Active Aggression

No one has ever called me laid back.  No one has ever accused me of being passively aggressive either.  In other words, one never has to wonder if I am upset with them.  My jaw seizes up, my shoulders tense, I think there is a vein that pops on my temple, and oh yeah, I will tell you.  Some people hold emotions inside, dwell, and deal with conflict silently waiting for the wave of frustration to wash away.  I would rather fight.

I thought about this with running.  Some days are a struggle. 

Mental toughness is not about being strong when things are going your way, mental toughness is about digging in when it just really, well, sucks.  I have had races where I have had good times, but I have been upset with myself at the finish because mentally I checked out.  I gave up.  My legs hauled me across the finish, but my focus was gone.  I have had races where my times have been absolutely awful (uh-hum, Carlsbad), but I have stayed in the game fighting to the finish.  I cannot complain too much on the finish of those events because everything was put out there.

I think I am going to deem this active aggression.  Forcing your mind to pump you through every last ounce of pain beyond the flashing lights warning of system failure straight into overdrive, infinity and beyond.  What I am I talking about?

Well, sometimes running fast just stinks.  It hurts.  I am tired.  My legs are sore.  I want a nap.  I want a latte.  I want to run fast, but feel like I am jogging.  I want fake-Drea to do the workout while I watch her go round and round the track.  Just how mental is running? 

Two Tuesdays ago, Rusty gave me an out from track practice.  I felt awful.  I could not run one mile at speed without serious effort and it was clear that I needed a break.  One out.  One time.  This week, I felt fine, but my mind kept thinking about that “out.”  Some little devil horned Dre sat on my right shoulder whispering words of whimping out.  “Whimp out, it’s OK, you did last week.”  All of a sudden not doing the workout was an “option.”  SHUT UP!  Stop that!  Now the workout turned no fun, no fun at all.  I watched Tim pull farther and farther away from me.  I could keep up, but he just drifted off, two runners up, three, four, five.

Time for active aggression.  On the last lap of our two mile, I dusted the devil off my shoulder and zeroed in on Tim’s back.  I finished by his side.  Even….even Tim.  That might just be better than finishing a great workout feeling great.  OK, not as much fun, but very useful.  Mind game?  Oh yeah.

My point.

~ by drea on October 22, 2009.