As Featured on XTRI
The reasons we compete in endurance sports are extremely personal and being an endurance athlete means different things to all of us. At the same time, though, I think there are things that many endurance athletes hold in common, none of which may be more resonant than the high value we place on our sport. My inquiry into this valuation began as a self-interested attempt to shed some light on why I train up to 20 hours a week. Over the course of my reflection, bits and pieces of insight emerged that I think many endurance athletes (and perhaps mechanics, electricians, and surgeons too) may relate too.
Broadly speaking, I compete in pursuit of achieving something that is "good," defined by having a clear and measurable objective (e.g., a sub-3 marathon, a well executed triathlon based on wattage and HR process goals, etc). I love that in swimming, biking, and running, my body is the only vehicle (OK, and maybe my bike) I have to attain this good. This provides me with a sense of individual agency and subsequent self worth that is crucial to my health. In an increasingly complex and interconnected world, it's hard to find opportunities to strive for this clear-cut type of objective "good" in other domains.
To elaborate, many of us spend an overwhelming majority of the day working in a knowledge economy office, where "despite the proliferation of contrived metrics" today's jobs "lacks objective standards" of the sort found in endurance sports[1]. For example, think of an associate at a large management consulting shop, law firm, or bank. Whether or not he or she has done a "good job" is contingent upon what his or her managers think; which is contingent upon what the partners of the firm think; which is contingent upon what the clients [often only three to six individuals at organizations that employ thousands] think. As a result, the "good" that we strive for in the knowledge economy is far from objective; if anything it's the opposite, clouded by layers of office politics and the self-interests of others...and then their superiors. This is in stark contrast to the sort of "good job" that can be measured by running a 3:00 marathon. Here, the standard is clear. Ask me what it means to do a good job on my next project at work and it will take me half an hour to explain. Ask me what it means to do a good job in my next race, and I can tell you in less than a minute.
While many people are OK spending their days in pursuit of the less-than-clear good afforded by the typical knowledge economy office, perhaps endurance athletes need something to fill the void. Could it be that we tend to agree more with the modern day philosopher Matthew B. Crawford who eloquently explains that "the satisfactions of manifesting oneself concretely in the world through manual competence have been known to make a man quiet and easy. They seem to relieve him of the felt need to offer chattering interpretations of himself to vindicate his worth. He can simply point: the building stands, the car now runs, the lights are on." Crawford ushers in this manual competence and the intrinsic satisfaction it breeds by fixing motorcycles. I find it by striving to set new personal records in triathlons, duathlons, and road races.
In setting new PRs, or at least aiming for them, we are not building on anyone else's work or satisfying anyone else's expectations. Rather, we are engaging in something that produces measurable results that can be tangibly traced back to the self. When we set out to run a PR, our body is the major tool at our disposal. This forces the mind to be keenly aware of how best to use it. The result is a Zen-like harmony between the cognitive mind and physical body that is constantly evolving with each and every training experience. In order for an athlete to avoid injury, let alone improve, the mind must be fully attentive to all the cues it receives from the body. In real time these signals determine how to approach the next pull, pedal stroke, or stride. After a thoughtful post-workout reflection, they influence what the next training session might look like: should we push to build on gains, or pull-back, giving the muscles more time to recover? It follows that over a broader horizon, the build up of bodily cues and an athlete's reaction to them shapes his or her training program, and ultimately, the outcome that training program produces.
Since the cognitive recognition [of] and reaction to these bodily cues is so central to successful training, it is ideal to approach each workout with full engagement and caring. This fosters a potential relationship between an athlete and sport that embodies what I refer to as the utmost Quality; something that only occurs when an actor and his or her act are so seamlessly interwoven that they are hard to separate - they nearly become one[2].
Let me further illustrate what I mean by "Quality" in briefly discussing the process of training for and running a road race. There is hardly a form of engagement more intimate than that with one's own body, the type that say, occurs on a training run. As runners we are inherently involved in every step of our act, acutely aware of our muscle contractions, our breathing, and the lactic acid that is boiling under our skin. As we develop a closer relationship with our body over time, we improve our understanding of how it works, and as a result, with mindful attentiveness, we can often make it [the body] work better. Parts of this process are undoubtedly satisfying ends in themselves, like the enjoyment of a beautiful day outdoors or the endorphins brought about by each pound against the ground. That said, for athletes that race competitively, there is no denying that the training process in its entirety is geared toward a very concrete end: when the hard work manifests itself in a race well run that is measured by the most objective and honest standard of all, time.
As a result of this wholly engaged process and the special Quality it generates, following a good race, we are extremely proud of what we have created and we truly cherish it.
We sit back and relish in the knowledge that the manual labor involved in transforming one's body in preparation for a race breeds a sort of self reliance that is extremely rare in today's world. The deep satisfaction, confidence, and fulfillment that comes with this is something that many endurance athletes can understand and share. This may be why our community is often viewed as cultish by outsiders. It is a small world whose members posses a common grasp of the valuable process required to improve and do "good" at our act. We share a unique understanding of Quality that often leads us to say things like "there are few things that make me feel more alive than running down the finishing chute".
Personally, I train because it is an opportunity to protect and devote a few hours of my day to using my body to accomplish something that is good. I end my days more fulfilled and self confident than I would otherwise, and I experience a special type of Quality along the way. To me, that is the value of training and racing endurance sport.
[1] These are just a few of the concerns that Matthew B. Crawford expresses about the knowledge economy office in his book Shop Class as Soulcraft [2] Robert Pirsig first defined "quality" in his book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
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