I love Shark Week. Watching a 2½-ton fish breach the calm sea, forcefully impact its prey and get airborne is exhilarating and a little terrifying. Now, for the record, I’m no tough guy. Before tuning in to watch these vicious shark attacks, I make sure I’m properly wedged between two couch cushions, armed with the most ferocious four-legged land creature known to man—my forty-pound miniature golden retriever, who’s afraid of the mailman—and keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. You know, just to remind myself that I’m on land.
For whatever reason, my Shark Week Netflix binge usually occurs a week or two before a beach vacation. Don’t ask me why this always happens. Yes, I know, the stars didn’t suddenly align and force me to watch Shark Week. I made the conscious decision to press the play button. But for those of you who watch Shark Week, you know about its ability to suck you in like a tractor beam!
So, during my ocean vacation, my mind of course jumps to that poor little sea lion shark snack. Like any real man, I think, “You’re fine; you’ll never get attacked by a shark,” and swim out into the water another 10 feet before quickly turning around and hauling ass back to the beach for a burger and a beer.
Athletes typically have the same mentality when it comes to hamstring injuries. The “that would never happen to me” mentality works until the moment time slows down, you feel your muscle tear, and you know—like that poor little sea lion—it’s game over!