CHANGE IS THE POINT

I quit.

Not even a quarter of the way through the 6 minute workout, the conversation commenced.

It was at this point that the first signs of discomfort began to manifest.

And instead of enduring them, I folded; eased off. I quit. 

At the finish, I was 1 rep short of progressing to the next window. Those present on Saturday morning were made aware of this as the disappointment spilled over.

I cursed, slammed my hands and my head against the ground; I made a scene; embarrassed myself.

It was immature and petty; a childish tantrum.

If I could convince the onlookers of my contempt, perhaps I could justify to myself that I had given my all. 

Ultimately, however, it was an act. 

A way to project some of the disgust I was feeling towards myself outwards; a way to offload some of the crushing disappointment that I would have to eventually shoulder.

I had to be honest with myself: I quit. 2 mins into the 6 minute workout and I had decided that it was all too hard. 

As I removed myself from the scene brandishing my scorecard with utmost disdain, this reality dawned on me.

I didn’t deserve to progress to the next window. Not with the effort I had given. If I had, I would have been rewarded for my falsity. 

I masqueraded the regulation of my pace as strategy – a 6 min effort does not require this. I had decided that breaking up the reps would allow me to move faster, rather than gritting my teeth and going. 

I had done an exceptional job of deceiving myself; using the mind to rationalise the pain, rather than being present in my body.

I had to re-do it. Not to get a better score. I had decided. Not judged or validated. No. I needed to do it with the intent and effort I should have done the first time around. 

So I could mitigate the shame and reconcile with the person I desire to become. 

6 minutes pass and I am sprawled on my back, having once again failed to progress to the next window. Ironically, my score was exactly the same: I had missed the last rep again.

This time however, I don’t make a scene. I don’t need to convince others of my effort. I know this time I applied myself with an honest intensity. And for this I am satisfied; or at least, less dissatisfied.

I don’t care about my score, as mediocre as it is relative to my expectations. That’s not what matters most. My effort, and my character matter more than an arbitrary measurement of fitness.

But I need to own my score. That’s my fitness. I need to accept that as an accurate assessment, albeit, specific within the context, and use that to incentivise and inform my training moving forward. I can’t pretend it doesn’t matter; that I am blasé or apathetic.

I had skin in the game. I wanted to do well. I made my intentions clear. I was all in.

I got burned however. I got shown up. I wasn’t as good as I thought I was. I misjudged my fitness. I expected more. This is the uncomfortable truth.

I think that identifying in my role as a coach or teacher implies that I am above these experiences. And perhaps part of that belief is perpetrated by myself. But I’m not. I’ve got just as much dirt on my face now as anyone.

I don’t underestimate my role as a Sherpa of change. In essence, to affect authentic change, a dilemma or a series of challenges is followed by a period of intense vulnerability; where the journeyer must recognise their wrong doing and acknowledge the need to change. It’s an uncomfortable and awkward process, such as I experience time and time again.

Alas, change is the point, I am reminded. This awkward vulnerability; this embarrassment and humiliation; this crushing disappointment is the process of change. 

It can’t be any oither way. One needs skin in the game. The hand needs to get burned. And there needs to be a commitment to reflecting and integrating those experiences so that they may become lessons.

These are mere words at the end of the day. But they are my attempts at integrating and processing. In writing the words “I quit”, I am forced to face them. In stating my lack of fitness, I am goaded to be better. In announcing my intent, I am made to be accountable. 

My intent is to change. And as an extension, I need to continue to be in the trenches. These experiences are part of it. So I welcome them.