For someone who can easily get bored, training athletes is something I never tire of. (B.S. alert) No, I don’t like the smell of funk, and I don’t like the sorer than usual days or the “I should sleep way more than I do,” element, but I love what it all means. Mentally, I don’t tire of these things, but physically, well… I can say that thirty-one ain’t twenty-one.
In most professions, although the titles vary, we are often problem solvers. Some of us pass it onto someone else, but some of us actually go beyond our responsibilities to find a resolution just because it can be done. In the same way we push ourselves, even when it may compromise our health or sanity, we just get things done. This is how empires were built and how dreams become reality. What isn’t often accounted for is the wear and tear suffered throughout.
Usually lying beneath all this grit is passion. Often, I hear about former pro athletes and the suffering they endure after their careers end, and some of them knowingly push through things that later cause them brain damage, PTSD, depression and even suicidal thoughts. It’s not passion’s fault, is it? We know in order to do great things we must sacrifice other valuables, not limited to our health even. Then the question becomes, when all is said and done, is it really worth it?
I once would ask myself that question, these days I don’t think about the answer, it depends on the why. When we first had our daughter four years ago, I said that I would make sure that I could tell her no because I chose to rather than because I had to.
My wife doesn’t like the idea that sometimes my body isn’t keeping up with my mind and will and that I’ll do whatever I can to see completion and deal with the aftermath separately. Just recently we started another business that requires me to work it for another few months until I hire another employee. Some days I leave home at 7:am and don’t return until 11:pm, and that includes my day-job, fitness training and this business that we’re running.
During the week, I’m averaging merely five hours of sleep per night… averaging. Some nights it’s less, most nights it’s just at five. Before our soccer season ended, and having hardly any time to train myself, I would compete on Sundays relying only on a sound diet and play with whatever was in the tank, then come Monday, repeat. Along with natural soreness, which I can bear, I deal with the pains caused by this Sickle Cell disease, too.