Where are my limits
It's important to know what you're capable of. It's more important not to trust what you think you're capable of or what other people tell you you're capable of. Inspired by the Crushing Iron podcast (don't worry, it's about triathlon and life, not being a crazy weight lifter), I recently signed up for a race at the last minute to test my limits. I wanted to know how far I could push myself. It got me thinking about the other areas where I've tried my boundaries and what I've learned doing that.
We have a lot of limits on ourselves. Some of them come from our brains trying to protect us. Others are things we choose to believe about ourselves. Some come from our friends and loved ones because they don't want to see us get hurt. The most insidious comes from everything we have no control over, from people who want to see us fail to circumstances that put roadblocks in our way.
In a recent 10% Happier podcast interview, Dr. Peter Attia described how people are much more flexible than they think, but their brains hold them back. He says he could take a person who can't touch their toes and put them under anesthesia, where he could bend them in half. It isn't that their muscles and tendons aren't long enough or their joints can't move that way. They can't bend when awake because their brain doesn't trust them to put their body in that position.
Before I began swimming, I was always stiff. I always felt tight, like I needed to be careful about how I moved. Much of that was due to the pain from the effects of my Ankylosing Spondylitis (AS), avoiding things that would exacerbate that. Looking back, some of it was my brain trying to protect me, not trusting my body. Swimming developed that trust between my brain and body. It is a constant dialog to this day, but creating that trust has gotten me beyond many limitations that I previously had.
The most difficult limits for me are the ones we choose to believe about ourselves. Andrew Huberman recently discussed this in a great episode of The Huberman Lab podcast. We make declarations about ourselves and what we're good or bad at all the time. Am I bad at playing guitar, or have I never worked at being good at playing guitar? I may be a terrible guitar player, but without putting effort into it, I should have no opinion on my skill. We tell ourselves these stories about so many aspects of our lives.
I'm an introverted person. I've always enjoyed spending time alone and feel exhausted after spending time with groups of people. I've always struggled when put in group environments. When opportunities arose to meet new people, either in my personal life or in a professional situation, I've always shied away from that. My default response to any group get-together has always been no. Running a 100-mile ultramarathon is an exciting challenge for me, but going to a party where there will be many people has always been terrifying.
Knowing I could condition my body and change what it was capable of, I decided to try to train my mind. I have learned several strategies by immersing myself in these environments and paying attention to how people who thrive there behave and interact. Reading books like The Introvert's Edge to Networking by Matthew Pollard has identified many tools and techniques to make situations that before had me full of anxiety easier and enjoyable. My default answer is yes to a group environment because it is an opportunity to learn. Previously, I only saw it as an opportunity to fail. Pushing this limit is a work in progress, but I'm glad it's in progress.
It is counterintuitive, but some of the most challenging limits to push against come from those who love you the most. They care about and empathize with you so much. When you're in pain, they're in pain. You don't want a parent or spouse to be your crew during a tough race. When you reach that point where you're struggling, it also hurts them. They want to see it end and may not give you the encouragement you need to keep going. They may even give you excuses to quit.
I'm fortunate to have a lot of people who care about me in my life. But having spent many years in extreme pain due to AS, they've seen me struggle. Being a hereditary condition, some also know that pain very acutely. It always comes from a good place, but their thoughts can invade your brain. Simple things like commiserating when you're having difficulty putting on your socks or making sure the kids are being gentle when playing can become limits you believe about yourself if you're not careful. Suddenly you're avoiding doing this or not trying to do that because you have permission from people who love you to accept that limit.
We all have things outside our control that make it harder to reach our goals. Some have it worse than others. Often a lot worse. People are biased against you. A disaster struck, and you lost everything. Someone took your idea and left you behind. Or, like me, you have a condition that restricts what you can do. The Stoic philosopher Seneca said, "I judge you unfortunate because you have never lived through misfortune. You have passed through life without an opponent—no one can ever know what you are capable of, not even you." These things can be an excuse for accepting your circumstances or an opportunity to discover who you are.
I am far from the least fortunate, but AS impacts me daily. It is a constant hum in the background. Some days it can be hard to walk. In others, it can be hard to breathe. Fighting fatigue is a constant battle. I looked at it for a long time as something that had happened to me. It made things harder for me than for everyone else. I wouldn't say I was depressed, but I only considered that things would worsen, and I could do nothing about it.
Through a lot of work, it has become an opportunity. By me having AS, I have discovered a sport I enjoy and have met many great people. I know that I am more resilient than anyone else. I am acutely familiar with continuing when things are tough. My mind has trained for decades on how to disregard pain. I can share what I've learned and inspire someone else. The possibilities are endless, and I never would've had that chance without AS.
These are the thoughts that go through your head out there alone on race day. My goal in signing up for that race was to go as hard as possible, so I couldn't keep going by the end. I don't usually race this way. I typically focus on balancing having fun and going hard. But you will only know how hard you can push yourself if you try. About a half-mile from the end, I reached the limit I sought. I was stumbling from one side of the path we were running on to the other. I made it to the finish line but was in rough shape. It took an hour before I felt like myself again. I was second in my age group, which I've never achieved.
Most importantly, I learned I could push that line out further than I had been. My limit was different from where I thought it was. It usually is.