Bullshit

Bullshit (or bull$#|^, or BS or however you want to put it) has a bad name. Once you find out something is fake, or a deliberate lie, or just plain wrong, most folks react with either contempt or disgust. Possibly anger. No one likes being deceived.

But here’s the interesting thing: A good dose of bullshit can drive a person to action. It’s easy to trigger a kid, just say: “Did you hear what Timmy said about you?” In the real world, marriages are broken by bullshit. I wonder how many Hollywood marriages start to have trouble because there are headlines saying that there is trouble in the marriage. Fortunes are built on bullshit. Just ask Bernie Madoff or the Wall Street bankers in charge of the mortgage crisis. Wars are fought on bullshit. This one is obvious. Politicians make their careers out of bullshit.

This isn’t a rant, talking about what should change, or how terrible this is, or whether or not we need to wake up and fix what is happening. No, this is just recognizing that this happens. And that it will happen again. This isn’t a new thing, it’s just more common now because bullshit is easy to fling everywhere.

So what?

So… think about it. One of the best ways to motivate people is to lie to them. Feed them bullshit. I’m no different. I get more worked up over the fantastic lie than the mundane truth… But what use is that, if I can’t control the lie?

But what if I could? What if I could lie to myself? Feed myself my own brand of bullshit? I could be unstoppable!

Unfortunately, I don’t have full control of this yet. I can do this at times:

• During a track workout I can manage a 1600 with this line of bullshit: “Well, I’m at 600m, that’s halfway through the second lap. Only 200m to go and I’m halfway. Halfway is practically done… which means I’m practically done”.
• Swimming is largely the same. Counting lengths and counting down the sets I use the same flawed reasoning.

Other times, I call myself out on my own lies. I know that despite the fact that I’m ¾ of the way through a long run, if it’s a 32k day, I’ve still got 8k to go. And it’s the worst 8k. On those days, I hate that worthless liar.

Even so, lying to myself has gotten me through the worst situation I’ve ever had in a race. During a 100 mile ultra, I started to have stomach issues around 25 miles in. I couldn’t keep any food down. 

Considering I had about 3 marathons to go, that wasn’t a good thing. My solution: Bullshit! I started to tell everyone I could talk to that I had told my son that I would do my best. And that I wouldn’t quit no matter what, I would only stop when I reached the finish line or if an official pulled me from the race.

It was a lie. I didn’t promise that to him. And even if I did, he was young enough so that he would not have understood it. But that little white lie was enough to keep me going, because I started to believe my own lie. I managed to finish, even if it was a bit slower than I wanted. My feet were horribly blistered. I spent time in the last 12 km screaming in pain (literally) as they burst open, but I wouldn’t stop. Because I had to honor that promise. That promise that I didn’t make, but that I had told several total strangers about.

That’s the power of bullshit. 

Somehow I’ve got to make it work for me on a regular basis.

Heartbreak Hill

On this hill, in 1936, defending Boston Marathon champion John Kelley overtook “Tarzan” Brown, patting him on the shoulder as he passed. This gesture annoyed Brown, who rallied, pulled ahead of Kelley, and went on to win—breaking Kelley's heart. And the term“Heartbreak Hill” was coined.

I love this story. Not because it’s famous, because it’s not. Mostly the name remains, but the story is mostly forgotten. Or if people know it, they don’t care. But to me, it illustrates something perfectly:
The motivational power of assholes.

Motivation like that is rare… and it’s awesome. It’s terrible in the moment. It gets you angry, it riles you up. And just like that, your fatigue isn’t so bad. Your legs don’t hurt so much. You can keep that pace because “Fuck you, if he can do it, so can I”. And you can. You will. You do. Nothing changed, except your attitude.

The problem with this is that it’s not easy to tap into it. It has to be genuine asshole behavior to invoke the ‘asshole response’. And luckily (for society’s sake), most people are generally nice and polite. And if you try to provoke that kind of thing, well, then you’re the asshole. (Though to be fair, it would probably work anyway… although other people will be using you as their own personal motivator).

Which is why I was quite happy when some of this motivation just dropped into my lap the other day. I was discussing an upcoming race with a gym buddy. He was talking about trying to get a podium finish in it. I was talking about maybe running the short course with my son and a few friends instead of the longer, more competitive heat. But when I told him that I had placed 5^th last year in that heat, his response was: “Oh, well, if you can do it...”

And there we have it folks. All the asshole motivation I need. It’s childish. It’s petty. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. But the gauntlet has been thrown. And I’m going to respond. I can talk about how the course plays to my strengths, how my endurance will play into things, how my planned training for next year will make me better than ever for this race. But, in reality, it comes down to this:

You have no chance. I am going to crush you. Because “if I can do it”, then I’m going to do it. Again.

Asshole.

And then after our post-race beer together, I’ll celebrate by running the short course with my family and friends. No hard feelings 😉

Me and the Boy

Throwback Thursday - A brief recap of the Ottawa Race Weekend 5k that my son and I ran together this spring. It's on my mind because we recently received a mailer from RunOttawa reminding us of the race (and our times)... Which prompted Reid to ask if we were going to do it again.
 

One of the things on my bucket list was to run a 5k with my oldest son. This was a ‘short term’ item, since in a few years he’ll hit his teens and who knows if he’ll be interested in running at all… Let alone running with his dad.

This past weekend was the perfect situation. It was Ottawa Race Weekend, with a 2k, 5k, 10k and a half and full marathon on tap. I thought it might be fun to run there, as part of the Canada 150 celebration. Even cooler would be if Reid wanted to do it too. When I asked him, his response was exactly what I wanted, an enthusiastic ‘Definitely!’ As any parent knows, enthusiasm from your child is great. An indifferent ‘Yeah, ok’ can have varying meanings, from ‘not really’, to ‘I’m not listening, I just want you to stop talking’ to ‘Yes, for sure’. But I had my answer and I signed us up.

I created a training plan for Reid and he followed it, for the most part. He isn’t one for running outside in the rain, so that was a bit of a challenge. But train he did. Fitness wise, he was ready.

On race day, he was excited and that excitement carried over to me too. He talked non-stop on the bus ride down to the start area. And the day was nice, so no worries about the weather. (I carried water with me, in case he got overheated). Everything was going to plan. Until I realized there was one thing I hadn’t planned on… the crowd.

When we got to the starting corral, it started to fill up. The 5k had nearly 9000 runners in it and Reid was overwhelmed. I often forget that I have a different perspective on things, since I’m tall enough to see over the bulk of the crowd. Reid was surrounded and to him, it was like they were closing in. So, he had a bit of a panic attack about 5 minutes before the gun went off. This is something I should have thought about, because I used to be like that.

When I was his age (and even into my twenties), I would get extremely nervous and sick to my stomach before major events. I completely tanked one of my first job interviews because of that. I ended up dropping out of races in public school because I had a target placing that I had to hit during the run. I likely would have done that easily, but the requirement psyched me out. I could go on, but the point is: I could get so stressed out that I ruined whatever event I was about to do.

So in the last 5 minutes before the start, I worked on calming him down. Relaying my experiences having similar reactions. And trying to give him something to put this into perspective. I try to use a combination of things, from “I’ll regret it more if I don’t try”, to “What’s the worst that could happen?” But I know this is a personal thing, that he’ll have to work out. When I finally got him to work out what was wrong (Claustrophobia, and afraid to be trampled if he fell), I got him to work out the chances that would happen. And by the time the horn sounded for our corral, he had mostly calmed down.

I won’t say he was back to normal, but he was functioning. So we ran. I let him dictate the pace. When he had to walk (or more, he wanted to walk… he could have run the whole thing, I’m sure), we walked. When he needed water, I gave him water. We walked, ran, talked and joked the entire course. We waved to friends I knew on the side lines. We high-fived some young kids. And we had a blast.

Was it the what I expected? No. Was it a great experience? Damn right! Crossing the finish line with him was a great thrill for both of us. Reid brings it up now and again and wants to do it next year as well. I’m not sure if we will or not. I’ll do another race with him, but maybe something smaller, that he’ll enjoy more. The next fun adventure will be the two of us deciding which one.