When to Stick With It

A Personal History

A couple weeks ago, I wrote an article about an exchange between me and Gordo Byrn on a 90-minute flight. Within that discussion, I reflected that the use of time frames on success in a pursuit can be problematic.

Specifically, I said:

I am not saying that sticking with something will guarantee success in any pursuit, but I do think that abandoning pursuits too early is what creates the greatest separation between those that make it and those that do not.

Following the article, a reader (Ryan Kusek) posed the following question:

I do have a question around the line: “but I do think that abandoning pursuits too early is what creates the greatest separation between those that make it and those that do not.”

How do you know when you are on the right path? Something Gordo has written about is how top athletes are 100% committed to what they are doing, but also have the openness to change their path when new information comes along (paraphrased, but I think the idea is close).

As someone who is trying to find their own way I struggle to know what I should pursue more of and what I should let go of - any thoughts you have are appreciated.

After my original article, Gordo addressed this topic (and others) directly in his own article which you can find here:

Three Techniques You're Discounting

I have thought a lot about Ryan’s question related to knowing when to stick with something. This led me to taking a look back at my own abandoned pursuits that eventually landed me on something I was willing to stick with. While these examples come from my formative years, I believe there is an overarching theme that could apply at any point in life.

Worth It?

Baseball

When I was growing up in Houston, Texas, the baseball little league culture was central to my community. Even kids that weren’t that enthusiastic about baseball would usually play until they were at least 11-12 years old (starting at ~6) and the baseball field conglomerate (what we would colloquially call “The Field”) was a place of social gathering for kids even when their teams weren’t playing that day/night.

I personally played baseball in this context from 6-14 years old and during this time I remember certain friends of mine like John, Clayton and Chris who were really good at baseball.

All three of them certainly had some natural talent, but the primary reason I remember them being good at baseball is because they worked really hard at being good at baseball.

I would see all three of them putting in extra practice hours when I did not and whenever I was challenged to really grow in the sport, I often backed down. Specifically, I remember when I moved to the level of baseball where we transitioned from pitching machines to live pitching. I initially wanted to be a pitcher until I found out it actually required putting in extra practice time.

Regardless of my own reasoning, the fact of the matter was that the effort and work required to become a better baseball player simply wasn’t something that was worth it to me.

Guitar

When I was around 11 years old, I started playing guitar. It began somewhat casually, but it eventually turned into something I did for a few hours a day most days throughout middle school.

I remember in this period of my life, I was often envious (read: jealous) of the other musicians that just seemed to “get it” more easily than me. I felt like I was putting in a decent amount of practice and so I couldn’t understand why it didn’t manifest into being at least as good as the others around me.

In Houston, there is a high school within the Houston Independent School District that is called the High School for Performing and Visual Arts (HSPVA) that allows each student to spend multiple hours per day training in their various crafts. Students that wish to enter the school must apply and audition within their respective fields.

I chose to apply for entry to play guitar.

I auditioned and was not accepted/admitted.

While I did not stop playing guitar after this, it was essentially the beginning of the end and within six+ months I rarely played anymore.

Now, there is absolutely no reason that anyone needs to be accepted into a performing arts school to play an instrument (well or otherwise), but for some reason I took it hard. I think I needed an acceptance into the school to let me know if playing the guitar was actually something I could do well.

Instead of playing the guitar for the joy of playing guitar, I was caught up in seeking external validation from it.

U.S. Naval Academy

Sometime in my junior year of high school in 1998, I got into the idea of applying to the U.S. Naval Academy (USNA) with the long-term goal of joining the special forces.

I am unsure of how much the process of applying to a service academy has changed since then, but at the time it was quite a rigorous process between the work required to garner a nomination (from one’s congressional representative¹) to the various stages of the application process that followed.

To make a long story short, I made it to the final phase of the application process, but ultimately was not accepted.

Garnering an appointment to the USNA was certainly not the only avenue towards joining the special forces, but for me, it turned out to be the end of my journey. Had the end goal of joining the special forces been something that was truly driving me, I could have pursued other means to that end. It may not have worked out, but I could have done more.

Looking Back

I think when you look at the three examples I provided, from baseball to guitar to the USNA, there is a progression of reasons for my own abandonment.

With baseball, there was a general aversion to doing what it would take to improve in any capacity. With guitar, there was an unreasonable expectation that my own level of work should provide the same outcomes as it would for others I envied. While likely present at some level with all three pursuits, I think the failure of admittance into the USNA exposed my own lack of understanding of what I was actually trying to achieve.

Time and time again, I experienced a substantial lack of will when faced with push back. I believe I fell short in these various pursuits because my intentions were not something grounded deep inside me.

And Then Came Triathlon

As I entered college, I started to dabble in endurance sports, beginning with the Austin Marathon in February 2000 (4:14 finishing time), my first Olympic Distance triathlon in August 2000 (2:52) and my first Ironman (California) in May 2001 (12:55).

I have included the finishing times to try and give some context for where I initially entered the realm of endurance sports. I think in all the above examples I was somewhere in the 30th-50th percentile in terms of finishing times.

If I were to have applied the lens I applied to my other past pursuits, I might have simply pivoted in a different direction at some point when things got hard.

I’m not really sure why, but when it came to triathlon, for the first time, I did not seem as concerned with what was required to improve.

I simply wanted to get better.

Instead of avoiding the work, I liked the work.

I enjoyed riding my bike for hours and hours. I spent a considerable (perhaps even too much) time outside my regular studies reading and learning about training and racing. I really only gauged progress against my own past pursuits instead of comparing myself to others.

Suddenly, the work required to improve seemed worth it for the sake of itself. I was becoming more immersed in the process of self-improvement rather than seeking some sort of validation that I might have sought before.

Instead of equivocating over whether the work I was putting into triathlon was worth it, I started to ask: “how good could I be?”

Responding to Push Back

I made a lot of progress while I was an age group triathlete, particularly at long distance Ironman races, where I had progressed from racing 12:55 in 2001 (May) to 8:57 in 2005 (November).²

By the end of my age group racing journey, I had seen a steady progression year over year, and while nothing is linear, I certainly had a lot more positive than negative moments in those first 5+ years of racing.

Then I turned professional in 2006.

As I moved into this level of racing, I finished near the bottom, if not the very bottom, amongst the professional field in every race I entered that year.³

To say I was discouraged is putting it lightly.

While I had certainly put in a lot of work to get to this point in my career, it was the first time where I really started to question whether this was something I should stick with. Maybe it was actually time to move on to something else. Perhaps staying the course would be foolish.

Let’s bring back the earlier point that Ryan said when paraphrasing Gordo:

Something Gordo has written about is how top athletes are 100% committed to what they are doing, but also have the openness to change their path when new information comes along.

At the end of my season in 2006, I did not have a lot of confidence in my abilities to race competitively amongst the professional field and the “new information” I was receiving was that I was apparently not nearly as good at triathlon as I thought I was.

I was 25 years old at the end of 2006.

I decided that if I was going to have a chance to make it in the sport, I needed to set my life up so that I would still be racing when I hit my 30’s. This led me to making certain decisions and life choices to support that pursuit,⁴ but more importantly, it helped me avoid defining my success by time constraints. I became more accepting that I didn’t control the rate of my own progression.

Moreover, by committing myself to this much more time in the sport, I also had to come to terms with the fact that even if I invested another 5+ years, it may not work out. In this case, I became accepting of the ambiguity and uncertainty of my future in the sport as I felt that the process of trying was more important than the results it might produce.

While I may have understood and accepted the uncertainty of my future, what I did not initially realize was that the setbacks of 2006 were only the beginning.

Constant challenges and push back never stopped coming from that point until the day I stopped racing nearly 15 years later.

In 2007, I contracted giardia (parasite from open water swimming). In 2009, I had all my race gear stolen from a car and had to borrow other people’s gear to train with. In 2012, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like someone had swung a baseball bat into my foot and unknowingly raced with salmonella poisoning later in the year.⁵ In 2015, I developed pneumonia after a bout with mono in a lead up to a major race.

In 2016, I gave a presentation at my friend Trent’s triathlon shop in the DFW area and one of the reflections I gave about my time in sport was that I never knew how hard it would be. While my context was sport, I think that anyone that finds a path worth sticking to will likely come to a similar conclusion. Moreover, what separated triathlon from the earlier examples I gave about my formative years, is that adversity became anticipated and accepted rather than providing me with an easy exit.

What keeps someone on their chosen pursuit will vary, but for me, it came down to continuously asking myself one simple question:

Do I believe I can still get better?

Earlier, Ryan had asked about discerning when we know we are on the right path.

For me, the right path meant answering "yes" to this question. If I still felt upside existed, I wanted to stay the course.

I always felt that the day I answered “no” was the day I needed to walk away. ⁶

Was it all worth it?

When I look back on my different abandoned pursuits prior to triathlon, I find that when I eventually found myself immersed in the thing for the sake of the thing,⁷ I ultimately found something worth sticking with. When I understood what was driving me internally, instead of externally, I found the right path.

I won’t lie and say I wish I hadn’t gone faster or finished on more podiums over my time in sport, but I think whatever better results I might have attained, I still would have had that same sense of “maybe there could have been more.”

Nevertheless, as I have become more and more removed from that time of my life, I am left with a sense of gratitude that I gave myself the chance to see triathlon to its end. While the trope about something being “all about journey” might seem tired, there is a reason it exists.

1. Ken Bentsen

2. And overall AG winner of Ironman Florida.

3. Most of the athletes I “beat” in races were those that had blown up, but decided to jog it in and/or finish the race for whatever reason. I was typically the last athlete amongst that field that was still attempting to go as fast as they could to the finish line.

4. This involved a few decisions starting with staying put in one single place (Boulder) and expanding the work I was doing in coaching as well as other means of supporting myself. While not planned, early in this period (May 2007) I met Brooke (now my wife) who became my greatest supporter and advocate throughout my athletic career.

5. I ended up having a foot injury post-IM Texas that was never really fully understood, but it was initially extremely painful. I managed to get back running in couple weeks, but the remnants of the injury on the ball of my foot would remain present that whole year (and beyond to some extent). The salmonella poisoning was from peanut butter I had eaten on race morning before IM Wisconsin. The PB I had purchased was recalled later that week.

6. I eventually decided to step away from racing at the end of 2020. While age was creeping up on me and the world was in the midst of a global pandemic, this was still something I chose to do versus had to do. I think making the decision to walk away from something after years of investment and identity connection is a very complex and challenging situation for anyone and is worth exploring in much deeper detail at another time.

7. Discussed on my last substack post.