Striving to do, forgetting to be
The unseen struggles of being a college athlete
By Bryce Choate
(Philip Strong / Unsplash)
Striving to do, forgetting to be. Seeking perfection, I never found me. How did my success become chains that would hold me back?
I was an active kid and gravitated towards sports. I was naturally fast and enjoyed any opportunity to run. Even on the basketball court, my favorite thing to do was chase down a fast break. It’s no surprise my favorite sport became track and field.
Running was once a symbol of innocence, something kids did without consideration. It was natural and pure, perpetually falling forward with only the power of your legs to rely on. Running represented freedom and joy. It was an adventure, an opportunity to explore the world while leaving all my problems behind. I enjoyed the invigorating feeling of being faster than my peers. Even better was how I felt when others complimented my abilities. For those reasons, a source of my joy would become a detriment. I was always an athlete, but it was only part of my identity until college. My life would soon revolve around track. With every achievement on the track, my single identity was reinforced. Running transformed from enjoyment into burden.
Throughout the years, I heard countless speeches about “mental toughness.” While the meaning varied depending on the scenario, the phrase’s impact on my life was the same. It was training me to push through pain, keep fighting, and never give up. The unintended lesson was that pain is weakness.
I took those words to heart and always tried to portray toughness. I wore the words as a badge of honor when someone uttered them to describe me. That’s why it was devastating to hear someone of influence in my life say I had no mental toughness.
I was in my sixth year of competing when I failed to finish a race due to unbearable pain in my calf. Defeated mentally and physically, I was dejected. For the third year in a row, injury or surgery plagued my season.
My coach’s response was that I just had no mental toughness, as if to say my pain wasn’t real. At a time where I was already hurting, his words crushed me. I am, as many people, my own worst critic. I already hated how poorly I was performing to the point of dreading my races. I immediately started ruminating over those words until they were deafening. I heard “no mental toughness” in my head constantly.
When I was running, I heard them. When I was crying myself to sleep, I heard them. When I wanted my life to stop, I heard them. No mental toughness became my life’s motto. I blamed myself for how I felt until my sadness turned to anger. The only way to relieve the tension and rage was to hit myself or throw something. Like a toddler who didn’t get his way, I would lash out until eventually the rage dissipated.
Isolation compounded the issue. I lived on my own, so I sat alone considering my failures. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I reflected on the past few years of my life. Where did I lose the trait of which I was most proud? I remembered driving home one day in high school, six years prior, and thinking about swerving off the road. I thought about all the sleepless nights in college when I’d roam the streets, wondering which buildings were tall enough to kill me if I jumped. Then, I wondered if I ever possessed an ounce of mental toughness. I was ashamed to think all those years were a lie.
Much of a college athlete’s life is automated. I was told I could choose two of the following three: athletics, academics, and social life. I based my life choices on what would please the most people, so I chose to excel in athletics and academics. I never took the time to explore the world outside of what I knew.
Any step in a direction contrary to the persona I portrayed would be egregious. I colored inside the lines determined by what everyone wanted from me. Everyone except myself, that is. I became a character in everyone else’s story, just playing my part in their lives.
When I told my coach I was too busy to do something, he would respond with “busy is a mindset.” He was right, but what he didn’t consider is how we were all trained to have that mindset. College athletes rarely have the time to just exist. Something always needs to be done, and it must be done at a high level. We often think in today’s fast-paced world that every second of the day needs to be filled with productivity.
My wish for all athletes is to stop striving to do and start learning to be. It is better to live in the moment and enjoy life than to worry about pleasing others and reaching for perfection. How many lives could be saved if our coaches and athletic departments cared about athletes first and their performance second? My coach, like most coaches, was not intentionally malicious in his intent. His comment was not meant to tear me down, but he was ignorant of how much power his words held.
This piece was written and shared during the IDONTMIND Writing Workshop. Learn more about our free, nine-week course and be the first to know about the next workshop here. Visit Mental Health Connecticut’s YouTube channel for a video version of Bryce’s story.
Bryce Choate is a recent graduate of Oral Roberts University, where he competed as a track and field student-athlete. Bryce enjoys playing with his puppy and going on adventures together.