When you run, the brain makes all logical attempts to stop you. Boredom, fatigue. These are the culprits the mind associates with. But it knows how to mask them; fatigue feigning as pain, boredom pretending to be dislike. Apathy setting in on a once valiant effort, causing you to turn around early, slowing you to the side of the road, walking the shortest distance back to the car.
But when you know real pain from running, you will understand. The pain associated with fractured limbs, broken joints. Torn muscles and ligaments. You will know real pain, and what follows in the days, weeks, months after rebuilding and recovery has the potential to be glorious, if we realize that running hard won't kill you.
Pain is irrational, stemming from deep within, hidden away where the brain cannot find it. Follow that path back to its origins and we find the driving force that can overcome the mind, if we are willing to pour ourselves out every time we lace up. The heart.
The heart does not follow the simple constraints of time and sensibility. Pain blurs the ideas of logic and reason. Only let these two bodies govern you while you move, for however long across the landscape, at whatever speed you desire. Let your heart guide you through your races, and you will find that there is always a bit more of yourself to leave behind-in the woods, on the track, parts that your brain was trying to save; perhaps only trace amounts, yet everlasting morale victories that you can look back on with solemn pride. Knowing that our hearts are pure and unbridled by our minds gives us hope that in the face of adversity we may hold on for just a moment longer, unleashing potential that has never been tapped; the hope that we may prevail even when defeat seemed inevitable.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Competitive Spirit
When I was younger I was a really poor sportsman. And I loved to win. So much so that I would cry when I lost. I tried my best to not smack talk, and still don't (most of the time), but I couldn't get over the idea of winning.
And then for the longest time, I lost my competitive streak, or at least felt I had. It was as though I was no longer filled with that innate desire, as though it had disappeared at some instant, or perhaps slowly decayed over time, until I was just playing for the sake of playing with no goals in mind. But I still played hard, not quite sure why, not conscious of my drive.
I've always been a hustler. But my work ethic outside of actual competition was always lackluster. So while playing pick up sports with my friends I always excelled (who gives a fuck?), I never had those lofty accomplishments that my peers have had on more serious levels of competition.
Last night, I made a comment about what it takes for me to be more competitive. Some of my friends were in slight disbelief, remarking that I was already the most competitive person they knew. This small group was held in agreement, and I took a step back to reflect. I had forgotten that they hadn't experienced the competitive community which I grew up in, specifically the overall levels of competitiveness from my friends Jake, Dan and Zach. Still, I decided to look into this further.
Recently, after my return to running, I have been working much harder to become a more fit, faster, stronger runner; I even found myself thoroughly enjoying the burning sensation I was having while doing leg raises during one particular core session last week. And I feel stronger, and more fit; I'm hoping the speed will come eventually with enough applied energy.
And looking at my overall drive, I find myself getting into "the zone" more frequently in games of ultimate against complete strangers, or pick up basketball with friends...I also get frequent adrenaline rushes throughout runs, prompting me to speed up; a handful of these occur depending on the length of the run. These often occur when I feel the need to personally "change the tides" of a game, when my team seems to be plateauing, or if our morale is starting to drag. Also when people start to talk smack I get amped up, but in some sports its easier to focus this energy than in other sports requiring more finesse.
After what was said last night, I have been thinking about competitiveness a lot, and I have decided I am ready to embrace this feeling that I thought was missing, that I always looked at in a jaded light. I am not competing to win anymore, because now I find the same solace in winning and losing, knowing that I have poured myself out, in hopes of growing to be better. To work hard for that euphoric feeling, that "white moment" of nirvana, that is ever fleeting, something I thirst for, always. I doubt it is perfection, because I am not a perfectionist. But I do prescribe to this feeling of completeness I find within myself. Satisfied, for just a moment, by the work I have done that day.
Being so close to death really set my priorities straight. I have grown more courageous, the most important trait I feel any one can have, so long as they are not so misguided that it becomes contempt for life.
More importantly I have been willing to break myself. To work so hard I can barely stand. Because I have felt death, and I know that nothing I do to myself physically will put me over that threshold, so even if I work myself to within an inch of life, I still feel my fateful end to be lightyears away.
So when I go out there, regardless of where it is, I will be showing my courage, I will be showing my loyalty to the competitive spirit, and I will be working not for applause or jeers, but to acquit myself well regardless of win loss or tie.
And then for the longest time, I lost my competitive streak, or at least felt I had. It was as though I was no longer filled with that innate desire, as though it had disappeared at some instant, or perhaps slowly decayed over time, until I was just playing for the sake of playing with no goals in mind. But I still played hard, not quite sure why, not conscious of my drive.
I've always been a hustler. But my work ethic outside of actual competition was always lackluster. So while playing pick up sports with my friends I always excelled (who gives a fuck?), I never had those lofty accomplishments that my peers have had on more serious levels of competition.
Last night, I made a comment about what it takes for me to be more competitive. Some of my friends were in slight disbelief, remarking that I was already the most competitive person they knew. This small group was held in agreement, and I took a step back to reflect. I had forgotten that they hadn't experienced the competitive community which I grew up in, specifically the overall levels of competitiveness from my friends Jake, Dan and Zach. Still, I decided to look into this further.
Recently, after my return to running, I have been working much harder to become a more fit, faster, stronger runner; I even found myself thoroughly enjoying the burning sensation I was having while doing leg raises during one particular core session last week. And I feel stronger, and more fit; I'm hoping the speed will come eventually with enough applied energy.
And looking at my overall drive, I find myself getting into "the zone" more frequently in games of ultimate against complete strangers, or pick up basketball with friends...I also get frequent adrenaline rushes throughout runs, prompting me to speed up; a handful of these occur depending on the length of the run. These often occur when I feel the need to personally "change the tides" of a game, when my team seems to be plateauing, or if our morale is starting to drag. Also when people start to talk smack I get amped up, but in some sports its easier to focus this energy than in other sports requiring more finesse.
After what was said last night, I have been thinking about competitiveness a lot, and I have decided I am ready to embrace this feeling that I thought was missing, that I always looked at in a jaded light. I am not competing to win anymore, because now I find the same solace in winning and losing, knowing that I have poured myself out, in hopes of growing to be better. To work hard for that euphoric feeling, that "white moment" of nirvana, that is ever fleeting, something I thirst for, always. I doubt it is perfection, because I am not a perfectionist. But I do prescribe to this feeling of completeness I find within myself. Satisfied, for just a moment, by the work I have done that day.
Being so close to death really set my priorities straight. I have grown more courageous, the most important trait I feel any one can have, so long as they are not so misguided that it becomes contempt for life.
More importantly I have been willing to break myself. To work so hard I can barely stand. Because I have felt death, and I know that nothing I do to myself physically will put me over that threshold, so even if I work myself to within an inch of life, I still feel my fateful end to be lightyears away.
So when I go out there, regardless of where it is, I will be showing my courage, I will be showing my loyalty to the competitive spirit, and I will be working not for applause or jeers, but to acquit myself well regardless of win loss or tie.
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