Stop Optimizing. Start Adapting.

My son's tennis coach made an offhand observation recently that I haven't been able to shake. When my son first started lessons, he'd show up each week with a different random racket, whatever he grabbed from the rack, apparently. The coach noticed that he adapted to each one seamlessly. No drama, no excuses, just figured it out and played.

He's since settled into one main racket. Good for him. But that observation lodged itself in my brain because it put a name to something I've been quietly observing every time I scroll through my social media feed.

Optimization.

The messaging is everywhere: use the best, be the best. Best nutrition protocols, best equipment, best sleep hygiene, best recovery schedule, best arm care – best whatever. And while those things might give you a slight edge at the margins, I'm here to tell you we are putting the wrong emPHASIS on the wrong syLLABLE.

Adaptability is the name of the game.

My Equipment Résumé

I'll be honest about where I came from, probably to the frustration of more than a few teammates' parents: I borrowed their bats. New bats weren't in my family's budget. I played at least one year in high school with a glove we bought off the rack at Academy, and not a nice one, a $25 youth baseball glove. I carried my gear in a cheap soccer bag (I never even played soccer): glove stuffed inside my helmet, cleats crammed into the water bottle pockets on the sides, bat slung over my shoulder like I was moving into a freight train.

I wore men's high-top football cleats because my feet were too big and wide for girls' softball cleats.

I was recruited by multiple Big 12 and SEC programs.

The gear didn't get me recruited. My talent did.

The Tournaments I Remember Most

Some of my favorite memories are from tournaments where rain delays pushed our games past midnight, and then we had to wake up and play again. Nobody was hydrated. Nobody was fueling optimally. Nobody focused on their sleep hygiene. We were running on concession stand food and Subway sandwiches between games.

I honestly don't believe that nutrition optimization or premium equipment, at that age, would have made the difference between where I was and what I could have become.

What did make the difference was the people. The coaches and teammates I surrounded myself with were some of the best in the area. We shared the same mentality and the same goals. Our coaches didn't have the most high-tech setup, but they made sure we were never stagnant; always learning, always being challenged. And let's be honest: it wasn't the drills themselves that got us where we ended up. It was the belief our coaches had in us, the unrelenting standards they held us to, and their deep respect for the game.

That was the optimization that mattered.

When "Control the Controllables" Goes Too Far

What I'm hearing from social media, and from the athletes I work with on and off the field, is a deep preoccupation with control. We've taken "control the controllables" and stretched it into something it was never meant to be. It's morphed from “control how you show up and perform” into “micromanage every single aspect of your existence” with the promise of success waiting at the end of the checklist.

If someone is selling you an outcome, pause. Ask questions. Dig deeper.

The focus needs to shift from control and perfection to adaptability. Yes, routines are genuinely helpful. Yes, it'd be nice to use high-tech equipment. But what if your bus gets stuck behind a train and you're late for warm-ups? What if you forget your bat and have to borrow someone else's?

When you give your power away to routines and equipment, you've already lost. Your ability isn't stored in your gear bag. It lives in your preparation, your resilience, your adaptability, your focus, and your actual talent.

The Part Nobody Wanted to Talk About

My first two years in college were a struggle. My freshman year, I played in every game, and it wasn't pretty. It shook my confidence to the core. My sophomore year, things got worse, and I found myself on the bench. I did not handle that gracefully.

And rather than my coaches and support staff helping me work through what was actually happening – identity loss, fear of failure, role confusion, deep disappointment – they defaulted to the optimization playbook: lose weight, get faster, get stronger, practice harder, perform better.

So, I did. I checked every single box. And I still sat on the bench that year.

Because sometimes the struggle isn't physical. Sometimes it's mental. And optimizing the physical doesn't automatically translate into optimizing performance, because there's another component we don't talk about nearly enough – the mental side, the human side.

You Are More Than Your Supplements, Routines, and Equipment

I hate to break it to you, and those influencers taking your money definitely don't want to admit it, but there's no shortcut, no life hack, and no single thing that's going to deliver the results you or your athlete are chasing.

What will? A combination of things that aren't nearly as glamorous to sell:

Commitment and what that actually looks like will be different for everyone (more on that in a future article).

Defining success on your own terms, rather than borrowing someone else's metrics.

A strong sense of self that exists outside your sport and your position, because the athlete who knows who they are beyond the box score is the one who bounces back when things go sideways.

Owning your talents without crossing into arrogance. Be confident enough to trust yourself and coachable enough to keep growing.

An intentional offseason, or the willingness to play another sport. Your mind and body need a genuine reset, not just a lighter training week.

And maybe most importantly: having fun. Enjoying the actual act of playing these games.

None of those fit neatly into a supplement stack or a gear upgrade. But they're what separates the athletes who last from the ones who burn out chasing a version of perfect that was never really available for purchase.

My son will probably settle into his one racket and love it. That's fine. But I hope he never forgets the weeks he picked up whatever was available and figured it out anyway.

That's the skill I want him to keep.