“What is for you will not pass you.”
It’s been almost a year since I signed a contract to run professionally for Adidas.
A WHOLE YEAR.
That friggin’ flew by.
I know I haven’t been writing or sharing much about the transition from collegiate to professional running.
I think I’m sorry about that, but then again… maybe not. Intense amounts of change can turn me into a turtle. I hide in my shell a little bit, and when I’m not sure what to expect, I like to maintain the freedom to process privately, with the exception of talking with the few people in my life that I really trust and need.
Lately though, there’s been this little poke in my gut telling me that I need to write this blog post… if nothing else.
Signing right before an Olympic year meant (by default) I was bound to have a lot to process in a short amount of time. Other professional runners I know tried to send out warnings, but you don’t know how difficult it’s going to be until you’re in the thick of it. Coming back from my first major injury, navigating new types of competition, being off of the team at MSU, evolving to manage bigger expectations, accepting new adult responsibilities (taxes and crap)… while also constantly having to answer the question:
“So, are you going to Rio?!”
… that ish is challenging.
I know the people who ask about the Olympics ask because they want to show support, and it’s honestly flattering that I’m a part of these conversations. But I also know that most people don’t realize how loaded that simple question is.
Making an Olympic team is NOT based on a point system in the United States. We have one day in early July to make it happen.
-If we get top 3 in our event at the Olympic Trials, we go to Rio in our USA gear.
-If we don’t get top 3 in our event at the Olympic Trials, we don’t go to Rio in our USA gear.
Simple as that. We could get sick the night before the race or eat a bad piece of chicken and all of our training won’t be any good (if we’re making the Olympic team the ultimate goal) for at least another four years.
Nobody is guaranteed a spot. It takes so much hard work, focus, balance… and a lot of luck. So to answer the question again: yes, home-dogs… I am training for the Olympic Trials. I am doing everything in my power and working with my incredible coach to give myself the best shot on that one day in July.
But seriously, only God knows who is going to Rio.
I know the reality of the situation… but even still, after a while of being asked about Rio it’s difficult not to start putting pressure on myself to do everything as perfectly as possible to make it happen.
Being an Olympian (duh) is absolutely something (duh) that I want someday (duh). But just like any other outcome-based approach, focusing solely on being an Olympian sucks the life and fun out of training.
There have been days where I’ve absolutely killed workouts and walked away feeling like I’m “on track” to be ready at the Trials, there have been days where I haven’t delivered or done what I was expecting and I’ve been absolutely gutted and, probably worse than gutted, pretty damn mean to myself. Track and field has sent me to bed crying more than I’d like to admit over the years. Mostly because I love it so much and I am so passionate about improving that I get really upset when I feel like I’m not making proper progress.
Sounds dramatic, though I know for a fact that I’m not alone; this is part of the job that a lot of people aren’t eager to talk about. But I think learning how to manage the process of setting lofty goals for yourself and controlling stress is what turns good runners great at any level… and ultimately helps us become our best selves.
When we put unhealthy pressure on ourselves to make our goals happen and attempt to be perfect on our quest, by default, we start to tighten our grip on what we want in unhealthy ways.
This isn’t just something that applies to wanting to make an Olympic Team. It applies to any goal, anywhere.
Slowly, our ability to just roll with the punches and manage disappointments starts to fade. Almost unknowingly, we start to tie our worth as a human being into the one thing we have decided we want more than anything. Competitive people especially so easily fall into the trap of giving up happiness, joy, friendships, love and real satisfaction… all in an attempt to make their biggest dreams come true.
And yet, the more we grip and try to force ourselves to succeed, the harder everything seems to become. If we fail, we aren’t just failing, we actually start to view ourselves as less valuable people. We invite fear into our lives. Our gripping means we are no longer able to learn from our faults and move forward, because we’re too busy trying to numb the fear of not reaching our goal.
Sometimes we eventually get lucky and get what we wanted after grinding through weeks/months/years of unhappiness and stress… and it’s cool for a day or so (you get your medal or whatever) but then the moment passes, and we still realize that even that joy is fleeting. Even in getting what we wanted, our ultimate goal didn’t feel the way we wanted it to, it doesn’t last. So we set another, loftier, outcome-based goal and begin the exhausting journey all over again.
But I firmly believe that chasing an outcome, even something as cool as being an Olympian, won’t complete you. And our biggest breakthroughs come when we’re competing and living from a place of authenticity, joy, and bravery.
At some point that realization really clicked for me this year. I do want to make an Olympic Team, but not more than I want to be a healthy, happy, joyful person. I want to push myself in training as much as possible, but not to the point where I stop enjoying myself and my sport.
I truly think it’s really important to love running and competing just as purely as I did when I was 11 years old getting ready for the mile fun run in gym class.
I still remember the one kid who was my competition on that day. Like, I can’t remember the names of a lot of the girls I race against now… but I can still remember wanting to beat Nathan Cornwell. I wasn’t an overly confident kid (super skinny, crooked teeth, awkwardly tall)… but when the mile fun run rolled around once a year, I walked into that gymnasium feeling like a mini Lebron James. I honestly didn’t care that I hadn’t trained (at all) I just really, purely, loved to run… and was excited to see how much faster I could go.
Somewhere in the midst of expectation and higher stakes, it’s easy to lose sight of the reasons we fell in love with what we’re doing in the first place.
So, I guess the point of this post is to use my experiences to encourage people who have found themselves focused on an outcome, whether it’s due to pressure you put on yourself or pressure you’re accepting from other people.
Stop. Relax. Slow down. Take a deep breath. You’re doing great. Trust that what is for you will not pass you. Make a list of the things in your life that actually matter, people that actually matter, and trust your own process.
Example list of the things that matter today for me are as follows:
-How much heart and effort I give to the things I control right now.
-How brave I am.
-How much I allow myself to be present, laugh and enjoy the company of the people I’m around.
-How much I’m able to give back and help someone else who needs encouragement today.
-How much I’m able to love where I am, in this moment, in my body, with all of my strengths and weaknesses.
-How much grace I give myself when I’m in the midst of my own imperfection.
-How much I trust that there is a plan, and no matter what happens, I’m going to put one foot in front of the other and be absolutely fine.
At the end of it all, Olympian or not, that’s the stuff that really matters anyways.
Leah O'Connor 