Peter Bromka tries to make sense of the mental struggle of workouts.
I’ve considered dropping out of every one of the best workouts I’ve ever completed. With my body and mind overloaded it simply seemed like too much.
“There’s no way I can hit that split again for this next one. I must stop soon.” I decided. But then, in that moment of resignation, when I’d settled on a plan to quit, I already felt better. While still traveling at the same pace I was more at ease. With the plan to stop in place the effort felt less onerous since my mind was already relaxed. Which, irritatingly, meant I must go on.
Such moments of fear teach us that it isn’t the instant you’re in that’s too much, it’s the extrapolation of that moment multiplied many times over that breaks your brain.
Do not concern yourself with what’s to come.
Though I have no insight into what the Roman emperor meant, as a leader during great upheaval it’s safe to assume he faced immense uncertainty and danger. So he managed through reduction, by zooming in and confining fear. Eliminating an indulgent preoccupation with the future that he could not afford.
Neither can you.
To push your body to its peak you must confine your mind and diffuse its protective impulses. While its alerts are sent with noble intent, they’re misguided and exaggerated. Prone to hysteria. Contrary to its fearful protests, you are in fact alright. Safe, if a bit insane. Even as your senses scream otherwise, you are able.
So hang, in this moment, at this speed, under this pressure. Appreciate it for what it is: a preciously brief window of designed discomfort.
If you can, find others willing to join you to gallivant in this garden of distress. Together my teammates and I create psychological safety that normalizes the pain. We slip into a mutual delusion, a warped reality in which paces are possible that I’m never able to manage on my own.
“Focus on the gap, not the rock. If you stare at the rock you’ll steer right into it.” — a friend suggested while mountain biking.
The same could be said for the pain of endurance exertion; focusing on it only seems to steer you into more of it.
I attempt to think of my stride, my hand swing and knee drive. Since under even the greatest duress neither particularly aches or burns. They’re markers of my current performance but not centers of discomfort.
Your body doesn’t know what’s to come, so unbind it from the obligation. It only knows the power to push, float, and land, and then inflect off to rise again.
And repeat. And repeat.
Drop the shoulders. Unclench the hands. Ease the breath. Productive things you can do while shifting away from the harmful signals coming from your mind.
These moments of exertion represent a spectacularly small amount of our lives as runners. In a given month of training you may spend dozens of hours running, recovering, reading and discussing the simple sport we love to obsess. But precious few minutes are actually spent here, teetering on the almost unbearable edge of your ability.
In a world of multi-tasking, app switching and interruption, when you’re here, hurting, you’re pushing right up against the essence of your humanity. Your mind is trapped, existing solely in the meters ahead.
Yes, it’s awful, but it’s your awful. Sure you’re hurting, but in mere moments this window you’ve opened will close. The uncertainty induced by this discomfort isn’t a problem, it’s the point. Hover here. Make space for yourself.
Like the calloused edge of a runner’s foot that’s accustomed to impact, this mental rehearsal develops protection from the waves of shock you’ll encounter while racing, working, or just in daily life.
What started as the method to improve as an athlete has become the simplest way to cut through all of life’s bullshit; using a hill, a path or a track to return you to the essence of yourself.
You’re here right now, legs burning, mind screaming, tiptoeing along the cusp of failure, because inviting this suffering builds strength and embracing this vulnerability provides peace.