Hard is Relative
The Paradox of Pushing Limits
When I did my first Ironman 70.3 in September 2021, it exceeded my expectations and felt like the hardest thing I’d ever done. The race in Atlantic City was on a Sunday and I remember feeling filled with newfound lifeforce on Monday morning, only to be zapped of that precious energy hours later—trapped in my 9-5, unable to relate to anyone in the corporate environment.
Weeks later, I found myself in a funk. Ahh, the nova effect. The post-race blues. Crossing the finish line in AC, a goal I poured my being into for two years after a cycling accident, left me proud, yet questioning what else I was capable of and how any future race could compare.
Winter came and lingered. Life threw curveballs. Loved ones moved on—to the afterlife, new relationships, and faraway islands—leaving a void that felt too deep to fill. Pain became a humbling teacher and gave me lessons in compassion and resilience. Training became an anchor as I navigated uncharted waters.
Swimming, biking, and running served as coping mechanisms—helping me process my emotions, navigate the complexities of young adulthood, and find meaning in my life. The sport called me to Boulder, a place I’m proud to now call home. It allowed me to leave my finance job and make a living by coaching and serving others.
Since college, I’ve had my sights set on the Ironman World Championship in Kona, Hawaii—the race. In October 2024, eight years after writing down that goal, I finally had the opportunity to compete on the biggest stage in the sport; however, when I crossed that iconic finish line on Ali’i Drive, I felt empty.
Ironman is hard, especially with a fractured pelvis, but I no longer reap the same rewards I once did. With enough experience and proficiency, the learning curve flattens. After a while, the challenge you pursued to get yourself out of your comfort zone becomes the comfort zone. That’s a paradox of endurance sport—the pursuit of discomfort can become routine.
Alex Hutchinson spoke about this on his latest appearance on the Rich Roll Podcast last week. How many athletes do Ironmans year after year, hoping to shave ten minutes off their PR with every go? I swore I would not become one of those aforementioned guys, yet here I am, now aiming to break nine hours in the full distance. For what? Strava kudos? Admiration from strangers? My pro card? Because I foolishly believe going sub-three in the marathon off the bike is going to magically change my life, lead to enlightenment, and cure what ails me? Nonsense.
David Goggins worshippers fetishize doing hard things and get off to a jacked guy screaming in their ear, but my buddy Taylor always reminds me that hard is relative. It’s not universal, it’s personal. What’s hard for me isn’t necessarily hard for you. What’s hard for you isn’t necessarily hard for me.
I struggle to sit still, become avoidant when having important conversations with my partner about the future, and feel my worth is dependent upon clearing my productivity debt—traits others may not identify with. Conversely, some people can’t fathom spending their precious Saturday exercising for six hours, yet there are few things I’d rather do. I feel freedom when I ride. In fact, Freedom is my bike’s name. But at what point does it become escapism?
On more days than I’d care to admit, I wake up, eat breakfast, and train—pushing other items to tomorrow’s to-do list. And do it again the next day. This procrastination takes seemingly insignificant tasks and swells them into Herculean labors. However, when my head hits the pillow at night, even if I moped around and did nothing else, I can feel a sense of accomplishment because I worked out.
An unfortunate number of endurance athletes have a history of trauma. They’re familiar with pain and work tirelessly to transcend it into power. People sarcastically, but not-so-sarcastically, ask, “what are you running from?” Athletes chuckle and give the canned, “Nothing, I’m running toward something.” Are we? Am I?
Following the line at the bottom of the pool blinds me from negativity. Bombing hills on my bike liberates me from fear. Pounding the pavement mutes my monkey mind and self-loathing. The daily voluntary suffering is a vehicle for self-discovery, expression, and actualization. Few things require more presence and make me feel more alive than exploring the limits of my mind and body when immersed in nature. Superficialities evaporate and I’m left with a greater awareness and clarity around my values, identity, priorities, and purpose. But to what end?
Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE triathlon. I will continue to train, race, and push my body to its literal breaking point. I enjoy the process, gain physical fitness, build mental fortitude, and am part of a supportive community; however, you can’t swim, bike, or run your way to peace. There will always be a record to chase, a mountain to climb, a longer distance to cover. And it’s sadly not cheaper than therapy.
There’s beauty in doing something purely for the sake of doing it, but I think it’s important to be connected to a deeper, more powerful North Star when chasing an audacious goal. To be someone you’ve never been, you will have to do things you’ve never done. The going will inevitably get tough and you will want to quit, so why is this important to you?
There’s a correlation between how difficult something is and the satisfaction we feel on the other side. So what is something that is genuinely hard to you that will bring out the growth you seek? Is it a new experience or hobby? Or how can you take a familiar experience and make it new?
It’s been a frustratingly slow six months recovering from my stress fracture, but the fire is slowly building inside me as I regain my strength and health. I’ve had an enjoyable “off-season”—climbing the big mountains in Colorado’s backcountry and working to grow my coaching business. Because I’m still experiencing pain in my pelvis and don’t want the pressure, I haven’t yet signed up for a race, but I’m targeting a fall Ironman.
In the meantime, I’m leaning into what’s actually hard for me. Not only what’s hard, but what’s meaningful. Finding stillness when my reptilian brain is always craving more and telling me I’m not doing enough. Staying engaged in conversation with my significant other when my fear takes over and wants me to hide.
What gets you from 0 to 1 won’t get you from 99 to 100. To get different outputs, you need different inputs, an updated operating system. In the wise words of Meek Mill, “there are levels to this shit”, so what’s going to get you to the next one?
Pretty deep and really well written.
Same with me - when ultras become comfortable compared to first ones. So what´s next “out of comfort zone”?