🎾 The Inner Game Of Tennis The Classic Cẩm Nang To The Tâm Lý Side Of Peak Performance¶
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The Inner Game Of Tennis The Classic Cẩm Nang To The Tâm Lý Side Of Peak Performance — tài liệu 133 trang từ thư viện sách tennis.
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Tóm tắt nội dung (trích từ tài liệu gốc): ALSO BY W. TIMOTHY GALLWEY The Inner Game of Golf Inner Skiing (with Robert Kriegel) Inner Tennis The Inner Game of Music (with Barry Green) The Inner Game of Work for my mother and father, who brought me to the Game, and for Maharaji, who showed me what Winning is What is the real game? It is a game in which the heart is entertained, the game in which you are entertained. It is the game you will win. MAHARAJI FOREWORD PETE CARROLL Head Football Coach, USC Trojans The 2005 National Championship game was a great stage for the University of Southern California Trojans. We had encountered many di
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Nội Dung Gốc (Tiếng Anh)¶
ALSO BY W. TIMOTHY GALLWEY
The Inner Game of Golf
Inner Skiing (with Robert Kriegel)
Inner Tennis
The Inner Game of Music (with Barry Green)
The Inner Game of Work
for my mother and father,
who brought me to the Game,
and for Maharaji,
who showed me what Winning is
What is the real game?
It is a game in which the heart is entertained, the game in which you are
entertained.
It is the game you will win.
MAHARAJI
FOREWORD
PETE CARROLL
Head Football Coach, USC Trojans
The 2005 National Championship game was a great stage for the
University of Southern California Trojans. We had encountered many
different challenges in the years leading up to this classic matchup.
Billed as the "Game of the Century," top-ranked USC and second-ranked
Oklahoma would compete in the nationally televised FedEx Orange Bowl
in front of a record-setting audience. What a night for players, coaches,
and fans to celebrate the game of football on the greatest stage in college
sports.
The game would be illustrated in a physical matchup of some of the
greatest college athletes in the country. Whereas the game and the field
would be highlighted by athletic prowess and memorable playmaking, a
much more subtle battle would be waged in the minds of those very
same players. The mental aspects contributing to this great physical
performance would be crucial to the eventual outcome.
Tim Gallwey has referred to these contributing mental factors as the
"Inner Game." These athletes must successfully deal with the mind as
they prepare to deliver top-flight performances. Coaches and athletes on
all levels are confronted with this mental aspect regarding performance.
They must clear their minds of all confusion and earn the ability to let
themselves play freely.
Introduced to The Inner Game of Tennis as a graduate student years
ago, I recognized the obvious benefits of Gallwey's teachings in regards
to performance in individual sports. As I grew more familiar with the
benefits of performing with a quieted mind. I started to cement the
principles of trust and focus as characteristics that could also benefit
teams.
The Inner Game is intrinsically connected to all facets of our program.
The confidence necessary for performing at a championship level over
long periods of time can only be developed on the practice field through
repetition. Disciplined practice enables our players to develop trust in
our coaching and in themselves. They also gain the confidence that
allows them the ability to focus, regardless of circumstances or
surroundings.
Whether we are preparing for an inter-squad scrimmage or the
National Championship Game, these principles lie at the foundation of
our program. Once you understand the principles of the Inner Game, you
will be able to quiet your mind, focus clearly, and truly play the game.
PREFACE
Z K ACH LEINMAN
Coach: Sports and Life
I have trusted Tim Gallwey--and the teachings of The Inner Game of
Tennis--since before we met. This trust started in 1974, when I read this
book that is in your hands right now. He confirms that the path I am on
is true, and that I could go deeper. And I do. "It's not about the tennis,"
he reminds me. "It's not about the win or the loss; if we're here to
experience, then we are free." I still like winning more than losing. And
after thirty years, he still shows me how to have faith and he has
knighted me an Inner Game instructor. Tim lives his work and, as my
mentor and a role model, he has entrusted me to see into and participate
with him as he continues to learn. I appreciate him especially for this:
He is a source of unconditional interest.
One day, he was even more right than usual. It was the last day of the
first Inner Game workshop for tennis teachers. Though I had assisted
him at an Inner Tennis clinic a few months earlier, during workshop
week I had my first "private" lesson (thirty people were watching) with
Tim. He suggested Authority. "Express authority. Become the author of
your own shot," he kindly requested. I found a presence within me who
was able to project a new and accessible vision into the shots.
Immediately my teaching and playing gained an added dimension, but
not just from the authority; it could be anything I pictured. I became the
writer, the creator of the next point, my life.
On Friday, December 10, 1976, at about 2:30 in the afternoon, Tim
Gallwey changed my life when he so intuitively suggested, "Zach, go
home. Go and teach, then come back for the next workshop."
"No way," I responded with newfound strength and surety. Then a
stronger instinct with me said, "I'm here. I'll help, assist, and learn."
Tim smiled.
I stayed. But what really made me stay? There's a magic I feel being
on the court, teaching and learning with Tim. His thoughtful, simple,
provocative approach inspires the best out of me as a teacher, player,
and person.
Since that life-altering moment of expressing a newfound authorship, I
trusted and continue to trust Tim's instincts. I am still in Los Angeles,
working with and expanding the Inner Game process through clinics--
group and private instruction on tennis courts and golf courses, and in
music and billiard halls. And I continue to learn and grow and practice
with Tim almost daily--on and off the court--expressing our inner and
outer games.
CONTENTS
FOREWORD by Pete Carroll,
Head Football Coach, USC Trojans
PREFACE by Zach Kleinman,
Coach: Sports and Life
INTRODUCTION
ONE Reflections on the Mental Side of Tennis
TWO The Discovery of the Two Selves
THREE Quieting Self 1
FOUR Trusting Self 2
FIVE Discovering Technique
SIX Changing Habits
SEVEN Concentration: Learning to Focus
EIGHT Games People Play on the Court
NINE The Meaning of Competition
TEN The Inner Game Off the Court
INTRODUCTION
Every game is composed of two parts, an outer game and an inner game.
The outer game is played against an external opponent to overcome
external obstacles, and to reach an external goal. Mastering this game is
the subject of many books offering instructions on how to swing a
racket, club or bat, and how to position arms, legs or torso to achieve
the best results. But for some reason most of us find these instructions
easier to remember than to execute.
It is the thesis of this book that neither mastery nor satisfaction can be
found in the playing of any game without giving some attention to the
relatively neglected skills of the inner game. This is the game that takes
place in the mind of the player, and it is played against such obstacles as
lapses in concentration, nervousness, self-doubt and self-condemnation.
In short, it is played to overcome all habits of mind which inhibit
excellence in performance.
We often wonder why we play so well one day and so poorly the next,
or why we clutch during competition, or blow easy shots. And why does
it take so long to break a bad habit and learn a new one? Victories in the
inner game may provide no additions to the trophy case, but they bring
valuable rewards which are more permanent and which can contribute
significantly to one's success, off the court as well as on.
The player of the inner game comes to value the art of relaxed
concentration above all other skills; he discovers a true basis for self-
confidence; and he learns that the secret to winning any game lies in not
trying too hard. He aims at the kind of spontaneous performance which
occurs only when the mind is calm and seems at one with the body,
which finds its own surprising ways to surpass its own limits again and
again. Moreover, while overcoming the common hang-ups of
competition, the player of the inner game uncovers a will to win which
unlocks all his energy and which is never discouraged by losing.
There is a far more natural and effective process for learning and
doing almost anything than most of us realize. It is similar to the process
we all used, but soon forgot, as we learned to walk and talk. It uses the
intuitive capabilities of the mind and both the right and left hemispheres
of the brain. This process doesn't have to be learned; we already know it.
All that is needed is to unlearn those habits which interfere with it and
then to just let it happen.
To uncover and explore the potential within the human body is the
quest of the Inner Game; in this book it will be explored through the
medium of tennis.
Reflections on the Mental Side of Tennis
THE PROBLEMS WHICH MOST PERPLEX TENNIS PLAYERS ARE NOT those dealing with the proper
way to swing a racket. Books and professionals giving this information
abound. Nor do most players complain excessively about physical
limitations. The most common complaint of sportsmen ringing down the
corridors of the ages is, "It's not that I don't know what to do, it's that I
don't do what I know!" Other common complaints that come constantly
to the attention of the tennis pro:
I play better in practice than during the match.
I know exactly what I'm doing wrong on my forehand, I just can't seem to break the
habit.
When I'm really trying hard to do the stroke the way it says to in the book, I flub
the shot every time. When I concentrate on one thing I'm supposed to be doing, I
forget something else.
Every time I get near match point against a good player, I get so nervous I lose my
concentration.
I'm my own worst enemy; I usually beat myself.
Most players of any sport run into these or similar difficulties frequently,
but it is not so easy to gain practical insight into how to deal with them.
The player is often left with such warmed-over aphorisms as "Well,
tennis is a very psychological game, and you have to develop the proper
mental attitudes" or "You have to be confident and possess the will to
win or else you'll always be a loser." But how can one "be confident" or
develop the "proper mental attitudes"? These questions are usually left
unanswered.
So there seems to be room for comment on the improvement of the
mental processes which translate technical information about how to hit
a ball into effective action. How to develop the inner skills, without
which high performance is impossible, is the subject of The Inner Game of
Tennis.
THE TYPICAL TENNIS LESSON
Imagine what goes on inside the head of an eager student taking a lesson
from an equally eager new tennis pro. Suppose that the student is a
middle-aged businessman bent on improving his position on the club
ladder. The pro is standing at the net with a large basket of balls, and
being a bit uncertain whether his student is considering him worth the
lesson fee, he is carefully evaluating every shot. "That's good, but you're
rolling your racket face over a little on your follow-through, Mr. Weil.
Now shift your weight onto your front foot as you step into the ball...
Now you're taking your racket back too late ... Your backswing should
be a little lower than on that last shot... That's it, much better." Before
long, Mr. Weil's mind is churning with six thoughts about what he
should be doing and sixteen thoughts about what he shouldn't be doing.
Improvement seems dubious and very complex, but both he and the pro
are impressed by the careful analysis of each stroke and the fee is gladly
paid upon receipt of the advice to "practice all this, and eventually you'll
see a big improvement."
I TOO ADMIT TO OVERTEACHING as a new pro, but one day when I was in a relaxed
mood, I began saying less and noticing more. To my surprise, errors that
I saw but didn't mention were correcting themselves without the student
ever knowing he had made them. How were the changes happening?
Though I found this interesting, it was a little hard on my ego, which
didn't quite see how it was going to get its due credit for the
improvements being made. It was an even greater blow when I realized
that sometimes my verbal instructions seemed to decrease the probability
of the desired correction occurring.
All teaching pros know what I'm talking about. They all have students
like one of mine named Dorothy. I would give Dorothy a gentle, low-
pressured instruction like, "Why don't you try lifting the follow-through
up from your waist to the level of your shoulder? The topspin will keep
the ball in the court." Sure enough, Dorothy would try hard to follow my
instructions. The muscles would tense around her mouth; her eyebrows
would set in a determined frown; the muscles in her forearm would
tighten, making fluidity impossible; and the follow-through would end
only a few inches higher. At this point, the stock response of the patient
pro is, "That's better, Dorothy, but relax, don't try so hard!" The advice
is good as far as it goes, but Dorothy does not understand how to "relax"
while also trying hard to hit the ball correctly.
Why should Dorothy--or you or I--experience an awkward tightening
when performing a desired action which is not physically difficult? What
happens inside the head between the time the instruction is given and
the swing is complete? The first glimmer of an answer to this key
question came to me at a moment of rare insight after a lesson with
Dorothy: "Whatever's going on in her head, it's too damn much! She's
trying so hard to swing the racket the way I told her that she can't focus
on the ball." Then and there, I promised myself I would cut down on the
quantity of verbal instructions.
My next lesson that day was with a beginner named Paul who had
never held a racket. I was determined to show him how to play using as
few instructions as possible; I'd try to keep his mind uncluttered and see
if it made a difference. So I started by telling Paul I was trying
something new: I was going to skip entirely my usual explanations to
beginning players about the proper grip, stroke and footwork for the
basic forehand. Instead, I was going to hit ten forehands myself, and I
wanted him to watch carefully, not thinking about what I was doing, but
simply trying to grasp a visual image of the forehand. He was to repeat
the image in his mind several times and then just let his body imitate.
After I had hit ten forehands, Paul imagined himself doing the same.
Then, as I put the racket into his hand, sliding it into the correct grip, he
said to me, "I noticed that the first thing you did was to move your feet."
I replied with a noncommittal grunt and asked him to let his body
imitate the forehand as well as it could. He dropped the ball, took a
perfect backswing, swung forward, racket level, and with natural fluidity
ended the swing at shoulder height, perfect for his first attempt! But
wait, his feet; they hadn't moved an inch from the perfect ready position
he had assumed before taking his racket back. They were nailed to the
court. I pointed to them, and Paul said, "Oh yeah, I forgot about them!"
The one element of the stroke Paul had tried to remember was the one
thing he didn't do! Everything else had been absorbed and reproduced
without a word being uttered or an instruction being given!
I was beginning to learn what all good pros and students of tennis
must learn: that images are better than words, showing better than
telling, too much instruction worse than none, and that trying often
produces negative results. One question perplexed me: What's wrong
with trying? What does it mean to try too hard?
PLAYING OUT OF YOUR MIND
Reflect on the state of mind of a player who is said to be "hot" or
"playing in the zone." Is he thinking about how he should hit each shot?
Is he thinking at all? Listen to the phrases commonly used to describe a
player at his best: "He's out of his mind"; "He's playing over his head";
"He's unconscious"; "He doesn't know what he's doing." The common
factor in each of these descriptions is that some part of the mind is not
so active. Athletes in most sports use similar phrases, and the best of
them know that their peak performance never comes when they're
thinking about it.
Clearly, to play unconsciously does not mean to play without
consciousness. That would be quite difficult! In fact, someone playing
"out of his mind" is more aware of the ball, the court and, when
necessary, his opponent. But he is not aware of giving himself a lot of
instructions, thinking about how to hit the ball, how to correct past
mistakes or how to repeat what he just did. He is conscious, but not
thinking, not over-trying. A player in this state knows where he wants the
ball to go, but he doesn't have to "try hard" to send it there. It just seems
to happen--and often with more accuracy than he could have hoped for.
The player seems to be immersed in a flow of action which requires his
energy, yet results in greater power and accuracy. The "hot streak"
usually continues until he starts thinking about it and tries to maintain
it; as soon as he attempts to exercise control, he loses it.
To test this theory is a simple matter, if you don't mind a little
underhanded gamesmanship. The next time your opponent is having a
hot streak, simply ask him as you switch courts, "Say, George, what are
you doing so differently that's making your forehand so good today?" If
he takes the bait--and 95 percent will--and begins to think about how
he's swinging, telling you how he's really meeting the ball out in front,
keeping his wrist firm and following through better, his streak invariably
will end. He will lose his timing and fluidity as he tries to repeat what he
has just told you he was doing so well.
But can one learn to play "out of his mind" on purpose? How can you
be consciously unconscious? It sounds like a contradiction in terms; yet
this state can be achieved. Perhaps a better way to describe the player
who is "unconscious" is by saying that his mind is so concentrated, so
focused, that it is still. It becomes one with what the body is doing, and
the unconscious or automatic functions are working without interference
from thoughts. The concentrated mind has no room for thinking how
well the body is doing, much less of the how-to's of the doing. When a
player is in this state, there is little to interfere with the full expression
of his potential to perform, learn and enjoy.
The ability to approach this state is the goal of the Inner Game. The
development of inner skills is required, but it is interesting to note that
if, while learning tennis, you begin to learn how to focus your attention
and how to trust in yourself, you have learned something far more
valuable than how to hit a forceful backhand. The backhand can be used
to advantage only on a tennis court, but the skill of mastering the art of
effortless concentration is invaluable in whatever you set your mind to.
The Discovery of the Two Selves
A MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH IN MY ATTEMPTS TO UNDERSTAND THE art of relaxed concentration
came when, while teaching, I again began to notice what was taking
place before my eyes. Listen to the way players talk to themselves on the
court: "Come on, Tom, meet the ball in front of you."
We're interested in what is happening inside the player's mind. Who is
telling whom what? Most players are talking to themselves on the court
all the time. "Get up for the ball." "Keep it to his backhand." "Keep your
eyes on the ball." "Bend your knees." The commands are endless. For
some, it's like hearing a tape recording of the last lesson playing inside
their head. Then, after the shot is made, another thought flashes through
the mind and might be expressed as follows: "You clumsy ox, your
grandmother could play better!" One day I asked myself an important
question--Who was talking to whom? Who was scolding and who being
scolded? "I'm talking to myself," say most people. But just who is this "I"
and who the "myself"?
Obviously, the "I" and the "myself" are separate entities or there
would be no conversation, so one could say that within each player there
are two "selves." One, the "I," seems to give instructions; the other,
"myself," seems to perform the action. Then "I" returns with an
evaluation of the action. For clarity let's call the "teller" Self 1 and the
"doer" Self 2.
Now we are ready for the first major postulate of the Inner Game:
within each player the kind of relationship that exists between Self 1 and
Self 2 is the prime factor in determining one's ability to translate his
knowledge of technique into effective action. In other words, the key to
better tennis--or better anything--lies in improving the relationship
between the conscious teller, Self 1, and the natural capabilities of Self
2.
THE TYPICAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN SELF 1 AND SELF 2
Imagine that instead of being parts of the same person, Self 1 (teller) and
Self 2 (doer) are two separate persons. How would you characterize their
relationship after witnessing the following conversation between them?
The player on the court is trying to make a stroke improvement. "Okay,
dammit, keep your stupid wrist firm," he orders. Then as ball after ball
comes over the net, Self 1 reminds Self 2, "Keep it firm. Keep it firm.
Keep it firm!" Monotonous? Think how Self 2 must feel! It seems as
though Self 1 thinks Self 2 doesn't hear well, or has a short memory, or
is stupid. The truth is, of course, that Self 2, which includes the
unconscious mind and nervous system, hears everything, never forgets
anything, and is anything but stupid. After hitting the ball firmly once, it
knows forever which muscles to contract to do it again. That's its nature.
And what's going on during the hit itself? If you look closely at the
face of the player, you will see that his cheek muscles are tightening and
his lips are pursed in effort and attempted concentration. But tightened
face muscles aren't required to hit the backhand, nor do they help
concentration. Who's initiating that effort? Self 1, of course. But why?
He's supposed to be the teller, not the doer, but it seems he doesn't
really trust Self 2 to do the job or else he wouldn't have to do all the
work himself. This is the nub of the problem: Self 1 does not trust Self 2,
even though it embodies all the potential you have developed up to that
moment and is far more competent to control the muscle system than
Self 1.
Back to our player. His muscles tense in over-effort, contact is made
with the ball, there is a slight flick of the wrist, and the ball hits the back
fence. "You bum, you'll never learn how to hit a backhand," Self 1
complains. By thinking too much and trying too hard, Self 1 has
produced tension and muscle conflict in the body. He is responsible for
the error, but he heaps the blame on Self 2 and then, by condemning it
further, undermines his own confidence in Self 2. As a result the stroke
grows worse and frustration builds.
"TRYING HARD": A QUESTIONABLE VIRTUE
Haven't we been told since childhood that we're never going to amount
to anything unless we try hard? So what does it mean when we observe
someone who is trying too hard? Is it best to try medium hard?
Equipped with the concept of the two selves, see if you can answer this
seeming paradox for yourself after reading the following illustration.
One day while I was wondering about these matters, a very cheery
and attractive housewife came to me for a lesson complaining that she
was about to give up the game of tennis. She was really very
discouraged because, as she said, "I'm really not well coordinated at all.
I want to get good enough that my husband will ask me to play mixed
doubles with him without making it sound like a family obligation."
When I asked her what the problem seemed to be, she said, "For one
thing, I can't hit the ball on the strings; most of the time I hit it on the
frame."
"Let's take a look," I said, reaching into my basket of balls. I hit her
ten waist-high forehands near enough so that she didn't have to move
for them. I was surprised that she hit eight out of ten balls either directly
on the frame or partly on the strings, partly on the frame. Yet her stroke
was good enough. I was puzzled. She hadn't been exaggerating her
problem. I wondered if it was her eyesight, but she assured me that her
eyes were perfect.
So I told Joan we'd try a few experiments. First I asked her to try very
hard to hit the ball on the center of the racket. I was guessing that this
might produce even worse results, which would prove my point about
trying too hard. But new theories don't always pan out; besides, it takes
a lot of talent to hit eight out of ten balls on the narrow frame of a
racket. This time, she managed to hit only six balls on the frame. Next, I
told her to try to hit the balls on the frame. This time she hit only four
on the frame and made good contact with six. She was a bit surprised,
but took the chance to give her Self 2 a knock, saying, "Oh, I can never
do anything I try to!" Actually, she was close to an important truth. It
was becoming clear that her way of trying wasn't helpful.
So before hitting the next set of balls, I asked Joan, "This time I want
you to focus your mind on the seams of the ball. Don't think about
---
[Cuối tài liệu]
decided to take my chances with the unknown. After all, isn't that what
they do in the movies? I walked forward for about ten steps and then,
without thinking, pivoted decisively and walked back the other way.
After three minutes, my ears were freezing and felt as if they were
about to chip off, so I started to run. But the cold drained my energy
quickly, and soon I had to slow again to a walk. This time I walked for
only two minutes before becoming too cold. Again I ran, but again grew
fatigued quickly. The periods of running began to grow shorter, as did
the periods of walking, and I soon realized what the outcome of these
decreasing cycles would be. I could see myself by the side of the road
covered with snow and frozen stiff. At that moment, what had first
appeared to be merely a difficult situation began to look as if it was
going to be my final situation. Awareness of the very possibility of death
slowed me to a stop.
After a minute of reflection, I found myself saying aloud, "Okay, if
now is the time, so be it. I'm ready." I really meant it. With that I
stopped thinking about it and began walking calmly down the road,
suddenly aware of the beauty of the night. I became absorbed in the
silence of the stars and in the loveliness of the dimly lit forms around
me; everything was beautiful. Then without thinking, I started running.
To my surprise I didn't stop for a full forty minutes, and then only
because I spotted a light burning in the window of a distant house.
Where had this energy come from that allowed me to run so far
without stopping? I hadn't felt frightened; I simply didn't get tired or
cold. As I relate this story now, it seems that saying "I accepted death" is
ambiguous. I didn't give up in the sense of quitting. In one sense I gave
up one kind of caring and was imbued with another. Apparently, letting
go of my grip on life released an energy that paradoxically made it
possible for me to run with utter abandon toward life.
"Abandon" is a good word to describe what happens to a tennis player
who feels he has nothing to lose. He stops caring about the outcome and
plays all out. It is a letting go of the concerns of Self 1 and letting in of
the natural concerns of a deeper and truer self. It is caring, yet not
caring; it is effort, but effortless at the same time.
THE GOAL OF THE INNER GAME
Now we come to an interesting point, and the last one. We have talked
about gaining more access to Self 2 and about getting out of our own
way so that we could perform and learn better in whatever outer games
we choose to play. Focus, trust, choice, nonjudgmental awareness were
all recommended as tools for this end. But one question has not been
raised. What does it mean to win the Inner Game?
A few years ago, I might have tried to answer this question. Now I
choose not to--even though I think it is the most important question.
Any attempt to define an answer to this question is an invitation to Self
1 to form a misconception. Self 1, in fact, has come a long way if it has
gotten to the point where it can admit, and mean it, that it doesn't know
and never will. Then the individual has more of a chance to feel the
need of his own being, to follow the inner thirst and to discover what is
truly satisfying. That my Self 2 will be the only one who knows--that
there will be no external credit or praise--is something I greet with
relief.
LOOKING FORWARD
Sometimes I am asked about my vision for the future of the inner game.
This game has been going on well before I was born and will go on well
after I die. It is not for me to have a vision for it; it has its own vision. I
feel fortunate enough to have the chance to witness and enjoy it.
Regarding the Inner Game with capital letters, i.e., the development
and applications of the methods and principles articulated in the Inner
Game books, I believe they will become more and more important
during the next century. I honestly believe that during the past few
hundred years, mankind has been so absorbed with overcoming external
challenges that the essential need to focus on inner challenges has been
neglected.
In sports, I would like to see teaching professionals of all sports
become equally competent in both domains--able to guide the
development of both the external and the inner skills of their students.
As they do so, a greater dignity will come to their profession as well as
to those who play sports.
I believe the areas of business, health, education and human
relationships will evolve in the understanding of human development
and the inner skills they require. We will become better learners and
more independent thinkers. In short, I believe we are still just at the
beginning of a profound and long-needed rebalancing process between
outer and inner. This is not me-ism. It is a process of self-discovery that
naturally makes its own contribution to the whole as we learn to make
the basic contribution to ourselves.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
W. TIMOTHY GALLWEY has produced a series of bestselling Inner Game books,
which set forth a new methodology for the development of personal and
professional excellence in a variety of fields. For the last twenty years
Gallwey has been introducing the Inner Game approach to corporations
looking for better ways to manage change. He lives in Agoura Hills,
California.
2008 Random House Trade Paperback Edition
Copyright � 1974, 1977 by W. Timothy Gallwey
Foreword copyright � 2008 by Pete Carroll
Preface copyright � 2008 by Zach Kleinman
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Random House Trade Paperbacks,
an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
RANDOM HOUSE TRADE PAPERBACKS and colophon are trademarks
of Random House, Inc.
Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Random House,
an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., in 1974.
Grateful acknowledgment is made to Harcourt Brace and Company and Faber and Faber Limited
for permission to reprint an excerpt from "The Hollow Men" in Collected Poems 1909�1962 by T.
S. Eliot. Copyright � 1936 by Harcourt Brace & Company. Copyright � 1964, 1963 by T. S.
Eliot. Rights throughout the world, excluding the United States, are controlled by Faber and
Faber Limited. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt Brace and Company and Faber and Faber
Limited.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gallwey, W. Timothy
The inner game of tennis/W. Timothy Gallwey.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-30775885-9
1. Tennis--Psychological aspects. I. Title
GV1002.9.P75G34 1997
796.342019--dc21 97�895
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