For the Athletes
Kaua’i, Hawai’i
Human nature has a proclivity for using numbers to assuage any qualms or anxieties we may have about our shortcomings.
It is a feeble & fleeting attempt.
If we make X amount, if we weigh Y amount, if we lift Z amount, if we race B, if we place C…we are programmed to associate a number with success. We soon associate external success to mean we’re doing this thing called life right.
Right?
Numbers, undeniably, serve a purpose. But their usefulness only takes us as far as the purpose in which we employ them. To see a person as their achievement is superficial at best, & destructive at worst. Are they only valuable because of the athletic display they put on? To reach a certain measurable outcome shines a light solely on the end result that takes but a moment. What of the process? What of the hours, years, & even decades of dedication, and the innumerable beads of sweat, grit & concentration poured into this feat?
If you are an athlete, you know all too well how numbers (while the cerebral “intellectuals” of the world would swear to be full-proof & obsolete) can be finicky. A “best” may be achieved with little to no effort, whereas we sometimes give an endeavor our all, our unborn children, & then some to reach a mark that is well below that which we are capable of.
Real pride in who we are is felt when we feel the resistance through which we’ve pushed to shatter the glass ceiling that once housed our limitations.
Are we so disempowered to let a number decide for us whether or not we did a good job?
And much more than that, whether we ourselves are good.
Whether we are valuable.
Whether we deserve a seat at the proverbial table.
As a lifelong athlete, I’ve seen it firsthand in myself & in my brothers & sisters. The pressure to perform creates a porcelain sense of self, one that is so fragile it breaks at the mere hint of a fall.
Ironic how sport’s unsullied intentions are ones of health & well-being, yet hyper focus on performance creates the exact opposite. When our mental health suffers, the price is too high. We see that we have desecrated the sacred lands of the psyche by spoiling our immaculate conception with haunting beliefs that we are nothing without sport, that we are worthless without accomplishment.
When we depend upon our performance to testify our worth, we give away all of our power.
We are much, much, much more than a number. Beyond the end product, there is a bounty of beauty.
To love the journey
means to widen our tunnel vision that solely had eyes on the finish line of the horizon, & to see the beauty all around
We preach about the process, not knowing what that means. To honor the process is to focus on presence. It means to feel every aching moment of failure & to use it not as an excuse to crumble, but as a massive obstacle to hurdle to persevere in spite of it all.
It means to stretch the limits of discomfort & pain, feeling ourselves push past the invisible yet very real resistance to shatter the glass ceiling that once held our limitations.
It means to feel the euphoria our body creates as the energy within us bounds, compounds, and explodes.
Numbers are perhaps the least interesting thing a body can do. Inside is a complex universe of feelings. Movement is meant to make us feel alive, to rev us from the inside out & to energize our vitality. Once upon a time & maybe still, exercise & sport felt invigorating & life giving, expanding our energy, almost lifting us from the very ground we stand upon.
All it takes is a single number for it all to come crashing down. The elation is deflated in an instant & the spirit is crippled, shrinking inward to hide.
There’s devastation. Humiliation. Depression. Instead of elevating us, our sport devastates us. How far we have come from loving something that once brought us so much joy, from something that we once felt smitten with.
We needn’t abandon our passion, but rather rework it. Massage life back into the blackness it’s become. To reconnect with why we started in the first place. To sensitize our bodies to feel alive again. The joy in the journey is in the moments that shift seamlessly into the next. Feeling the body move easily, twist rhythmically, push firmly, glide smoothly in an ecstasy of coordination.
Even further beyond that, is the sheer miracle that is the existence of our being. That which cannot be measured, but rather recognized, honored, & held dear within our hands.
There’s a whole world out there determined to tell you you’re not good enough, but the greater question is,
Are you going to let them?
