Learned Optimism

Track season is winding down, which means it's time to start planning for cross-country, even though the first race is four months away. Back when I got into coaching it was something of a lark; a way to implement the knowledge I'd gained through decades of competition and training while at the same time ridding myself of the long-held dream that I might somehow qualify for the Olympic Trials. I had no idea that I would come to see some of the kids as my own children, in a way. I had no idea that I would spend hours doing mindless bureaucratic functions. And I had no idea that I would begin a constant search for the perfect fundraiser.

No, coaching is about much more than just coaching. But it's a pretty cool gig, and even though the season ended less comfortably than I would have liked (a couple of my runners had that deer in the headlights look at Saturday's prelims, looking a little overwhelmed to be racing in front of such a large crowd), the fact is that we had a solid season and those athletes who put in the work benefited through faster times and personal success.

So why do I find myself feeling so downcast? I was thinking about that last night as I watched the Survivor finale, with the flirtatious Parvati somehow beating the comely Amanda for the overall title. I reflected to my wife that if I ever competed on Survivor I would feel as if I had failed unless I won the whole thing.

So you say something like that randomly and out loud, and the next thing you know it's nagging at you. Something like Survivor is fairly epic, as is competing in the Raid Gauloises or driving to the equator. A person should take some solace in the endeavour, rather than just the outcome.

You would think.

I am a person who rarely knows the comfort of satisfaction, and for whom only total success if enough. So when I look back on the track season I feel as if I failed utterly as a coach. I don't look at the kids who got faster or the gains in the program, but see only my flaws. Same with my writing career -- I've got a new book coming out this week, but when I read it I don't feel satisfied with a job well done, but only see the flaws: the sentence that could have been structured more simply or elegantly; the chunk of description that doesn't really belong.

It is a blessing and a curse, this constant striving to be just that little bit better all the time. I am a competitor, as are many of you. The nature of competition is winning, but it is also improvement. When we are not pushing towards being better, then we are either moving backward or not moving at all, stuck in some kind of performance limbo. And from there it's just a short step toward not competing at all, and just showing up at the races and muddling through.

Or at least that's the way I see it. Need to fix that. Need to find a way to be satisfied with the good and to shrug off those moments when things don't go as planned. I carry failure (and by that I mean anything less than total victory) on my shoulders like some static Sisyphean boulder, letting it perch there for years. My goal from now on is to drop that boulder. I want to embrace the good and learn from the things that don't go the way I'd planned. I want to shut out the critics a little better and to start hearing the compliments a little louder. And I want to find a way to compete and be my best and be happy with the act of competition rather than the outcome.

Damn... tougher than it sounds. I am the eternal optimist, however, setting my sights high and open to any new challenge that catches my eye. Let this be that one.

Now, on to cross-country.

Comments

[Sarah]

Congrats on the release of your book! And it's good to see you blogging again. Will you be at the tour this year?

[Sarah Duncan]

Good to see that you are back blogging.

Perfect isn't black or white, it is grey and it changes.

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