as measured by the food scale used to calculate nutritional values of my every meal. Instead of the more conventional stack method, I opt for the solitary behemoth to ensure it’s still hot when settling in for the all-important inaugural bite.
The aesthetic satisfaction of my pancake nestling perfectly onto the one plate I use exclusively for breakfast—which stays hidden from my roommates to ensure pristine condition come morning—has shaped itself into a meaningful element of my day, even becoming a signifier of how it will unfold.
Pancakes must eventually be flipped. And for a pancake pushing one pound in weight, lopsided from where the two ounces of blueberries settled, the seemingly trivial act of flipping becomes anything but. This daily forearm exercise requires the services of two spatulas, a larger one gripped by my dominant left hand, serving as the primary lifter positioned under the pancake’s left flank. A smaller spatula is held by my right, which guides the vital flip to triumph. This whole process goes smoothly most of the time, culminating with a lovely golden-brown pancake ripe for its lengthy syrup shower.
But when it goes wrong, it really goes wrong. Spatulas in hand, I peered down at my half-cooked floury creation. The pancake looked wider than usual, occupying nearly the entire pan it lays within. In a brief lapse of faith in my flipping aptitude, I replayed past instances when I’d fumbled the flip, botched the wrist-flick with my usual precision, which resulted in a pancake hanging halfway off the pan, contents spilled onto the stovetop below.
I tried to shove that demoralizing visual out of my mind as I gathered myself in preparation, but the damage had already been done. I lifted the pancake, suddenly forgetting past successes of my mammoth pancake practice, and weakly committed to the flip, ending up with a pancake tucked under itself on the pan. The pancake beat me. Admittedly it had no effect on its resulting quality, but I’d failed. I’d succumbed to negative thinking, which then manifested itself in reality. I conceded defeat and continued with my day, eager for the inevitable rematch tomorrow.
The next morning, I woke up with the same intensity I’d have when preparing for a start against a conference rival. Only letting myself remember former victories flipping pancakes in the kitchen. Soon enough, the time for redemption arrived after envisioning numerous flawless flips. I stepped up to the stove with conviction and executed the flip to perfection. My pancake was marvelous. The ritual felt so easy, I wondered how just a day before, I’d screwed it up so royally. I looked at my glorious pancake with the same pride as when walking off the field, admiring a scoreboard I’d just filled up with zeroes.
***
I can still recall Coach Herm harping on me during struggles on the mound to return to past triumphs. Back then, I would’ve liked to tell him he was full of shit, and to teach me how to throw a better slider instead of wasting my time on honing my imagination. Years spent trying to connect what Coach preached about positive thinking manifesting itself on the pitching mound, for it to now click with spatulas in my hands instead of a glove—and looking at a glorious pancake instead of home plate.
Visualizing the execution of every pitch has become an integral part of my process while coming set to deliver. And when adversity strikes on the diamond, I now recall my pancake mind trials to remember that envisioning success can get me out of any sticky situation.
I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a waffle person.
Grant Young is currently in the MFA in Writing graduate program at the University of San Francisco, along with being a pitcher on the USF baseball team. When not at the field, he enjoys slowing his mind down with meditation and yoga, along with informing people about the various ways that society makes life hard on lefties. Grant has lived in the San Francisco Bay Area all his life, and this is his first publication credit. Follow him @GrvntYoung on Twitter and Instagram.
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