The gym isn’t exactly known as a place for deep insights. Like many other people, I go there with some frequency to maintain my fitness, knowing that ten years from now, most of my health issues will be dealt with by medical professionals who got through university thanks to ChatGPT. Work, family and volunteering commitments mean that I hardly ever manage to get through my notional workout schedule of three short sessions per week.
The last couple of months were quite busy. I’ve skipped the gym more times than I actually went there. As a result, my progress — which was quite satisfactory earlier — has slowed, and even reversed for some exercises. It’s perfectly ordinary for life to take precedence over lifting weights. I should add that while I’m very ok with strength training, it’s nothing I get excited about. I get my kicks elsewhere.
Today I sat down on the rowing machine. My gym has fancy computer-controlled gear. The machines remember the weights I used last time. Not having trained for a while, I had to substantially reduce the weight in order to get through my reps. I strained my muscles, pondered this fact, and all of a sudden I realized that a change had happened inside me, some time over the past couple of years.
The 7P
It used to be that I approached any challenge, whether at work or in my personal life, as something that I must master at all costs. Whether it was getting married; having kids; or a presentation for the big boss at work; or anything of any significance, really: In my mind, I had one shot, and only one. And I’d better hit the target. That usually meant putting in a lot of effort. As they say in the British Army, “proper preparation and planning prevents piss-poor performance”.
This approach mostly worked well. It was also super stressful. My feeling was that I was operating at higher RPMs than most other people, and that feeling was probably correct. This sort of lifestyle turned out to be surprisingly sustainable. It’s also very tiring.
As I was pulling on the handles of the rowing machine, I probed in my mind to see whether I was frustrated by having to reduce the weight. The answer was, mostly no. Of course it’s annoying to lose my progress. But today, I’m training. And that means that I’m at least preventing further losses. Next time will probably be better.
Dent in the universe? Nah.
This sort of thought felt somewhat surprising. As I investigated further, I realized that my mindset had shifted. Now, it was no longer make-or-break.
Instead it was: I’m still breathing. I came here today, and made the time to do something for myself. I’m trying. Today may not be as good as I’d like. But by training today, I’m at least giving myself a shot at next time being better. I recognized that this pattern of thought was at work in lots of different areas of my life.
It looks like my focus has shifted from winning battles, to pure persistence. To just showing up, doing the thing — and keeping at it until I succeed. The world is so much bigger than me. Yes, I can make a meaningful impact. But in fact, very little depends on me and my behaviour. I’m just not that important.
And, as I’m approaching my first half-century on this planet, that’s something of a relief. I can make a difference. But I don’t have to. (Though I certainly intend to.) Patience and stubbornness carry a power that sheer energy lacks.
Relevant song: Tori Amos, Growing Up (1994)