"Don't compare your beginning to someone else's middle."

It will surprise absolutely no one to learn that I have a file of half-finished Instagram captions in my iPhone Notes. I am not a terribly linear thinker, at least not while writing; I tend to hit upon phrases and sentences that please me and then build a post around those, rather than starting with an idea and putting it into words. I also tend to write far more than strictly necessary, and then go back and trim it down later. (In hindsight, I don’t know how I wrote so many neat and orderly “five-paragraph essays” in high school.)

Most of those Notes files never get shared — they’re usually rendered unnecessary for one reason or another. But I still never regret the act of writing them. The practice itself is never in vain, regardless of the end result. (True for fitness also, by the way!)

And right now, I feel like setting down some thoughts (that have been sitting in a half-finished Notes file for… quite a while now!) without worrying about a context or a character limit. Because the process of doing so helps me, regardless of whether the content resonates with anyone else.

Real talk? One of THE TOUGHEST parts of striving to be a high performer is getting past the jealous comparisons.

We all know we aren’t supposed to do that, that “comparison is the thief of joy,” that we need to run our own race and not waste energy worrying about what other people are up to. And, past a certain point, I think most of us really do fall in love with the process to such an extent that the ‘comparison’ tendency is greatly mitigated.

But there wouldn’t be so many inspirational quotes and memes about this if we weren’t all still doing it once in a while.

And I totally get it. Because I am working SO HARD. I am pouring SO MUCH EFFORT into this. Every aspect of my life, from food to sleep to job schedule, is structured around continuing to get better at this sport. I am committed and consistent and determined.

And although I wouldn’t want it any other way, being this passionate about something also makes it tough not to occasionally feel demoralized when I see others achieving — or even just ‘making progress toward’ — milestones that still elude me.

I’m learning how to adjust my brain’s interpretation of other things. Those nervous butterflies before an Open workout? “This is what READY feels like.” The painful ‘third quarter’ of a metcon? “This is what GETTING BETTER feels like.”

Much harder than all of that, though, is watching someone else nail a goal that I have for myself, and training my brain to automatically remember that their accomplishments do not detract from mine.

I want my first instinctive thought to be pure motivation. “If SHE can do that, then someday I will too.”

And — like anything — the only way to make that mental feedback loop faster and smoother and more natural is to practice it.

So here’s what I tell myself: 

(1) If I never felt like this, it would mean my goals weren’t big enough. There would be no vulnerability in ‘showing my work’ if there were nothing to work TOWARD.

(2) Foundations come before walls and windows. I’m LUCKY that there’s so much progress yet to be made. It’s a rare privilege to get to build skills from the ground up, versus breaking habits later.

(3) It feels lonely because it’s BRAVE. Most people don’t want to be seen starting at the bottom. I actively decided that I did not want to be ‘most people’ — and am acting accordingly, every single day. No matter the outcome, I will know that I tried as hard as I reasonably could and didn’t shrink from owning it. (Think how much worse I’d feel if I were still pretending I didn’t want to put everything I have into this?)

(4) Physical abilities aside, I’m also over here doing the tough MENTAL work — learning the life lessons (like this one right here in this post) that I get to keep no matter where this road leads. (And actually, this is one area where I really can see how much I’ve grown; I am a completely different athlete mentally than I was two years ago. I have a lot of work yet to do — this post being Exhibit A — but I can already clearly appreciate the change in my maturity, and feel quietly proud of how it separates me from a lot of other athletes.)

(5) Low trajectory, distant horizon. Hard work and opportunity will eventually collide. I don’t need to worry about ‘when’ that’s going to happen for me — whether it’s at age 40, age 45, or age 70 — because the PROCESS is the fun part anyway. She who is the most consistent and tenacious over the long (long, long) run will eventually be victorious.

(6) Other people have their own challenges that I can’t see, and I don’t know their stories. What I do know is that I’m quietly putting one foot in front of the other, with my focus in all the right places, doing the absolute best I can for myself. Which means my narrative will unfold in its own unique way.

My story isn’t going to look like anyone else’s — and I wouldn’t want it to.