Ah bin watching from my iPad.
Sooner or later, a poster will expose the answer that correctly, splains this phenomenon.
I can explain the zone, have a double handful of times over the years. The issue is that it takes belief in something that isn't clearly understood step by step and every single nut and bolt of how it works. Those who have been in the true zone understand. Those that haven't been rarely do. It is far more than being in a state of maximum physical and mental readiness.
I hit the zone playing pool, won over 160 games of eight ball straight on an old nine foot junk table. Played about thirty people, maybe six or eight could run the table themselves, not that I ran every game. I ran most of the time against those six or eight. I played carefully and coasted against the bangers a lot of the time. Main thing was avoiding scratching or the various ways to lose on the eight, making it on the break or scratching on the eight. In ten or twelve hours I never scratched on those bucket pockets, a major feat in itself. I won over eight hundred dollars that night at five dollars a game on that old nine foot challenge table. Daylight when I walked in the place, daylight when I walked out the next morning. The oddest thing, I knew I had played ten or twelve hours, my body and mind felt fresh like I had played for two and a half or three hours. I was ready to go for another dozen hours or more. The last of my opponents had peeled off to go to work, no shave, no shower. I was literally the last man standing.
A long off topic story but it pertains to the zone. Those interested put some coffee on or grab something cool, this won't be a quick read.
It was a dark and stormy night. Always a great way to start a story but the truth too. Target stands blowing over, targets blown away to never be seen again. The rain wasn't falling so much as coming in sideways sheets. There was a roof over the firing line, about eight feet wide and 150 feet long. Needless to say, it didn't do much to protect us with no sidewalls. It was meant as a daytime sun shade. The targets were out in the the rain and wind squall.
About a dozen of us had shown up to shoot. There were twenty-one official rules to those matches. Rule twenty-two was word of mouth, when it rained we got wet. The maximum score was six hundred points, ten points a shot and there was a time clock running. Late shots didn't count.
Dozens of Masters and IPSC Grandmasters had shot these matches. A youngster named Jerry Miculek had cut his teeth there, shot them many times. He still shot them sometimes when he came home to visit. With over twenty world championships he was certainly the best that ever shot there and his brother Donny was still the class of the field when Jerry wasn't there. Once the stress of shooting a six hundred was gone, dozens of 598's and 599's had been shot. I had shot some myself. Nobody ever shot a six hundred.
The match that night was brutal. Very poor lighting and stationary targets were becoming movers. Didn't matter, no reshoots unless we couldn't find a target to be scored which didn't happen on mine.
With two stages to go I was still "clean" no dropped points. With so few shooters we were just using four lanes. I had already shot the toughest stage for me. I decided I was shooting a six hundred that night. I grabbed a folding metal chair and went off in the dark about a hundred feet at the far end of the firing line. I shot the fifth stage dozens of times in my mind. I tried to feel the recoil, hear the shots, even smell the burnt powder, made the stage as real as possible.
I had been finding the zone often in the past month or so. My plan was to find it on demand twice that night. Something widely considered impossible even by those that understood the zone. However, the more often you find the zone the easier it gets. A buzzer starts the run and we were starting from the hands up position that night for A class and Masters. Draw, six shots, reload, six more. The six shot limit was to keep the matches revolver friendly.
I was called to the line. Dropped into the zone at the buzzer as planned. Shot that stage smoothly and perfectly, one more to go. Back to the dark end of the line. Same drill practicing the final stage.
I was called to the line. The target and stand were rocking mightily. To make life more interesting the black no shoot area was almost indistinguishable from the wet cardboard colored paper in the dim light. The legal target area on the final targets was a diagonal with most of the normal legal area painted over with flat black paint. Shooting a group into that diagonal made for a very small legal area.
"Shooter ready. Stand by:" Buzzer. I dropped into the zone again and fired my first six shots, reload, four more. Two to go, two into a target almost impossible to see. I was well ahead of the clock so I stopped firing and very carefully lined my gun up dead center of the legal zone. While I paused for a couple seconds my riding partner was directly behind me with his hands half up silently urging me to shoot. I had lost six hundreds before on the final shot, I wasn't doing it this time!
I fired, then my final shot an eyeblink after the first one. Two shots in the center of the scoring zone maybe an inch apart. As long as they didn't touch black paint it didn't matter.
On the way home naturally we were talking about the final stage. I told Steve I knew he was behind me with his hands half up. "How could you know that?" The answer was the zone, and senses that science doesn't understand yet.
I could tell another dozen tales or more of magic when in the zone. In the zone my stock car was an extension of my body and magic happened then too. Saved a guy's life once when a poorly constructed rollcage shattered. Had I hit him full throttle instead of missing him by a few inches or less he would have been dead. I had seen a fatality from just that the year before.
Believe, don't believe, the zone will still be there.
Hu