Real Talk - The Mental Game of Athletics

Athletics is hard. Physically. Everyone knows this.

What is often neglected/pushed aside is the mental aspect of sport - specifically the mental tole it takes on oneself. Forcing yourself to train to your max everyday regardless of how tired you are, sacrificing your time, adhering to a strict diet - it’s tough. It’s even tougher when you’re expected to not be effected mentally by the demands of high intensity training - when your mental state is considered inferior/unimportant in comparison to your physical state. Athletes are expected to be strong and unbreakable - to push through pain without complaining.

I initially decided to start blogging with the intent to share my triathlon story - mainly with the focus on my successes. But as I’ve found out the hard way it seems that with every success there are at least double the failures. I want to be transparent as an athlete and share not only my ups but also my downs. I don’t want sympathy or praise - I simply just want to share my story, my truth. The most inspirational athletes are the ones that have fallen and have had to dig themselves out of the grave they’ve been placed in - the ones who were told they couldn’t and showed everyone they could.

What was the initial snowball that led to this full on avalanche?

For the past 2 months I’ve been dealing with a knee injury that has effected my ability to run. After 6 weeks of modified running along with weekly physio, it was decided that I should take 3 complete weeks off from running and focus on swimming, biking and strength training. Initially upset, I was optimistic that these 3 weeks would be the magic fix. I threw myself completely into the training that I was able to do - telling myself about how this was an opportunity to work on my weaknesses in the other two disciplines of my sport. I adhered to all of my physio exercises, got the proper amount of sleep and kept my diet impeccable (disregarding the one cookie I had on Christmas Day).

Last Friday I was cleared to go for a 30min run. I counted down the minutes at work until I would be able to throw on my runners and cruise along the trails. It didn’t matter that I had managed to finally succumb to the horrible cold that had been plaguing my work for weeks. It didn’t matter I could hardly breathe, had a massive headache and was going through boxes of kleenex - I was going to go for a run. I convinced myself that I was going to have zero pain on this run and be able to immediately jump back into regular training. Life threw a wrench into my plans. My knee felt weird. Weird. What a silly, unspecific word with almost no actual meaning. Yet, it was the only word that would come to mind over what I was experiencing. I kept at it for 20min, hoping this sensation would eventually cease. It didn’t.

Mental illness takes many shapes and forms. All types are relevant and should be free of shame. To be talked about openly and not hidden in the dark. Personally, I have panic attacks. What is a panic attack? It is a sudden urge of overwhelming anxiety and fear. Your heart races and you can’t breathe. It is intense, unexpected and debilitating.

The first time I experienced a panic attack was at a swim meet when I was in grade 8. I was in the middle of a lack lustre season and stuck in a major plateau while under extreme pressure to succeed. No matter how hard I trained in the pool I was unable to improve my times. I began to spiral. I started to restrict my eating and completing countless sit ups every night, thinking slimming down my already lean body was the solution. That combined with a mentally abusive coach resulted in me reaching my breaking point. After every race we were to go into the adjoining pool and warm down. Instead, I made my way to one of the exits at the Talisman, made sure I was completely alone and broke down, overwhelmed and terrified. And then when it was over, I dried my eyes, put on my best fake smile and re entered the pool deck, keeping my ‘weak, shameful’ display of emotions to myself.

Over the years I have experienced many more panic attacks but their occurrence has become more rare as I’ve learned coping mechanisms - to not let everything bottle up until it is on the verge of exploding, to not let the negative voice in my head win.

This past weekend that negative voice won. “Your knee isn’t getting better. You only have 5 months until your first race, thats 20 weeks - how many weeks do you need to have solid run training, how many weeks does that leave you to get rid of this injury, it’s not enough time. Remember when you couldn’t race for an entire year, when you had to sit out of Worlds? All of the times you failed? No one else has this many injuries, this many setbacks. Maybe you aren’t cut out to be an athlete. Maybe you don’t have what it takes. Your body isn’t strong enough. You aren’t good enough. You should probably just quit.”

Maybe this voice was right. Maybe I should just give up.

I ended up taking the entire weekend off from training. I tried to will myself to get out of bed and get dressed. To get into my car and drive to the pool. To walk downstairs and hop on my bike. My body refused. My motivation, my drive was gone. I was numb, empty and exhausted.

Triathlon is a sport that even though is individual, requires an entire team, a community to be successful. I have coaches who are optimistic and encouraging. I have friends who let me ramble and rant and tell me everything is going to be ok. I have parents who aren’t afraid to give me tough love and a healthy dose of a reality check (yes, I am aware I don’t have cancer). I have a little brother who makes sure I do fun, non triathlon related activities like spending the afternoon at the ODR.

Monday morning I gave myself a pep talk. It was time to put on my big girl panties and get back to training. To keep pushing through, knowing that the results will eventually come. To stop trying to control everything and put my trust back into the system. Why? Because I want to be a triathlete. I want to get faster and win races. I want to excel at this sport. And despite the physical and mental hiccups along the road, I’m not ready to throw in the towel.