Love Is Not The Answer

I made a commitment to run 26 miles in January. It's the 29th of january and my legs are ruined from a 5 hour hike in the lake district the day before. I'd been carrying an extra 10kg of weight and helping my girlfriend get down slippy terrain. I had 3 days left to complete this challenge and 16 miles still remaining.

And so the mental chatter began:

Voice 1 - The Inner bitch: "you can barely move today, you'll never be recovered tomorrow, just give up now and save us both the pain"

Voice 2 - The Critic: "you've had 31 days to do this, that’s less than a mile a day and now look at you. 16 miles to do in 2 days with bust legs. pathetic. why commit to things to not follow through. is this how you want to start the year?"

Voice 3 - The Victim: "This isn't fair. I've didn't have time, my legs are in pain. Maybe there's a way to do it next month."

Voice 4 - The Champion: "This is getting done no matter what. I don't care if you have to drag us round for hours, if we can't walk for a week. there is no reality where this challenge isn't getting done. Was there better ways to handle this challenge, of course. but what is done is done, we can reflect on mistakes once this shit has been conquered.

As I woke up today, the inner bitch took over. The alarm was set for 8am, I woke and without hesitation hit snooze. This continued until 10:30 am. Each time becoming more aware of what was happening, that I was delaying getting up and facing my demons. I knew that once I got out of bed, there was one thing that needed to be done, and I was dreading it. Each minute in bed felt like salvation, dreaming away the reality I'd put myself in.

The final alarm goes off and I think "enough is enough". As I get out of bed I asses how my legs feel: sore but bearable. I meditate, my mind distracted by what is to come. I feel a sensation that is unfamiliar, obligation. The Inner bitch is quiet, as though it knows nothing it can say is going to prevent me from putting feet to pavement. The critic begins to chime in:

"You've done this too yourself, you deserve this pain"

The critic revels in my stupidity, but I carry on.

After a quick breakfast shake, I grab my earphones and head out. There is one man who embodies the feeling I need to get through this next 10 miles.

One man who laughs in the face of his own weakness.

David fucking Goggins.

As I begin to jog, I jump into a podcast with Huberman and Goggins where I left off last time.

It instill within me a burning desire to shut up and get going.

Too leave all complaints at the door and get to work.

So I did. I ran the second furthest I'd ever run before, with legs which could barely take me up the stairs 12 hours prior.

Too many times have I let the voices in my head control the narrative. I've let weakness drive my decisions. Today I realised that the voices are just that, voices. They only have the power I decide to give them.

Self love, empathy and all that comes along with them are important. but sometimes we just have to say fuck it and prove the bitch, the critic, the moaner inside wrong. Sometimes pain can drive us forward in ways love cannot.

I am extremely self critical. Lately i've tried to eradicate this criticism in favour of love and acceptance. Today I realised that criticism plays a vital role in my inner dialogue and that ignoring it is a waste of time.

Love provides warmth like a blanket. Comforting the soul in safety. Criticism prods the fire of desire. In times of trial and challenge, the fire within needs to burn. Providing the necessary fuel to overcome adversity. A fuel love alone cannot create.

Showing love to weakness is not the way to strength. It is through action we can prove that weakness wrong and build strength in the face of adversity. Whether that adversity is external or internal.

You have a choice between becoming the champion or becoming the victim. Regardless of what voices are present or how loud they speak. Believing this isn't a choice is already settling in victimhood.

So listen to the critic, to the bitch.

And prove those mother fuckers wrong.

Stay curious,

Morgan Bedford