Reflect: Learning to hang with discomfort.
Photo of me, hanging with discomfort.
To say I’m not comfortable at public gyms would be an understatement.
First, there’s the fact that my gym’s members are mostly young, fit, and look great in tight workout gear. (I’m in my late 60s and like my gym-wear baggy.)
There’s the full volume, base-throbbing music that blasts from the cross-fit class where they are doing routines that are so hard core, I get nauseous just watching them.
There’s the expectation that because I’m there, I will exert myself, when all I want to do is go back to bed.
So why do I go to a 30-something, base thumping, hard core fitness facility at 8:00 a.m. twice a week? Especially, when I can get the calming sounds of Tibetan singing bowls and murmured Sanskrit at a nearby yoga studio down the street.
Because what I want more than comfort, is strength, good balance, and independence. And my personal trainer, who knows just how hard to push my 60-something body, works at that gym.
Working with a trainer, helps me learn proper form and avoid injury. And surprisingly, it demands less personal motivation than trying to work out alone. I simply need to show up, which often takes all the mental stamina I can muster on a weekday morning. But once I get there, I just do what I’m told.
EXCEPT… when he asks me to do push ups and says the dreaded words, “I want you to go to failure.”
The technical definition of performing an exercise to failure is going to the point where you no longer have the strength to maintain the correct form. The problem is, my mind has a very different definition of failure.
I have this saboteur voice in my head, I call Slug. Slug has an allergy to discomfort and physical exertion of any kind. He defines the point of failure as the first sign of discomfort, usually around push up number one. So, an instruction to go to failure, is not just a physical challenge; it sets off a mental duel of epic proportions.
What I am learning from “going to failure,” is that the more I can ignore Slug and tune into what is actually happening in my body, the more push ups I can do.
Further, this twice a week appointment with discomfort is not only good for my body; it’s good for my mind. It builds a kind of mental muscle that supports me in other areas of my life.
I’m not alone.
In my coaching practice, I noticed that when clients were willing to lean into their discomfort rather than avoid it, they often found they were capable of more than they believed possible. The more they developed their capacity for discomfort, the more they learned that they could trust themselves in tough circumstances. This supported their leadership growth and effectiveness, and strengthened their confidence and resilience.
Stepping outside your comfort zone, by definition, entails stepping into discomfort. And that discomfort does not disappear the moment you decide to step into it. In fact, sometimes it intensifies.
Most of us treat discomfort as a signal to stop, to avoid, or to retreat. But discomfort might be the best path, and sometimes, the only path forward. The more you retreat from it, the smaller your comfort zone becomes. The more you lean into it, the more capacity you build. By engaging with discomfort, you learn the difference between a signal that you’ve reached your limit and a signal that you’ve reached a doorway to the next level.
I am one of those people for whom qualities like perseverance, endurance, and self-discipline do not come naturally. Fortunately, I have learned they aren’t traits that you either are, or are not, bestowed at birth. They are skills that you can build and strengthen with practice.