Athletes can’t play themselves small. Competition is too brutal and objective and unforgiving for timidity. In the Netflix documentary “Sprint”, Noah Lyles talks about needing swagger to be great in the 100 meters. He’s absolutely right – and we all need more of it.
Swagger Is NOT Ego
I don’t care for big egos. Those aren’t athletes I serve and that’s not the type of athlete I aspire to be. I don’t have to be the center of attention in competition – and, candidly, I don’t want to be since I’m still at the bottom of the hill in terms of building up my performance. It would be embarrassing to talk a huge game then get blown out in the prelims of some no-name track meet.
But I also don’t invest a dozen hours a week into training and recovery just to show up wringing my hands and watching my shoes at competition time.
I have to believe I did the right work – or I have to acknowledge the opportunities I missed.
I have to believe I am worthy of a personal record – or I have to know what obstacles I’ve overcome just to start.
I have to believe I can execute my race plan – or I have to know my reasons for changing it.
Have A Goal Worthy Of Your Effort
And this all goes back to having a goal big enough to be frightening. An athlete needs worthy goals to pursue. Worthy goals are ambitious enough that you could really, truly make an effort yet still fall short. Worthy goals are impactful enough that success could bring attention – and failure could, too.
There’s no point investing the time and the discomfort of training in service of a goal that doesn’t move you.
If talking about your goal doesn’t either give you butterflies or make you narrow your eyes, your goal sucks.
If thinking about your goal doesn’t either make your mind reel or make your muscles twinge, you don’t have a goal worthy of an athlete.
Playing Small vs Playing To Win
Let’s rewind a sec – I ended up being a mediocre cross-country mountain bike racer. When I aimed at the Gunnison Growler for the second and third time, I viewed them as redemption runs. I wanted to prove I could finish, then I wanted to prove that I could deliver in that race on a singlespeed.
Those goals sucked. They didn’t fire me up and they didn’t make me nauseous. Sure, that race is long and hard and worthy of pride in its completion, but what I wanted from that race wasn’t enough to push me through bad weather and broken equipment and long work trips.
But when I convinced myself that I could win a no-account XC race down in Austin on my birthday weekend, suddenly I did the work. I attacked every training session and I got to bed and I kept my journal up to date. I maintained my equipment to the best of my ability – and every time I set my hands on my grips in training, my teeth chattered a little bit. It wasn’t the external stakes of the event. It was my perception of the opportunity before me: if I committed and stayed consistent and did the hard things early, I might just surprise myself.
Ultimately, I took 8th in that race I’d worked so hard for.
But as I rode the course, I knew my position wasn’t because of lack of preparation.
It wasn’t because of lack of commitment or focus.
It wasn’t because of bad luck.
The level of competition had gone up meaningfully. The time I estimated would have won the race was 14 minutes slower than what I ultimately rode – and the time that actually won was another 14 minutes faster than me. I wasn’t disappointed at all. I did everything I had come to do.
A New Goal That Frightens Me
I have that kind of goal on the track right now. I’m still overweight for the type of performance I believe I’m capable of and my best opportunity to make a splash in international competition is less than 5 months away. So I have to diet hard, train hard, recover hard, and make it all happen on a ridiculous timeline. I haven’t said my real goal out loud to many folks because it makes my stomach churn, but know that I think I can win on big stages and I’m out to prove it in 2025.
Among all the nauseating ones, there’s a particular butterfly in my belly that knows it’s possible. Everything has to go right. I have to execute at every single step. I can’t back off for even one weekend from now until March. Yet I trust I can deliver on that and I can adapt to what the world throws at me and, thus, I have a shot.
My palms are sweating a little as I write this, thinking about the goal. Unlike the resignation I felt in my first month of training for my third attempt at the Growler, here, three months into hard prep, I know THIS is a worthy goal.
Play To Win Next Season
As many of you come into the off-season, set your sights high for next year. Don’t tolerate fear. Be afraid. Commit anyway. We’re going to run toward and through that fear together.
A worthy goal will spur you on. You need enough swagger to believe you deserve to achieve it. Any weakness in your belief will be exposed in competition.
It doesn’t matter if your goal is to prove you can perform to yourself – an athlete returning from a head injury did just that in 2023 – or to earn your place in a new event – an athlete I met recently will do that this year. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to claw onto a team or you’re out to claim a championship title. Playing to win isn’t about the prize; it’s about the significance.
A worthy goal means something to you. It means enough to make you hungry and nervous and excited and willing to suffer. A worthy goal is a little more than you’re certain you can do. A worthy goal scares you. Then you decide to run directly toward that fear.
A Worthy Goal Is…Worth It
An athlete asked me if we had enough time to prepare for a major event that sets up even bigger opportunities for next season. That athlete has had a challenging year, with more going against them than for them. The timeline is tight, the demands are massive, and the conditions are unfavorable.
I responded “Of course we can! If…” then listed all the things that have to happen to have a realistic chance.
That athlete paused for a moment. I knew what I’d asked of them and they knew how slim the odds were even if we did everything right.
Their response: they pointed out that we’ve done more and harder work in the past and that they are willing to go to that place again.
That’s how you rally when you have a worthy goal. There’s no way to guarantee you will succeed, but it’s guaranteed you’ll fail if you wring your hands and watch your shoes. You should swagger – into training, into competition, and into uncertainty.
You need swagger to be great. Don’t ever play yourself small.