Commitment

"Just do it" is a slogan we all know from the Nike ads, and I've certainly used it myself when I've needed a push to finish something challenging. Commit, finish, quit whining, just do it!

Many clients come to see me after their coaches or trainers have told them 'you just need to focus more' or 'you need to commit fully' and have no idea what they are supposed to do. They are trying to focus, trying to fully commit, and yet find themselves becoming increasingly anxious, unfocused, and wanting to avoid the very activity they previously loved.

I was riding my bike this past weekend, and as a reasonably new solo rider I am still practicing different skills in a variety of new circumstances. Having recently noticed that my bike has a much better chance of remaining upright if I keep my head up and looking forward, I have been focusing on that, especially at low speeds. The feedback loop is pretty quick: if I am on an uneven surface when I come to a stop and I am looking at the ground, the bike will go over. If I am looking at the gas pump instead of straight ahead when I pull into a service station, the bike will go over. At 570 pounds, I can't hold it up once it gets off-center, and I have the scratches on the side panels to prove it.

Pushing my bike off the center stand where I had parked it while on the ferry crossing Puget Sound, I felt it tipping to the right. Refusing to give in to another fall, I jerked it with all my might to keep it upright. I committed all my energy and focus to the required action, and I succeeded. A moment's hesitation and I would have been picking myself and my bike off the deck.

A bit later, my friend, who was leading the ride, turned into a driveway and I followed. Noticing the gravel, and unsure what his plans were, I stopped to await his next move. Once he decided to pull through the parking lot and exit, I knew I had to follow. A sharp right turn, a gouged out portion of the driveway, and thick gravel awaited me. A new experience, and a tricky one to navigate. While noticing my heart rate increasing slightly, I turned the throttle and moved forward. The tendency in such situations is to slow down, to be cautious; yet the way to keep the bike upright is to accelerate. I committed to the necessary action despite my anxieties, focused on where I wanted the bike to go, and made it easily to the exit.

Focusing and commitment are actions. What specifically do you need to be doing, and what will bring your focus to that action? Once you decide what to do, are you willing to fully commit to taking the action? I help my clients learn these skills, and I practice them myself, no matter what activity I am doing.

I rode my first solo SaddleSore (1,000 miles on my bike within a twenty-four hour time frame) this past August. I knew I would complete the ride before I started: I was fully committed to the ride and what it would take to finish. I was mentally and physically prepared, knew what I needed to focus on while riding, and I could see myself at the finish, surrounded by friends I knew would be there. Focus and commitment were key to my success.

"If you can't accept losing...

...you can't win," a quote from legendary football coach Vince Lombardi, has special resonance for me. When I play to avoid losing, I tend to lose. When my attention is focused on fear of failure, I tend to fail.

My husband and I won a place in the 2007 Iron Butt Rally, an eleven day, 11,000 mile motorcycle endurance rally. Approximately 100 riders are selected by lottery in the bi-annual event, and the competition to get in, let alone ride, is intense. Since we were fairly new to the sport, we felt we had to prove we belonged and set out to do so in a training ride, the Utah 1088. The 1088 is a 26 hour event, and the one we set our sights on was in June, 2007, just two months before the IBR.

Instead of focusing on riding well, we focused on showing our expertise in route planning, time management, and execution of our ride. It only took a few minutes to make our first major mistake, and the mistakes continued to add up as the morning progressed. Within four hours of the start we managed to make almost every rookie error, and compounded the errors as our emotions intensified. We were frustrated, unfocused, and miserable. Not only had we failed to prove our brilliance, we were on the verge of being disqualified for lack of points.

The turning point came when we discussed quitting. The odds of us even finishing, let alone finishing well, were quickly turning against us. Yet the idea of giving up was appalling to both of us. Competitive by nature, throwing in the towel wasn't in our plans. However, having the discussion, facing our potential failure, and becoming ok with it changed our focus once again. We were willing to lose, but we were not willing to quit.

After we completed the 2007 Iron Butt Rally, we rode the Utah 1088 again in 2008. We had learned many valuable lessons, and went into this rally willing to put it all on the line, knowing we risked losing it all. We encountered obstacles we had prepared for, and many serious ones we had not, and had our best finish ever. We focused on riding well, executing details as practiced, and adjusting our plan when necessary. We let go of the outcome, let the fear of failing fade to the background, and had a blast.

We did end up finishing that disastrous 1088 in 2007, somewhere in the middle of the pack. Once we let go of our fear of failing, we had room to succeed. Our attention turned to riding, having fun, focusing on doing what we knew how to do, and letting the rest take care of itself. We may not have proved anything to anyone else, but we had proved something to ourselves.

Practice Makes Perfect

How many times have we heard that? Practice makes perfect. Practice? yes. Perfect? Not quite so sure. I'd revise it to say practice teaches our bodies and minds to know what to do so when we are in the midst of a competition we can be in the moment.

I played competitive tennis for many years. From the minute I walked onto the tennis court, I behaved as if I were in a match. Every warm-up, every drill, every friendly game with teammates was played with the same focus and attention to detail I wanted to have in a genuine tournament. I was creating the  body memory I would need to draw on no matter the circumstances I found myself in. I was teaching my mind to let go of distractions and come back to the present moment. I spent hours practicing a combination of drills so I was prepared for whatever the other player might throw at me. I would constantly mix things up rather than do the same thing over and over, because in a match the opposing player is going to keep mixing things up and I need to be ready to react. I even practiced what to do when my 'go to' shot became my 'went somewhere else' shot. I learned to laugh it off and find a workaround, keeping my mind in the game while my overhead was deserting me. Did all the practice make me a perfect tennis player? Of course not, but it did give me the confidence to play my best, to focus on the process of playing well and let the outcome take care of itself.

Preparing for our motorcycling competitions required similar practice. We rode multiple 24 hour rides, shorter day trips, and all 48 contiguous states in 8 days in preparation for the 2007 Iron Butt Rally. We practiced taking photos, putting everything away properly, double checking each move, and every obstacle we faced taught us something we could draw on later. Spending hours in the saddle, timing our gas stops, our food stops and our rest stops. Filling out paperwork with the same attention to detail on a weekend ride that we will need to have on day ten of an eleven day rally increased the chances of avoiding costly mistakes when we were tired or stressed. Becoming lazy because it's 'only a short ride' meant we might become lazy when the stakes were higher. The biggest lesson was routines matter. Routines trained our minds and bodies to know what we expected from them, how we wanted them to respond no matter what happened. Again, did all that practice make us perfect? Absolutely not, but we again had the confidence to keep going, to find a way through the toughest challenges and figure things out. We focused on planning and execution, and let the outcome take care of itself.

So the revision I would make is to practice, practice, practice...but to practice wisely and efficiently. I focus on building routines, building both body and mental memory so I can stay present in an actual competition. I also look for opportunities to train myself for the unexpected, to come up with a workaround on the fly and keep my head focused on where I am, what I am doing, and where I am going so I'm not derailed when things go wrong. Confidence comes not from simply telling myself I have the ability to do something, using positive self talk or focusing on a great outcome, but from actually doing something until I am confident I have the internal knowledge I need to handle whatever comes my way because I've trained for it, both physically and mentally.

'Acting As If'

I remember my  first job out of college, working in the mountains at a residential treatment center for children who had been removed from their homes due to emotional problems. They lived in small cottages with staff who supervised their daily activities and provided a stable environment for them to learn and grow, and hopefully return home. My interview there was my first, and only, interview as a new graduate, and I decided to show up as the outgoing, confident young woman I wanted to become. When they hired me, I had to step into that persona and be that adult.

For years I thought I had followed the advice to 'act as if' when I accepted that job, that I pretended to be outgoing and slowly became outgoing as a result, doing something until it seems real. In grad school I was taught it was helpful for clients to learn this skill, and it is still promoted in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. "Whatever you want to be, just do it long enough and you'll become it. Talk yourself out of your anxiety and just fake it til you make it. Your fears will then be a thing of the past."

I now have serious doubts about those statements. Was it really acting as if I were outgoing that helped me move past my shyness, or did I simply take actions to move in that direction despite my fears? Did my thoughts actually change as I took risks, did I suddenly stop being afraid, or did I simply begin living a life I enjoyed and my worries became less important?

I vote for the second explanation. The evidence?  I still feel anxiety in many situations. My shyness still pokes out in unexpected places. My thoughts still take odd turns and tell me to become more invisible and less 'out there.' That first job was 38 years ago, and those thoughts still haunt me. They should be gone by now if 'acting as if' were enough.

In my work with athletes, they often share with me the advice they receive from their coaches or trainers: "Focus. Concentrate. Get rid of the negative thoughts. Tell yourself positive thoughts." These are athletes who have no problem spending hours repeating the same putt over and over to increase their skill, or weeks perfecting the approach to a jump in the riding arena. They aren't slackers when it comes to working hard to improve their skills. They tackle their negative thoughts with the same enthusiasm, only to find they keep sneaking back in, sometimes quietly and sometimes with a huge roar.

Which is why I don't bother with 'acting as if.' I share the lesson I took away from that first job: show up, know why you are there, and do something. I did things in that job that scared me. I learned to speak up and voice my opinion when I was afraid I'd look stupid. I didn't wait for the fear to go away or pretend it wasn't there. I took action even though I was scared, or shy or unsure. I showed up at meetings, I confronted people when it was appropriate, I set limits with the kids, I learned to say no. I focused on the task, on the 'doing,' and not on faking it. I paid attention to what I cared about, and that was being real, being present, and doing good work. I pay attention to the same things to this day.

New Year's Resolutions...and Why They Fail

I used to start  a new year making sweeping plans, setting unrealistic but great sounding goals, and promising to be a better person. This was what I was told would work, that having goals would help motivate me, spur me to action that I otherwise had been avoiding. It sure sounded good, and while the intention and desire for change were there, the follow through somehow rarely happened. I would do a few things, make a few attempts at new behaviors, and quickly find myself exactly where I had started, only feeling guiltier than when I began because I had not only not achieved amazing results, I was now a failure on top of it all.

I cannot tell the number of times I have gone to bed at night promising to 'eat less' or 'run further' or 'keep my desk cleaned off' the next day, only to fail miserably. If I can't make it one day, how can I possibly make it a whole year. I've tried positive affirmations: 'You are a great runner,' 'You are a naturally organized person.' But my mind knows the truth: that I can be lazy, messy and eat foods that aren't in my best interest for either weight or health. That smart alecky mind inevitably comes up with the counters to those positives and I feel defeated before I begin.

So do I simply give up? If setting concrete goals or repeating positive affirmations doesn't work am I doomed to failure? Only if I keep trying the same thing expecting a different result. What I have learned over time is that the approach is wrong...making resolutions and repeating positive affirmations actually works against achieving what I want. They depend on willpower, which has been suggested to be a depletable resource. What does that mean? That the more of it you use making one change, the less of it there is for other changes. According to this view, the more effort I put into going to the gym each day, the less I have available for resisting the cookie after my workout.

In addition, we are fairly poor at predicting the effects of changes in our lives, believing that 'if I just lose 10 pounds I will be happier' although this has rarely proven to be true. Yes, for some people living in a climate with more sunshine helps with mood, but is it only the sun or is it the willingness to get out more and engage in activities that makes the difference? For those of us who live in gray, rainier climes and are willing to get out despite the weather, the negative effects of the lack of sun seem to be less. So is the the light or the movement? Was I really happier when I weighed a few pounds less? Did I feel more productive and charming? Or was it the working out and eating less sugar that helped me feel better about myself, because I have noticed that my moods seem to be more responsive to those changes whether the few pounds are there or not.

Which brings me to the real point...it is ultimately my movement that will make the difference in my life. Stopping to evaluate meaningful life values, what I want to stand for and have my life stand for points me in a direction I care about. Once I know what matters to me, the effort is simply taking tiny steps in that direction. Each step moves me towards something I care about, and that becomes a reward in itself. It is less black and white: did I lose 10 pounds or not; and more gray: did I eat mindfully today, did I go to the gym today even though I felt like sleeping in. Small wins actually make me feel better than the random big ones. I celebrate the baby steps and worry less about the grand goals.

My values reflect who I want to be, what I want to work towards, what feels important. Steps taken in service of those values feel important, and I am more forgiving when I veer off course knowing I only have to climb back to the path and continue my journey in the direction I want to be going. Perfectionism has never worked for me, I fail every time. My desk will probably always tend to become messy, yet I know I will continue to take time to clear it off because I want to work in a calm environment where I can focus my attention on things that matter, and the clutter can get in the way of that. That somehow motivates me more than 'I should be neater,' and it's actually much easier to accomplish. My mind doesn't even argue with itself loudly enough for me to notice. It tends to go along with the smaller steps, which makes it easier to hold lightly the criticisms that I won't be successful when I focus on the larger, less value based goals.

Committed action, in service of my values, is what I celebrate. And so I begin the new year as I ended the past one: one step at a time.