Moment of Truth in a Crisis of Faith

[I wrote this essayette back in March before the site crashed.  Fortunately, Annie had printed it and mailed a copy to me.  Several others had expressed a connection with the spirit of it, so I thought I'd republish it here.]

When I was a child I wasn’t athletic.  I was bookish and skinny.  You could hold me up to the light and see my organs, that’s how skinny I was.  At school I used to forgo recess in order to read.  I even developed the ability to navigate the school halls while actively reading.  I hated playing sports.  Coaches yell at you, other kids make fun of you, losing sucks.  Besides, I believed that it is through the mind that a person rises to greatness.  Athletics is for brutes and idiots.  I was convinced that a career of contemplation or calculation was in store for me.

In my first month of high school I got pushed around a bit.  Being cocky, smart and skinny is a bad combination.  Fortunately, not long after this, I heard an announcement for wrestling team tryouts.  I wasn’t afraid of risk so I went for it.  My experience in that sultry unventilated basement that passed for a wrestling room changed my life.

Every day was hard.  We were constantly being pushed to run faster, go longer, do more.  I worked harder than ever in my life simply because I was asked to by a coach in the presence of teammates.  What I came to notice, and what really fascinated me were the recurring thoughts I would have at some point during each intense conditioning session.

At some point, usually after I had been training a while and was fatigued, I would assess, “Am I doing this as hard as I can?”  Almost invariably, the answer was no.  I could always eke out a little more.  I could step faster, I could rest less.  After this, when reaching the true physical limits of my ability I would always have what I now call a “crisis of faith.”  This is when a barrage of doubt and thoughts would try to stop me.  This is when I would tell myself some variation of, You can’t, nobody can, you’ve done enough, nobody else is working this hard, nobody else hurts this much, c’mon you never push this hard, you don’t really want it, just back off a little nobody will notice, you’ve done good enough.

This crisis of faith provided a choice.  Do I push through , despite my screaming muscles and thoughts, or do I give in?  Do I conquer or succumb?  This was a moment of truth- in that moment, what kind of man am I?  I didn’t always choose to perservere, but when I did it left me with something when it was all over.  Some new presence in me, a strength of will that wasn’t there before.

This is what I came to love about athletics.  It strips away the delusion and posturing to reveal your character.  It asks the fundamental question, “Who are you?”  I’ve heard a saying that crisis doesn’t build character, it reveals it.  Hard-earned experience proves this false.  There is always a choice, the outcome of which contributes to the making of who you are.

What we do at the gym is so much more than physics.  Why do you think Crossfit has developed such a dedicated following?  Why do people tear open their hands, push themselves to the point of vomiting or fainting or injury?  Because in that moment there is something real.  In that moment you have an opportunity to expand or contract.