Win or Go Home

I watched Tyler Hamilton’s interview on 60 Minutes. I did not enjoy it because I hate to see people suffering. And the interview was obviously a painful experience for Tyler. I did not have the perception that I was watching an attention-whore or a self-promoter. Rather, I saw a tortured soul recounting events he would rather forget.

Do I think he was telling the truth? Probably, but I really don’t know. None of us do. What I do know is that each of us interprets what we see and hear through our self—our own experience, our dreams (realized or not), and our past. So, for me, watching Tyler’s interview was unpleasant, not only because he appeared so conflicted and tormented by it all, but because I could relate.

I’ve never used performance-enhancing drugs, but I, to some extent at least, understand his motivation. I understand the singular focus that comes from desperately wanting to be on the “A team”—wanting to the point of being willing to sacrifice relationships, other interests, the future, health. I wanted to be one of “them.” I wanted to be fast. I wanted to contribute to the team’s success. I wanted to win. I wanted to race in Europe. So, I did exactly what Tyler et al. apparently did. I did what it took. And, walking as close to the precipice as possible, did not seem at all strange because I was immersed in that culture. I thought, dreamed, ate, and slept being fast, as we all did. When you’re so close to the goal that has consumed you for years, the choice does not always feel like an exercise of free will--it feel more like something that happens to you.

Please don’t misunderstand. I am not making excuses for the bad choices I’ve made or those that Tyler and other cyclists might have made. I am simply saying that what might seem illogical and indefensible makes sense, if you are willing to acknowledge (like it or not) that sport is a religion that preaches “winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.”

Another Moment of Grace

Earlier this year, I wrote a post about a world champion speedskater who called me out of desparation. She had questions about her iron status, but what she really needed was someone to offer hope--to say, "I understand. I have been there, but no matter how impossible it seems: YOU CAN. "

Today I got a card in the mail. It was from this woman. I am not ashamed to publicly admit that the tears were flowing while I read it:

Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me.... Overall, I'm feeling a lot better now than I was when we spoke--and with that, comes the ability to renew hope for my future, also.... Thank you for your candidness in speaking about your struggles. We only have one chance at this life... and life, for me, it starts with being healthy. Thank you for being part of this journey. I don't know if I'll ever go to grad school, but if I do, I sure hope I find an advisor like you.

Wow, did this hit me hard. It made me realize the power of empathy. Empathy that can only come from painful experiences that seem, at the time, to have no redeeming value. The ability to laugh with your friends when they laugh, and to cry when they cry is the best gift we can give the people we care about.

I was also struck with the importance of saying thank you to the people who have given me this gift and those who have offered me help when I needed it. There are many people who I wish I'd thanked--too many to even count--but, a couple stand out. More than 20 years ago, someone gave me a piece of paper that said, "You CAN do it" with a smiley face. I don't have the note anymore, but each day I have is because of the hope those words inspired. Several years ago, a friend said to me, "I'm pretty sure that you can do anything you make up your mind to do." I doubt this person knows the positive effect those words had on me.

From now on, I am going to make an effort to express my gratitude. I'm pretty sure that anyone who reads this blog has positively affected me in one way or another. Thank you.