Injury

I injured my arm at the Bay State Games on July 15, 2023. I don’t remember the exact moment or mechanism of the injury—there was no noticeable discomfort when I went home that day. All I knew was that the next morning, there was a dull pain in the back of my right armpit, with sharp stabs whenever I tried to exert force. Because my summer schedule involved training four to five days a week, five hours a day, I taped the area and dragged on for three weeks before finally going to the campus health center, where I was definitively diagnosed with a global rotator cuff strain.

In truth, I know exactly why it happened. I wanted badly to perform well in that tournament—partly because placing in the top three of any division would qualify me for the finals in California, and partly because, after technical adjustments made with my coach, I was eager to test them in competition. Clearly, I was overly tense. The soreness and stiffness in my wrist forced me to rely as much as possible on my upper arm to drive my shots. In that process, the rotator cuff was overused and insufficiently relaxed, leading to injury. This was the only time I have ever been injured due to improper technique, and I hope it will be the last.

Training while injured is deeply frustrating. It isn’t just that only some drills are available to me; it’s also that I am constantly hoping for a miracle (will it be healed and pain-free tomorrow?). While my coach checks in on my progress with particular frequency, making me feel as though too many expectations are being placed on me (which often leads to disappointment). As a result, training itself becomes hard to sustain calmly. I am always afraid that some movement will involve power I shouldn’t be using and worsen the injury, and so many exploratory opportunities are wasted. For most of the summer, I could only play block-and-drive shots (no clears, drops, or smashes of any kind) and work on defense. The feeling of being unable to control the rhythm of the match through speed and offense was genuinely maddening.

The most frightening thing about injury is returning to play under load before full recovery. Because of this, I suffered a reinjury at the Dave Freeman Open in San Diego in late August. I shouldn’t have gone. When I signed up in early July, I booked the flights and hotel at the same time, thinking that once the itinerary was set, it would be hard to change—so I didn’t cancel. In reality, by then the injury only appeared pain-free at rest; muscle strength had not returned to its original level. Under high-intensity competition, I forced myself to execute a series of high-power strokes and instantly regressed to square one. One of the on-site medical staff, a practitioner skilled in acupuncture, treated me immediately with electrically stimulated dry-needling, relieving much of the muscle tension without charging me. I was grateful to him. Still, I knew then that this cycle of rehabilitation would have to continue for a long time—likely longer and more agonizing than the first.

I was fortunate that, at the start of the fall semester, the campus health center referred me to a local physical therapy clinic to address the issue. Before this, the only example I had heard of involving physical therapy was the Taiwanese player Chou Tien-chen: he has no coach but his physical therapist, often nicknamed his “nanny”, who travelled with him. Back home, regardless of whether the injury is major or minor, the mainstream recovery approach is simply rest. My previous thigh strain—the worst injury I had suffered before—healed after two weeks of rest. But rest only alleviates pain; it does not restore muscular strength. Frankly, this is a flaw in the Chinese sports rehabilitation system, and it causes many injured athletes to experience significant declines in competitive form. I worked with my physical therapist for two and a half months—possibly shorter had I not been training so frequently—and through near gym-like strengthening of small muscle groups, I completed rehabilitation while maintaining muscle strength. It then took another month to fully eradicate the pain. At last, I could smash again.

Coach Pashupati is right; sports injuries are much like dieases: they weaken the body. And certainly they also try to weaken the will. Many times I thought the intermittent pain had finally left me and that my body was recovering; yet once I returned to training and began using my arm, I would realize it was still there. Pushing beyond the appropriate intensity would bring the pain back. Disappointment itself is not discouraging; but being repeatedly given hope only to have it taken away is the ultimate test of willpower—it is learned helplessness. Those who survive this helplessness and trial are reborn with an obsidian-like vitality. Psychology calls this resilience.

The injury did not leave me empty-handed. At the very least, I learned how to control the shuttle with my wrist. I was forced to. Every time I tried to generate power with my upper arm, my body would warn me, “it hurts!”, so I had no choice but to maximize wrist strength as compensation, while developing different shot variations through wrist rotation. I also learned to think tactically. Coach Pashupati’s training already had built-in tactical intentions; but with my upper arm injured, fast movement and hitting became difficult, so I had to think ahead, placing the shuttle where my next shot would be comfortable and continuous. This was trading mental effort for physical effort. I also learned how to wait. I want to keep playing for the rest of my life, so I stopped demanding short-term results within a few months. “To nurture one’s strength and bide one’s time (以逸待劳)” became the theme of those months.

This piece was written exactly five months after the first injury. I don’t know whether it will return in the future, but I hope it has already gone for good.