It was my week to come across inspiring stories. This one from Fast Company about ultra-endurance athlete Rich Roll delves into the long, slow game of changing the exercise routine, and along with it, your entire life.
Roll owns up to being highly flawed and an addictive individual. He was an excellent collegiate athlete, but let himself go to the point of getting winded by a flight of stairs, then slowly coming around to physical and mental wellness while “trusting the whispers and little signals” to follow the path to ultra-endurance running. He talks about mindfulness, journaling, and practicing meditation, and rather than trying to ignore the negative emotions of anger, frustration, and irritation, he deals with them in such a way as to shorten their presence in his life, rather than trying to subdue them completely. He points out that there are no shortcuts to reaching a goal (he’s been an endurance athlete and podcaster for over 10 years, but is an attorney by education and practice) and that it would be much easier to lean back into the loop he knows. He has a good support system of friends and family; something we all need when faith in ourselves falters.
What struck me about the article is that you’d think he has to be addicted to pain to be an ultra-endurance athlete. He’s not addicted; he understands the need for it and how there has to be a balance between pain and spiritual acceptance that suffering is there for a longer-term purpose. He doesn’t come across as a saint; he admits there’s tension between who he is and who he strives to be.
I readily admit that ultra-endurance events are not likely in my future. But I learned a lot from this read. We get into habits, ruts, fixations. We like hearing how great we are and how we’re doing good, but when it comes to honest feedback, we may not be as willing to hear it. We need to change, but as was the case for Rich Roll, it does not have to be an overnight change. And we can embrace disruption and discomfort as a discourse for that change.