The Tour de France is over, and once again the commentators laud the cyclists’ remarkable ability to suffer. The riders themselves recite lines like:
“Oh, it was brutal out there today.”
“We were suffering in the back of the field.”
And race announcers, providing voice overs to close-in shots of the leaders powering uphill or motoring along in a time trial, can be heard to say:
“Look at the agony on his face!”
“He’s destroying himself to stay in the lead/catch up with the leaders.”
Lance Armstrong, promoting his second book after his fifth (of seven) Tour wins, said: “I’m not happy if I’m not doing some physical suffering, like going out on a bike ride or running. First, it’s good for you. No. 2, it sort of clears my mind on a daily basis. And it’s a job. My job is to suffer. I make the suffering in training hard so that the races are not full of suffering.”
Again, at this year’s Tour, after eventual winner Alberto Contador zoomed past him up the climb in Verbier, Switzerland, Lance announced, “”I suffered. It was very hard. I was a little bit on the limit at the bottom, I think everybody was a bit on the limit.”
Clearly, cyclists embrace the concept and feeling of suffering as being essential to participation and even victory.
And yet these men persist and even revel in their suffering. Just what is it they are experiencing and talking about? Why do endurance athletes seem to believe that the only way to get good results is to feel bad?
In the September issue of Triathlete Magazine, Ben Greenfield, a Spokane-based coach and fitness expert, attempts to dissect fundamental motivations for doing an endurance sport such as triathlon. He notes that most of us, when asked why we’re doing triathlon, will give an easily understood, rational, logical, even emotionless answer. Examples include to stay healthy, relieve stress, set a good example, or “climb my own personal Mount Everest.”
I’ve used most of these myself, but recognize that thoughts like this don’t get to the core of why I keep at it. And certainly, happy thoughts like these are not much good when, yes, suffering through a marathon in 90 degree heat at the end of an Ironman.
Last night, Cheryl and I were part of a social bike ride, about 15 people approximately our age and economic status. I had already done a “brutal” bike trainer/transition run of two hours in the morning, and an hour swim at the Y in the afternoon. I was literally coasting along, riding in the slipstream, when the ride’s hostess pulled along side and asked, “So, Al, you must like endurance sports,” clearly fishing for an answer to why I get ready for and then race Ironman and other triathlons. Of course, the subject had already been focussed on me, as I was wearing a sleeveless “Ironman World Championship” bike jersey, and had acknowledged my upcoming trip to Kona.
Greenfield wrote, “The rational motivation is respectable and easy to explain to your friends. The irrational [and truer] motivation can be embarrassing and difficult to explain …”
The very next article in the magazine (this was a “Special Issue” on sports psychology) described behavioral studies which demonstrated that the presence of competitors and witnesses (audience) significantly improves athletic performance – that is, you go faster, and can make a higher effort if there are others doing the same thing and even more so if there are others watching.
It was with all this in mind that I decided to give the real answer to her question. I’ve known for years why I am persisting in competing and training to compete well. I like the feeling of power.
So I said to her, “I like to race. I like to win races. I’m addicted to the feeling of power I can get.”
“You mean power over other people, like crushing your opponents?”
“No, it’s not that, exactly, although I do need competitors to get the feeling of power. But the feeling is internal. I like the sensation of being able to push my body faster and harder. When I’m going faster than I ever have before, both faster and harder, I get such as positive feeling from it. That’s what drives me to do the races, and what drives me to do the training. I feel strong, and I like that feeling”
Our hostess is an accomplished runner herself, a local age-group winner and Boston Marathon qualifier. I could sense her digesting these primal, visceral thoughts, testing them within herself. “I like besting myself, seeing if I can do better than before, seeing what my limits are.”
“Yes, and you know that you always run better, run faster when there are other people around. It’s not like you are trying to do better than them. You are using them to help you improve yourself. And you’re helping them as well. That’s how I view competition – it’s not some dog-eat-dog jungle, it’s a vicious but in the end friendly cooperation. We need each other to bring out the best in ourselves.”
I went on. “I do have a serious competitive streak.” Pointing to the three men who were the current “tete de la course”, pacing each other at a leisurely 15 mph down the meandering byway hugging the Puget Sound, I said, “Right now, I’m having to suppress the feeling that I need to catch up with those guys. I know it wouldn’t be good for me to work hard tonight, ‘cause I have to run 2 and a half hours tomorrow morning.”
She laughed, and raced after them herself.
I have freely admitted for the past two years that I am addicted to successful Ironman racing (and by necessity, the training required to do well.) Other addicts, such as alcoholics, admit that the pull of their drug is the feeling of power it gives them. An internal feeling, that sweeps away the negative, and helps them ignore the downsides of their addiction, such as cirrhosis, loss of friends and employment, whatever.
The downside of my addiction, apparently, is “suffering”. I do not (yet) identify with those who revel in the suffering for its own sake. Rather, I suspect the power I feel is actually a sense of internal triumph in being able to ignore the suffering, and keep going to some place faster, stronger. I chose to (or am able to) use the fact that I am doing well despite the effort as my primary motivator. Power vanquishes suffering? Power is what I feel when I move beyond suffering, moving from a negative, debilitating state into a positive, high performance state.
Today’s sufferfest started at 6:30 AM, not my normal time to do a long run. But the high temperature predicted for today was 100F+ (eventually, we officially hit 103, with 101 recorded here.) No way I need to do THAT level of heat training. So I took off at sunrise, and used the trees and the Sound – three miles of my run was over the Narrows Bridge and back – to stay relatively cool. I drank 100 ounces of water in 132 minutes, 15 miles of running as the temperature climbed through the 70s and the sun came hazily slamming over the firs. Despite my water intake, my weight before and after the run was the same. That should give you some idea of my sweat rate!
During this run, I almost naturally dropped into the Ironman pacing mode I’ve learned. The first third or so was kind of slow, slower than felt prudent for training purposes. I gradually ramped up my perceived effort level, and ended up averaging 8:48 minutes per mile for the whole run, which is my goal long run pace. I seemed to get stronger as the run progressed. But whereas in the past, I would average a 122-126 beats per minute heart rate, today, that was down to 117 bpm, despite the four hours of work the day before, and despite the heat and sun. And I felt powerful as I kept pushing the pace, sweating in sheets, and ignoring the radiant sun searing on my shoulders.
Suffering engenders Power. Power is overcoming suffering.