It was two years ago when I hurt my arm and couldn't pitch in any more baseball games for a long time. It was very hard for me to be hurt, physically and psychologically. I had tendonitis, which is very frustrating, and not easy to know what it is like just a broken bone. It got worse all the time when I was throwing, and sometimes I couldn't feel my right hand anymore. It was hard mentally too, because of how frustrated I became as it got worse and worse. Finally I knew it was too bad, and I couldn't use my right arm for a few months.

I just sat around and got angry about my bad luck for awhile, which of course did nothing but make me more frustrated. But then I was inspired by a new thought. I thought about how many famous soccer players play with both feet. This made me think I maybe could throw with my left hand.

It would definitely be hard, but I had decided to try. I remember when I started off my neighbor across the street saw me throwing and said I threw "like a girl." However, I wasn't going to give up so quickly.

I began by throwing into my bed, with the covers bundled up on one side to absorb shock. Next I threw at an old rug I had suspended from the rafters with a bungee cord in my garage. Next I went to my backyard and threw into a net tied on one side to a tree and on the other side to a fence. But even then when I had a large net as a target, I had to keep repairing the fence behind the net. But I kept throwing and throwing and throwing, and after a few months I was playing long toss. Much to my surprise, I now was feeling nearly as comfortable throwing left-handed as right-handed.

I finally felt ambidextrous, but I had also learned a lot. I had gained confidence learning to learn something very new to me. I hadn't known how to throw left handed at all before, so I had to learn how to do it step by step. I taught my muscles to throw this way with a lot of repetitions. But I also learned that motion and action are different things. I noticed that repetition needs intention along with it to be useful. But then there were some times when I just had to do my best to back off and not think too much and be forcing the situation.

I learned some things from all this that helped me with my schoolwork as well. Two of my favorite subjects are physics and mathematics. Now when I do physics or math problems, I always attempt something a little harder than what I think I can do at that time, just like I tried to make pitches that I wasn't quite able to do at that time with my left hand. But each time I tried something difficult for me, I got better and eventually could do it.

My coaches and teammates were very surprised when I threw left-handed in practice for the first time and this made all the hard work worth it. Finally in the end my right arm got better and I could throw with it again, but by then I was no longer sorry I had injured it in the first place. Actually I was happy that it happened because I would have never challenged myself and learned to throw left-handed. Now I am not so worried about injuries or bad luck because I know it's true as my dad says "each door that closes two more open".

Two years ago I injured my right arm, and as a pitcher was facing a few long months without baseball. I was angry, frustrated, and anxious. The injury itself was tendonitis, an elusive malady, not easy to pin down like a simple broken bone. Tendonitis acts like a rash; it spreads only when "itched." The more I threw, the more it spread, until some days I would lose the feeling entirely in my right hand. But the psychological aspect was the most painful - the injury was a knife in my mind, sinking deeper the more I struggled. So I unenthusiastically resigned myself to not using my right arm for a few months.

At first I simply sat and grew angry at my misfortune, which of course did nothing but drive the knife of despair deeper. But then a funny idea popped into my head. I thought about how many famous soccer players are equally skilled with both feet, and wondered: could I learn to throw left-handed?

I took the first and most difficult step: I decided to try. It was an unsteady enterprise at first; my neighbor took one look at one of my earlier attempts at throwing left-handed, and scoffed that I threw "like a girl." However, I was persistent.

I began by throwing into my bed, with the covers bundled up on one side to absorb the shock. Eventually I moved into the garage, where I threw into an old rug I had suspended from the rafters with a bungee cord. Next came the great leap into the backyard, where I threw into a net tied on one side to a tree and on the other to a fence. Even at that point, with a large net as a target, I had to make continual repairs to the fence. But I kept throwing and throwing and throwing, and after a few months I was playing long toss. Much to my surprise, I now felt nearly as comfortable left-handed as right-handed.

However, the most important part of this strange experiment was not the ambidexterity I gained. On the contrary, it was what I learned about learning itself. Because I began at rock bottom, I was forced to acquire an intimate understanding of how one learns something entirely foreign. I learned to coax my muscles into memorizing tasks through pure repetition. At the same time, I had to uncover the subtle difference between motion and action. I realized repetition alone was worthless - it must be accompanied by clear intention. However, I also found there were times when I needed to simply back off and not "overthink" or force the situation.

One especially useful technique I discovered during my trials I have since applied to quite different fields: physics and mathematics. The trick was always to attempt something (be it a pitch or a problem) just beyond what I was presently capable of doing. By reaching just beyond my grasp, I grew tremendously.

The surprise on the faces of my coaches and teammates when I first threw left-handed in practice justified all the long hours of sweat. Eventually my right arm healed, but by then I was no longer sorry it had been hurt; in fact, I was thankful. I now understood what Napoleon meant when he observed "Opportunity often comes disguised in the form of misfortune, or temporary defeat." I no longer fear injury, bad luck, or misstep; I know firsthand that for each door that closes two more open. In the future, I will fear no failure, for I now see opportunity lurking in the guise of adversity.