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Playing the Long Game: From Points to P-Values

It’s a Friday night in mid-July, and the pile of documents on my desk seems endless. The scent of ozone and wet grass, lingering after a summer storm, tempts me to head outside and join friends for a beer at the pub. Yet my promise to myself stands firm in opposition, “just one more email,” I tell myself, albeit begrudgingly. Sound familiar?


Moments like these often remind me how little some things have changed. Years ago, the same internal dialogue played out on tennis courts instead of in front of a computer screen. Then it was one more drill, one more practice set, one more hour before heading home. The surroundings are different now, but the negotiation feels remarkably similar.


As I've moved from competitive sport into research, I've come to appreciate how much of my approach to work was shaped by those years as an athlete. The habits that carried me through difficult training sessions still surface when experiments fail, manuscripts need rewriting, or progress feels frustratingly slow. In the following sections, I reflect on three of those habits - perseverance, self-improvement, and discipline - and the role they have played in both my athletic and academic life.


Perseverance


The first trait I want to discuss is perseverance. The word itself comes from the Latin root meaning “to persist” (Merriam-Webster, 2026), and its earliest use dates back to the 14th century. When we view perseverance through the lens of persistence, it’s easier to see it as the very act of staying the course in one’s chosen pursuit. For me, pursuit is more than a goal to be achieved: it is a direction that gives meaning to sustained effort. Unlike a short-term objective, a pursuit often unfolds over years and requires repeated recommitment in the face of setbacks, uncertainty, and slow progress. This distinction is important because, in this sense, perseverance becomes not only about enduring difficulty, but rather continuing toward something one considers worthwhile, even if the immediate rewards are absent. Ultimately, perseverance in pursuit may become the bridge between aspiration and accomplishment.


So why is perseverance so crucial in both sports and academia? 


Research shows that perseverance, along with related traits like grit and long-term passion, predicts positive outcomes across domains, from school and spelling bees to the workplace (Duckworth et al., 2007; Duckworth and Quinn, 2009; Eskreis-Winkler et al., 2014). I won’t attempt to explore every angle here, but I’ll share a couple of personal examples that illustrate how perseverance can become less a static trait and more a conscious, adaptive strategy (Readers interested in a more accessible introduction to the concept of grit may enjoy Angela Duckworth's TED Talk, Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance, which provides an engaging overview of the research discussed here).


Throughout my life, which has always balanced study with sport, perseverance has been a key adjustment. I first learned this important lesson while trying to win a tennis match at only eight years old. I remember my father saying, “don’t say you want to win; go and do it”. That lesson stuck with me. I realized that raw skill matters less than the willingness to adapt, especially through the inevitable comedy of errors that comes with learning. Tennis, after all, is very much a numbers game; even the greats like Roger Federer win only 50% of points, as he highlighted in his 2024 Dartmouth commencement address (Tennis Channel, 2024). Every match starts as a coin toss, a game of chance, and what matters is what you do with each point. I used to bristle when my dad compared tennis to life - especially after losing this “important” match at eight - but now, with more experience in both sport and academia, I see those parallels more clearly. For instance, trying to publish a scientific paper often feels like stepping onto a court: you make your best argument, someone disagrees, and sometimes it feels like a loss. Yet, just as in tennis, the mindset I developed helps: it’s not about the loss or rejection; it’s about doing better next time.


The art of letting go


This naturally leads to the next powerful mindset: the art of letting go of mistakes and embracing the continuous journey of self-improvement. I recall an interview with Novak Djokovic, one of tennis’s greatest champions, where he was asked what sets him apart from his peers. His response was striking in its humility: “We are not that different, you and I; I just return to the baseline after my mistakes way faster than you” (YouTube, 2026). This perspective resonated deeply with me because it captures something powerful: the quiet acceptance of both mistakes and success as natural deviations from the self-improvement process. Developing this mindset, however, is no small feat, for it requires the courage to internalize every outcome, to greet setbacks and victories alike with equanimity, and to recommit to the process each time. The path to self-improvement is rarely linear, and the challenge lies in striking that delicate balance between persistence and acceptance.


This ability to reset quickly is what enables top athletes to stay in the game after a setback. For Djokovic, this perspective means being present for the next shot, and for the rest of us, it can mean being ready for the next challenge, whether on the court or in conversation. Even though my time in academia is still unfolding, I’ve noticed that the same principle applies. In a discussion, when confronted with a point I can’t easily refute, I’m faced with a choice: accept my limits, learn from it, and respond thoughtfully or, conversely, dwell on my inability to counter and risk losing focus. The mindset of moving on, of embracing each new argument as another baseline, is invaluable. It not only accelerates recovery from mistakes but also keeps the momentum alive. Ultimately, this process of letting go and refocusing leads naturally to the next essential quality: discipline, the backbone of sustained progress in any field.


The basis of progress


Discipline stands as a cornerstone in both academia and sport. While perseverance helps us endure setbacks and self-improvement encourages us to learn from them, discipline is what transforms those intentions into daily action. It is the habit of showing up, even when progress is not immediately visible.


As a child, I wrestled with the elusive logic of progress. Tennis, in my naïve eyes, was a straightforward game: train hard, improve quickly, win more matches. But when that tidy equation failed to materialize, frustration rushed like a storm. I can still hear the heated debates with my coach when I was eleven - my voice sharp with impatience, convinced that relentless effort should yield results. Each hour spent repeating those monotonous drills felt like pouring water into a bottomless well, in search of perfection that always drifted just out of reach. I believed I was giving everything - sacrificing mornings, afternoons, weekends - yet my skills stubbornly plateaued. What I couldn’t see then was that, in practice, discipline in pursuit was less about building skill and more about building self-confidence through repetition. Motivation would ebb and flow, but discipline moved at its own quiet, steady pace, remaining by my side through the hardest moments.


In other words, the purpose of those repetitive sessions was not to produce a dramatic breakthrough the next day, but to lay foundations that would only become visible much later. Looking back, I better understand what elite athletes such as Novak Djokovic mean when they describe their preparation as almost ritualistic. Reflecting on his 2012 Australian Open victory, Djokovic spoke about the discipline of maintaining strict routines, controlling his diet, and committing to training long before stepping onto the court (Mesic, 2025). The victory was visible; the discipline that made it possible was not.


Only in hindsight do I recognize how valuable that lesson was. The discipline my coach tried to instil wasn’t about working hard; it was about developing trust in my preparation. The confidence that sustains an athlete through a four-hour match or supports a researcher during a lengthy defence is built long before the first question is asked. It grows in the solitude of practice, in the quiet certainty that the necessary work has already been done. Whether on a tennis court or in academia, the challenge remains the same: learning to live with the distance between effort and outcome and trusting that today’s commitment will reveal its worth in time.


The long game


Looking back, it’s easy to say that sport forged perseverance, discipline, and drive for self-improvement. But that would only be part of the story. While the tennis court was the arena where I first practiced these qualities, their roots reach far beyond the lines of any game - they’re values that can be nurtured in countless arenas, from art studios to research labs to everyday challenges.


Sport simply provides a uniquely visible training ground that I was fortunate to be part of. There, the rules are clear, feedback is immediate, and every win or loss is unmistakable. In many ways, the tennis court was my first classroom for learning how to cope with uncertainty, setbacks, and delayed rewards.


Academia, however, offers a different kind of test. Unlike sport, where the scoreboard eventually offers closure, research often feels like playing chess on a shifting board - each move reshaping the landscape, every answer leading to deeper uncertainty. Progress can remain hidden for months or years. In that world, perseverance and discipline matter, but so do humility and the courage to begin again, even when the path is unclear.


That’s why the lessons from tennis remain so valuable. The court taught me to tolerate setbacks, trust my preparation, and persist even when progress seemed invisible. Now, in research, I draw on the same strengths - only here, the rules themselves keep changing. Whether I’m gripping a racket or poring over data, the challenge endures: to keep playing the long game, to keep showing up, even when the outcome hides just out of sight.


References

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This article was written by Weronika Forys and edited by Clarise Castleman, with graphics produced by Neave Smith. If you enjoyed this article, be the first to be notified about new posts by signing up to become a WiNUK member (top right of this page)! Interested in writing for WiNUK yourself? Contact us through the blog page and the editors will be in touch.


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