I’ve been training for a triathlon. And to be honest, I’m not entirely sure why I signed up. Maybe it’s just to see if I can do it because I don’t have the natural talent for endurance sports. Maybe it’s because my friends are doing it. Or maybe it’s just to try something new.
I come from the world of short-distance and powerlifting, so training has been tough and unlike anything I’ve done. Sustained cardio for hours is a different animal than deadlifting a large amount of weight for a few seconds. Neither are easy, but I much prefer the latter.
Or so I thought.
Somehow, the prolonged suffering has grown on me.
To me, an endurance workout is maneuvering around steady, unforgiving pain that intensifies as the session drags on. It’s thinking you’ve given everything you have, only to be reminded by your watch that you’re just a quarter of the way done. It’s putting up with boredom and constantly saying no to that lazy voice in your head that tells you to just take a rest for two minutes, or even to quit early and take a warm shower. It’s overcoming seemingly insurmountable discomfort by escaping into your mind, recalling your goals and demons, and somehow drawing out the inspiration to continue struggling.
And what’s most fascinating is that a part of me feels great throughout this agony, and there are therapeutic effects that persist even hours after the workout. Endurance taps into nature’s contradictory pain-reward pathway in a way that I haven’t quite experienced elsewhere. It’s like a rag that slowly wrings out stress and worry. Mile 1: goodbye anxiety. Mile 2: I’m pretty lucky. Mile 3: I can accomplish anything. And when I’m done, it’s as if nature says congrats, you’ve put up with hell so take this bliss drug and enjoy your day. I’m sore, but nothing hurts.
Ultimately, I’m curious to see how this will influence other parts of my life. Maybe it will condition me to realize that I have a lot left in the tank when I think I’m done. Or maybe it will encourage me to just get started.