Four Years

Four years is and isn’t a good chunk of time. Measuring a human life, we may get 20 or more of those chunks if genes, life choices, and luck work mostly in our favor. A lot can happen in that time, but also nothing can happen, as many aged folks will point out as they warn that the years will “fly by”. In sport, four years is an Olympic cycle. A lot of improvement can be made and seconds can be shaved. In academia, schooling to a certain point is broken into four year chunks; three of them gets you a diploma, another one gets you a bachelors. 

Recently, a friend while sending me some motivational inspiration, said something to the effect of “if anyone can willfully change their body to do something, it’s you”. This statement made me reflect on the changes I have gone through in the past four years. Four years ago I had just hit a milestone in powerlifting, an 800lb squat. I had myself figured out and I knew exactly what stimulus I needed to improve those qualities specific to powerlifting. I had solved the problem of me.

Something about this display of strength didn’t quite do it for me like they had in the past. It held less significance. I know exactly why and I can remember the exact moment. While preparing for our flight to start their third squat attempts, the attempt that I had called for 800lb dispute missing my last attempt of 770 2-1 on a depth call, the announcer said something that broke my concentration. It was something like “let’s get behind these lifters they have been preparing for months for this moment!”. Yes, it was typical empty hearted motivation. Immediately I thought about how less than four month prior, Kyle and I were waiting around all day near sky top lake in Montana wondering if Nick and Joel had fallen to their deaths. At no point during that outing in July had I even cared or considered my squat, or any lifts for that matter. It all seemed so insignificant when held against something real.

At the meet, I reeled it back in and hit the squat, fueled by my own ego. That day, however, holding that juxtaposition in my head, made me aware that some of the wonder I had found in powerlifting was fading. It had served me. I leaned on it hard through some years that were challenging for me from an emotional standpoint. I felt that unless my relationship with the activity changed I wasn’t going to be able to continue to keep up the interest level required to improve and perform as I would expect of myself. A few months later, there was a pandemic. I was forced to spend timing doing ridiculous at home workouts using light weights and body weight to keep the financial fire smoldering long enough for the gym to reopen. In this however, I found a new freedom. A freedom to move and enjoy novel movement without this obligation looming over me to maximize my time training in the name of absolute strength. I had fun. Once the gym reopened, powerlifting had lost its touch to me and after a few months of struggling in the gym to regain what I had once had, I came to the stark realization that I didn’t want it enough anymore. There needed to be a better and healthier outlet for my desire to problem solve physically through training adaptation. The rest is another three years of weight loss, trial and error in learning to adapt myself to new stimuli. I don’t love whatever you call my current blend of hobbies like I loved powerlifting but I think walking away from that passion on my own terms taught me how to have a healthy relationship with these types of interests. How to participate without becoming obsessed. This past weekend, almost four years to the day after my 800lb squat, I ran a 1:42 half marathon. Not fast by any means but to be fair when comparing against elites, an 800lb squat isn’t that heavy either. Relative to myself and my past both were accomplishments. 

Take what you wish from this, as I don’t have some grand call to action or over arching advice to give this some context. Be aware of what four years can give you and what it can take from you.