Go The Distance
The Brutiful Art of Finishing What You Started
Welcome back to the
Very Mental Lifeletter!
First, a quick shout out to the folks who gave me some phenomenal dating advice last week! More to come in later letters about trying some of these out 🙃
Some date recommendation highlights:
“Go get palm readings from the sketchiest psychic in Austin.”
“Sunday sessions: sit down and discuss that week’s plans, personal goals, relationship goals, etc.”
“Go to something that y’all have never seen before (opera, ballet, symphony, play). There’s something really magnetic about watching real live people create in front of you.”
How to Not Train for a Marathon
In my Grace and Discipline post on October 18th, I told y’all about how I had fallen off the marathon-training wagon after we got Hugo’s diagnosis.
I told y’all about my usual cycle:
Discipline
Falling off the discipline wagon
Shame/guilt
Planning
Repeat
Then I talked about how I was getting back on the wagon.
To quote myself from last month: “Because, in the past, I could go completely off the rails. I could completely disregard the marathon I signed up for, skip the race, and just slip back into a nasty shame spiral.”
Guess what?
I really almost skipped the race.
My level of Fuck-It was sky-high for this marathon in October.
I stopped running in lieu of Peloton scenic rides in the morning (IYKYK).
And a friend was scheduling a winery tour in Hill Country for that day, so I figured I’ll just do that instead of the race.
I started rationalizing to myself: “I don’t need to run this race. It doesn’t prove anything.”
Alyssa, in her infinite attempts to support someone that changes their mind all the time, also chimed in. “You don’t have to run this race!”
And for a few days, maybe even a week, I was out.
Quit before it even started 👍
And then I thought on it.
And I pivoted.
First of all, it’s a major red flag 🚩 for me when I sign up for something and don’t follow through with it. (I’ve written previously about signing up for the GRE four (4) times and never taking it.)
Second of all, and most importantly, I had to change my mindset on this.
Fuck Your Perfectionism 😇
Let’s just state some facts:
I’m a musician who has written hundreds of songs but has recorded and released less than 10.
I’m a thought leader and creative with endless amounts of ideas for making the world a better place who has never really put himself out there, always defaulting to the safe and secure way to make a living.
I’m a perfectionist. At least that’s what I’ve told myself before as a way to rationalize my half-assed attempts at ever actually making anything.
In order for me to run this race, I had to turn this into an exercise of anti-perfectionism. Of Good-Enough. Of finishing.
Because I didn’t train for shit for this race. My last long run was 15.5 miles in September. I missed weeks of training. I fucking Peloton’d through Vancouver Island for 20 minutes in the morning!
And yet, I knew that I could finish this. It wasn’t going to be perfect. It was going to be finished.
The Hurt Locker
Reimer’s Ranch Park is about 45 minutes west of Austin in the beautiful Hill Country of Texas. It’s truly a mindfuck of a setting if you’re like me and thought Texas was just oil fields.
Saturday was a lovely 55 degree morning, perfect running conditions. I had a Pop Tart and was ready to hit it.
The first half of the race was basically fine. I ran and talked with some guys. I brought water and fuel this time (unlike the half-marathon in September!) so I was already winning.
Shit didn’t get ugly until around mile 17. Again, my previous longest run ever was 15.5 miles. The race had started thinning out; I didn’t see people for miles at a time.
It quickly became Me talking to Me for the next 10 miles.
Something I talk to my clients ad nauseum about is how roughly 80% of our self-talk is negative and unconscious.
For the last few hours of this race, in excrutiating pain (my poor hips 😫), I had to get very intentional about how I was talking to myself.
I started diving into the Cookie Jar. I started talking to myself about all the shit I’ve been through in my life, and how this next minute of pain was nothing compared to all that. “This is some Cookie Jar shit,” I kept saying.
My mantra became “Right Here.” Whenever I would start thinking about the finish line, what I was going to eat that night, what I was going to post on Instagram, or whatever bullshit that came up, I brought it back to the mantra. Right. Here.
When I started shame spiraling about having to walk most of the last five miles.
Right Here.
For arguably the first time in my life, I had my own back. I became the coach that I needed. I became the loving, supportive parent that I needed.
I ran the last half-mile like I didn’t even know I was in pain.
And I finished.
Now
When I crossed the half-marathon finish line in September, I didn’t take a medal. I was embarrassed at how long it took me. I thought I didn’t deserve it.
Now? I haven’t taken my marathon medal off my neck since Saturday.
It was legitimately the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But more importantly, it was the day that I started showing up for Mike in my life. The day that I started having Mike’s back.
I texted Lyss the other day, “My-self negativity and hard on myself-shit has dropped by like 80% since Saturday.”
And that’s true. Usually I am a horrible mental roommate.
Now?
Nu uh.
I got right with myself on Saturday.
Me and me? We good now.
The funny thing that I wouldn’t have gotten here if I skipped the race and just went on a winery tour. I didn’t get there after countless psilocybin journeys. I didn’t get there through therapy previously.
I got there by finishing a monumental goal that I didn’t think I could accomplish. And by loving myself through the suffering of being less than perfect.
And I hope you can find that kind of pride and love for yourself before the end of this thing.
I love you,
Mike
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