The Heart of Endurance

Tag: running

  • 54: Beyond Positive Thinking

    People often say positive thinking is important.

    “I can do this.”

    “I will overcome.”

    “My dream will come true.”

    “I can push through this difficulty.”

    There is truth in this.

    Positive thinking gives energy.

    It helps people start.

    It helps people continue.

    It helps people not give up too early.

    In the expansion phase of life, this kind of thinking can be very powerful.

    It helped me climb.

    It helped me endure.

    It helped me move forward when the path was difficult.

    ⸻

    But over time, I began to see the limitation.

    Positive thinking alone is not enough.

    In triathlon, this became very clear.

    During a race, I can tell myself:

    “I am strong.”

    “I can keep pushing.”

    “I can conquer this hill.”

    But if I push too much on the bike, the run will expose the truth.

    No amount of positive self-talk can completely erase poor pacing.

    The body keeps record.

    If I ignore fatigue, hydration, nutrition, breathing, and effort level, I will pay for it later.

    The race does not reward belief alone.

    It rewards integrated control.

    ⸻

    Life is similar.

    A person can keep saying:

    “I can handle this.”

    “I will overcome.”

    “I just need to stay positive.”

    But if he keeps ignoring:

    fatigue,

    loss of peace,

    emotional tension,

    lack of recovery,

    body signals,

    inner warning signs,

    then eventually the system becomes unstable.

    The mind may say, “I can.”

    But the body, heart, and spirit may say, “This is too much.”

    ⸻

    This does not mean positive thinking is wrong.

    It means positive thinking must be combined with wisdom.

    The best version of myself does not come from pushing harder all the time.

    It comes from listening to the whole system.

    Body.

    Mind.

    Emotion.

    Spirit.

    ⸻

    Triathlon taught me that the strongest race is not created by maximum effort from the beginning.

    It is created by knowing:

    when to push,

    when to hold back,

    when to eat,

    when to drink,

    when to adjust pace,

    when to listen.

    That is not weakness.

    That is mastery.

    ⸻

    Earlier in life, I believed strength meant pushing through everything.

    Now I think strength means managing the whole system wisely.

    Positive thinking says:

    “I can climb this hill.”

    Integrated wisdom asks:

    “At what pace?”

    “With what breathing?”

    “With what cost to the rest of the race?”

    That question changed me.

    ⸻

    The same principle applies to work and life.

    There are times to push.

    There are times to persist.

    There are times to believe strongly.

    But there are also times to protect peace, recover, reflect, create distance, and adjust rhythm.

    That is not negative thinking.

    That is reality-based wisdom.

    ⸻

    I once thought strength meant telling myself I could keep pushing.

    Triathlon taught me that wisdom means knowing when pushing will cost too much later.

    ⸻

    Positive thinking helped me start.

    Integrated awareness helps me finish well.

    ⸻

    The best version of myself does not come from conquering every hill.

    It comes from pacing my body, mind, and spirit

    so I can keep moving with peace.

  • 47: Goals Without Being Owned by Them

    Through triathlon, I learned a different relationship with goals.

    At first, the structure looked familiar.

    Set a big goal.

    Create a plan.

    Execute the plan every day.

    This was the same structure I had used for much of my life. Study hard. Train hard. Work hard. Move toward the next stage. In my expansion phase, this method helped me build a career and develop discipline.

    But there was one important difference.

    In my younger years, the big goal often carried a feeling of lack.

    I was not there yet.

    I needed more.

    I needed the next achievement.

    I needed the next proof.

    The goal was not only direction.

    It became identity.

    ⸻

    Triathlon began with goals too.

    Complete a race.

    Improve time.

    Finish an Ironman.

    Execute a plan well.

    Those goals mattered. They gave structure to training. They helped organize effort and focus.

    But gradually, something changed.

    The race became less central.

    The daily training became richer.

    ⸻

    A small improvement in swimming.

    A smoother cadence on the bike.

    A better body position.

    A quieter breath during running.

    A subtle signal noticed earlier.

    A calm morning workout.

    A feeling of gratitude that my body can still move.

    These things were small.

    But they began to feel deeply meaningful.

    ⸻

    I realized that the big goal did not disappear.

    It simply stopped being the source of my worth.

    The goal became a container.

    Daily practice became the life inside it.

    ⸻

    This was very different from my old pattern.

    Earlier, daily work often felt like sacrifice for a future result.

    Now, daily practice itself became rewarding.

    I no longer needed strong motivation in the same way.

    Motivation is necessary when the present feels insufficient.

    But when the process itself gives rhythm, small joy, and gratitude, I do not need to force myself as much.

    I simply return.

    ⸻

    Before a race, I now often feel full already.

    Not because the race is unimportant.

    But because the training has already given me so much.

    The finish line is meaningful, but it does not need to complete me.

    The race becomes expression.

    Not proof.

    ⸻

    This lesson is now affecting other parts of my life.

    I still value goals.

    I still prepare.

    I still want to do things well.

    But I am less controlled by the feeling that something is missing until the outcome arrives.

    ⸻

    Instead, I ask different questions.

    Can I find rhythm today?

    Can I do this work with clarity?

    Can I notice small progress?

    Can I feel gratitude in the process?

    Can I move with peace?

    ⸻

    This is one fruit of integration.

    The future still matters,

    but it no longer steals the present.

    ⸻

    In expansion, the goal pulled me because I felt incomplete.

    In integration, the goal guides me while daily practice makes me feel alive.

    ⸻

    I still have goals.

    But I am learning how to hold them lightly.

    To use them for direction,

    without letting them own my inner life.

  • 20: A Life of Aligned Practices

    When I first began triathlon, I thought I understood why I was doing it.

    I wanted a challenge.

    I wanted to test myself physically. I wanted to prove that I could endure something difficult outside of medicine and research. Triathlon became a new place to direct effort.

    At first, races meant something very specific to me.

    They helped me:

    • rebuild self-trust
    • prove endurance
    • confirm capability

    This was important.

    In my work environment, feedback felt distorted. Effort and recognition did not always match. Politics, perception, and hierarchy influenced how value was reflected back to me.

    Triathlon was different.

    Training produced visible results.

    Discipline produced measurable progress.

    The body did not lie.

    There was no hidden agenda.

    In that environment, I began rebuilding something I did not fully realize I had lost:

    Trust in myself.

    ⸻

    At first, races mattered deeply.

    Finishing a sprint triathlon felt significant. Then Olympic distance. Then half Ironman. Eventually, a full Ironman.

    Each race gave me evidence:

    I can persist.

    I can adapt.

    I can continue.

    At that stage, triathlon still belonged partly to my expansion phase.

    There was still proving inside it.

    ⸻

    But something changed gradually.

    I did not notice it immediately.

    One day, I realized that race results no longer carried the same emotional weight.

    I still trained carefully.

    I still wanted to perform well.

    I still respected preparation and pacing.

    But internally, the race had changed meaning.

    I was no longer racing to become someone.

    I was racing because the rhythm itself felt alive.

    ⸻

    This surprised me.

    Because I had always associated passion with intensity, ambition, and pursuit. I believed passion required a strong external target—a finish line, a title, a measurable achievement.

    But in this newer phase of life, something quieter appeared.

    Triathlon became:

    • rhythm
    • solitude
    • refinement
    • gratitude
    • regulation
    • expression

    I no longer needed races to create identity.

    That realization would have once felt depressing.

    Now it feels freeing.

    ⸻

    The race itself became secondary.

    The meaningful part was the daily process:

    Early mornings.

    Quiet roads.

    Steady breathing.

    Small improvements in movement and awareness.

    I began to understand that I was no longer using triathlon to build identity.

    I was using it to inhabit life more fully.

    ⸻

    An aligned practice is different from a goal.

    A goal is future-oriented.

    An aligned practice is something that already fits who you are becoming.

    It supports:

    • your temperament
    • your values
    • your nervous system
    • your stage of life

    Aligned practices do not consume you.

    They steady you.

    None of them require applause.

    None depend on status.

    Yet together they create a life that feels deeply alive.

    ⸻

    This is very different from the way I lived earlier.

    Earlier, I was trying to construct meaning.

    Now, meaning emerges naturally through rhythm.

    ⸻

    I once believed that fulfillment required large passion.

    Now I see that fulfillment can come from small, repeated moments of alignment.

    Nothing dramatic.

    But nothing missing.

    ⸻

    I think this is one of the major differences between expansion and integration.

    In expansion, fire dominates.

    You build.

    You prove.

    You climb.

    In integration, warmth becomes more important.

    You refine.

    You align.

    You inhabit.

    ⸻

    The fire years were necessary.

    They built my discipline, endurance, and capacity.

    But warmth is what allows me to live inside the life that discipline created.

    ⸻

    Triathlon began as proof of strength.

    It became a way to inhabit life more fully.

    ⸻

    I no longer race to become someone.

    I race because the rhythm itself feels alive.

    ⸻

    And perhaps this is what aligned living really means:

    Not chasing a future version of yourself,

    but learning to fully inhabit the person you have already become.

  • 5: Finding ”Pace” in a Competitive World

    For many years, I believed that success required acceleration.

    Faster publications.

    More cases.

    More visibility.

    More forward motion.

    In competitive environments, pace is often dictated externally. Deadlines compress time. Promotions create comparison. Opportunities create urgency. If you slow down, you fear being left behind.

    I lived in that rhythm for a long time.

    The belief was simple: if I reduce speed, I lose position.

    But endurance training taught me something different.

    In triathlon, pacing is everything.

    If you start the swim too aggressively, your heart rate spikes and you pay for it later. If you surge repeatedly on the bike, your legs accumulate fatigue that will appear during the run. Early overexertion feels powerful, but it is inefficient.

    The athletes who finish strong are not always the ones who begin the fastest.

    They are the ones who know their pace.

    Their effort is steady. Their breathing is controlled. Their intensity is deliberate. They move forward continuously, without dramatic fluctuation.

    Competitive professional life is similar, but we rarely treat it that way.

    Instead of pacing, we surge.

    We overcommit.

    We react to every opportunity.

    We respond to every external pressure.

    We measure ourselves against others’ speed.

    And we leak energy.

    When I began to shift into detachment and integration, I feared something. If I chose my own pace, I would fall behind.

    But something unexpected happened.

    I did not fall behind.

    I stopped wasting energy.

    When pace is internally regulated rather than externally dictated, clarity improves. You see more clearly where effort truly matters and where it does not. You begin to distinguish between structural priorities and ego-driven impulses.

    In endurance training, you learn to hold back when others surge. Not because you are weak, but because you are thinking long-term. You trust your conditioning. You trust your rhythm.

    In professional life, the same principle applies.

    You do not have to respond to every invitation.

    You do not have to chase every title.

    You do not have to accelerate every time someone else does.

    You can select.

    Selection creates pace.

    When I stopped trying to maximize everything, my work did not deteriorate. In some ways, it improved. Surgical preparation became more deliberate. Conversations became deeper. Decisions became cleaner. Energy became more concentrated.

    Pacing is not withdrawal.

    It is disciplined restraint.

    You are still moving.

    Still training.

    Still refining.

    But the movement is steady.

    Seasons change gradually.

    Endurance is built gradually.

    Integration happens gradually.

    You can live inside a competitive system without letting it control your speed.

    In triathlon, pacing determines whether you finish strong or collapse early.

    In life, pacing determines whether ambition becomes sustainable or exhausting.

    Finding your pace does not mean stepping off the course.

    It means finishing it with strength.