3. SHYNESS & CONFIDENCE
Shy: 1: easily frightened : timid 2: disposed to avoid a person or thing 3: hesitant in committing oneself : circumspect 4: sensitively diffident or retiring
Confidence: 1 a: a feeling or consciousness of one's powers or of reliance on one's circumstances b: faith or belief that one will act in a right, proper, or effective way 2: the quality or state of being certain : certitude - Merriam-Webster Online
I grew up in a family of strong-willed women and confident men. I didn't fit in...I was far from being self-confident. To say that I was painfully shy is probably the biggest understatement ever made, anywhere. I did have one big virtue...I was persistent. I'd stick to things until I mastered them, if they interested me. But that virtue didn't make up at all for social awkwardness caused by having to speak in public. There were exceptions...I managed to sing solos in youth choirs. I never had a problem responding to authority, so responding to teachers' questions was never a problem. But the shyness did make it difficult to make friends. And for a long time to me it seemed that friends weren't permanent. My father worked for Burroughs Wellcome, in the sales force. Burroughs Wellcome was a pharmaceutical company (now part of the large pharmaceutical conglomerate Glaxo Smith-Kline). Every promotion he had came contingent on moving to a new place...starting from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, going to Paramus, New Jersey and then on to Green Hills, Ohio (suburb of Cincinnati), continuing on to Villa Park, Illinois (suburb of Chicago), and finally to La Habra, CA (suburb of Los Angeles). I lived in Milwaukee until I was five, and no stop along the way was more than three years until we ended up in La Habra. Continually being taken away from the friends who were so hard for me to develop was painful. My brothers, Mike and Scott, were very different than I, being very outgoing and extroverted in contrast to my very shy and introverted ways. Most of my relatives used to say "Marc doesn't say much, but he doesn't get a chance to put a word in edgewise between Scott and Mike." Probably very true, but I wouldn't have put a word in any way.
As I proceeded through school, I gained more confidence...in certain areas. I was confident in my abilities to learn English, mathematics, science, history, etc. I was confident in what abilities I had in sports. Interpersonal stuff was still lagging way behind. If anyone wanted to tongue-tie me there was only one requirement: if they were female and from my age peer group, I was lost, struggling to get even a word out.
It took until high school before I realized that I was "smart." That realization came my junior year when one of my friends, Reed H., told me "You are the smartest person I know." That surprised and shocked me. I gave him names of several other very bright students, but he countered, "They all have certain weaknesses...you seem to be good at everything." But truth be told, I wasn't that good at everything, I was persistent, single-minded in learning how to do things. I suppose the best example of that would be Mrs. Rosalie D.'s pre-college math course my senior year (essentially trigonometry, limits, polar coordinates, and three-dimensional geometry) where I excelled at the homework portion of the grade. I'd try a dozen or more different approaches for a trigonometric proof...usually finding a way (though not always). But I eventually became confident in my abilities. My father actually helped in this, being a definite thrifty Yankee. He taught my brothers and I carpentry, how to lay concrete, how to lay tile, how to do plumbing, and how to work on household electric systems. He seemed to live by the old Yankee motto, "Fix it up, use it up, wear it out!" I now realize that his abilities allowed our family a little higher standard of living than you'd have thought. An example of his repair skills still exists in my current office...the old Toastmaster toaster my parents received as a wedding gift. I remember at least four times my father disassembling it to splice together a broken heating element. The toaster still works perfectly. Probably the only area I grew more competent in than he, was in the area of electronics. I had a better feel for electronic devices and working on things in a small scale. My younger brother Scott has become a better carpenter, as has my older brother Mike, but we are all able to turn our hands to many things. The one thing that was father was whiz at that I never learned was how to hang wallpaper - which didn't interest me a bit. He taught us to have confidence in our abilities. Unfortunately, the one thing Dad never taught me was how to overcome that shyness...probably because Dad was never shy that I could tell.
In high school by my senior year of 1970-71 I was one of the stars of the track team, being the star high jumper, holding the school record at 6'5 3/4"(long since broken). I also did long jump and was scheduled to do high hurdles until the time trials a week before our first meet. In a 60 yard hurdle race (normally in a meet it would be 120 yards), I tripped over the last hurdle and slid on my face and legs across the finish line on a sand/cinder track (think sandpaper, about 60 grit). Since earlier in the time trial I had beaten the school record by 3" in the high jump I was told in no uncertain terms that I would not be hurdling. I went on to have a very successful year in track, but placed second in the league meet where I was favored, where things were rainy and uncomfortable, losing to Tony M. (later to become a teammate at Cal State Fullerton). I was so unhappy with my performance though, I went to do my last three jumps at the long jump, and ended up placing fourth...making up for the two points for the team that I'd lost by not placing first in the high jump. That was a surprise to everyone since in the league I was rated twelfth or so in that event, and had bested my previous best by 7" in the league meet, even though it was raining steadily.
Once I entered college at California State University at Fullerton, my confidence in my abilities in the classroom and in sports were maintained. My freshman year in track (spring of 1972), I jumped 6'10" (nearly a five inch increase from the previous year) and came very near to making 7 feet. In that meet, I beat John Rambo (not a joke, that's his name) the former Olympic silver medalist from 1964 in Tokyo on lower total amount of misses. I was majoring in biology at the time and things looked great. Unfortunately my sophomore year was more of a challenge. Not because of classes, but because I injured my right knee after four meets. I had finally finished growing and was 6'3" and 190 to 195 pounds. I was overtired and practicing high hurdles for a decathlon meet and put my right foot down at an awkward angle after snapping it down. There was a brief moment of discomfort and then it seemed things were fine. Until I realized that I couldn't really bend my right knee enough to prepare to high jump (I jumped off my left leg and was just about the last of the straddle roll high jumpers). I was sent off to the orthopedist, and after one look at the test results was told immediately that there was no more track for me that year. Both meniscuses (knee cartilage), lateral and medial were torn and the medial one was shredded and looked to have done quite a bit of damage, probably due to a previous injury. This was 1973 and "modern" methods using arthroscopic probes and whatnot had yet to be invented. The only way to remove these torn pieces was to cut through the muscle on both sides of the knee. For anesthesia for the operation I was given a spinal. It turned out that I had something called a high spinal block. The result was that although I was supposed to be numb from the waste down, I woke up in the recovery room numb from the bottom of my neck down, able to move only my head. Apparently I had also vomited, while unconscious. I'd been told what to expect, and it wasn't this, so I knew something was very wrong. Four hours later, I was still numb, but had enough motor control to move my legs, and so was allowed to go to my hospital room (faking that I felt something in my lower extremities when stuck with a pin). Three years later a different anesthesiologist told me a few more inches up the spine and I probably wouldn't have made it. It also wasn't encouraging to hear the orthopedist, Dr. Cunningham (at that time the orthopedist for the Anaheim Angels, as well as the athletes of Cal State Fullerton), tell me "The inside of your right knee looks like that of a 90-year old man. I can guarantee you'll walk again, but that's all." I still bear a five inch scar on either side of my right knee. At this point I've been walking bone on bone on that knee for 34 years. It rarely hurts, and I'm hoping to avoid a total knee replacement (more on that later). But doubts now began to assail me again. Could I come back from this injury? Would I be able to keep up with my studies? The knee operation required me to miss two weeks of school (plus spending most of spring vacation flat on my back in bed). I persevered and managed to catch back up in my studies. The hardest and most painful part was actually the physical recovery and therapy. The worst was the first session of doing leg extensions after the operation. I managed to do one...and it actually brought tears to my eyes, with a total weight of two and half pounds with my right leg. It was the worst pain I've ever felt, feeling like a hot knife stabbing through my right knee. The trainer then told me that before they would allow me back at track practice, I'd need to do 100 pounds with both right and left legs, and together between 225 and 250 pounds in the leg extension exercise. I don't think many expected me back at all. I worked out in the weight room every other day. Any day I didn't lift weights, I rode my bicycle 15 to 20 miles, always ending with the extremely steep climb up Brighton St. towards my parents' house. I figured when I could make that approximately quarter mile climb on the bicycle, without stopping, I'd be fit enough. In ten weeks I was able to do everything that the trainers asked of me, and able to climb that very steep hill on my bicycle. The biggest challenge in catching up in my classes was making up the organic labs. Crutches got in the way in lab. Fortunately for me, the lab benches in the lab were close enough that I could place my hands on one on either side of an aisle and get around the lab. I attended both sections of the organic labs to catch up. Once again that quality of persistence had helped me. In fact in my junior year in track I competed in high jump and decathlon. But the knee was still weaker than it had been originally It was a bit wobbly. I think my best that year in the high jump was 6'8". By my senior year I was back up to 6'10" in the high jump. I typically trained five hours per day, running an hour in the early morning, and training four hours in the afternoon, Monday through Friday. Saturdays were reserved for whatever meet I could get to. I trained year round. I now knew I could overcome both mental and physical challenges, but those social challenges still haunted me. My undergraduate chemistry mentor, Dr. Patrick W., once asked me how I could jump something taller than I was. I told him "If you can't see yourself doing it in your mind, you'll never do it." Unfortunately I was unable to apply that mind set to in my interactions with girls.
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