Three people close to me have told me the same thing lately – that I’m too hard on myself. And I’m starting to think that believing them might be the most anti-manosphere thing I can do.
One was my boss, one was my oldest daughter, and the third was someone I’ve been talking to about this. And she tied it straight to my summer running goals, which always gets my attention.
Here’s what happened. Last week I filled out my annual self-evaluation at work. I always find the task frustrating. The form doesn’t really capture my work or the value I bring, and I assume it’s going to get stuffed in a file, never seen again unless HR needs it for some not-good reason. So I filled it out, turned it in, and had my review with my boss. I wasn’t nervous. She gives me regular feedback, we have a good relationship, and I respect her as both an executive and a person.
We started going through the form and she immediately looked confused. “Why’d you rate yourself so low?” She scanned back through it. “All these categories are too low. You are too hard on yourself.” Then she went category by category, more or less doubling my scores and telling me why.
It was good to hear, but I didn’t really internalize it until I got home and told my family about it at dinner. My oldest daughter immediately piped up. “You do underrate yourself, Dad.” That stopped me. My oldest is a great kid, but not given to much praise for anyone. Hearing her say that made me slow down. If she thinks I underrate myself, maybe there’s something to it. I thanked her for pointing it out and told her I’d work on it. It was a moment of real connection with my kid, a more adult one than she’s probably used to having with me. I hope she felt that too.
I was talking about this with someone who knows me well, and she said it fits with the childhood trauma that prompted me to build defenses, including underselling my abilities. It makes sense, she said, because if I ever admit I’m good at anything, I might be inviting connection, and that’s something I fended off my whole life even though I wanted it. Oh, no, I can’t do that. That’s too good for me. Oh, no, you wouldn’t want me. Then she asked: “When has being hard on yourself ever made you a better athlete?”
That’s what the manosphere preaches, though, isn’t it? Grind harder. Show no mercy. No excuses. No bullshit. Weakness is the enemy. Are you MAN enough?
So I’ve been thinking about this, and I wonder if the harder work is actually the opposite; accepting that I am, in fact, a pretty decent colleague, dad, person, and runner. Being compassionate with yourself takes more guts than beating yourself up.
We hear a version of this in sports all the time. Watch enough football and you’ll hear an announcer talk about a quarterback needing “amnesia” after a bad play. Don’t waste time beating yourself up, because you have to go execute the next play. Dwelling on what went wrong, or why you’re bad, just sets you up for more failure. You can review the film later.
So how am I applying this to my running? This morning I ran a hard workout: Warmup run, then 1000m, 600m, 400m, each at a faster pace than the last, with full recovery between, then a cooldown jog. About 5 total miles and 2000m of hard running. If you’ve followed my Achilles saga, you know my recent hard time trials have been ugly. I’ve been pausing around 800m, wondering if I’m even fit enough to race a mile. This morning I tried something different: instead of going as hard as I could and hoping to survive it, I ran it the way I coach my athletes: “go has hard as you can but still be able to complete the workout.” That meant going a little easier on myself.
I ran the 1000 at 6:06/mile pace, the 600 at 5:25, the 400 at 5:04. The 1000 was slower than my goal race pace, but I finished it, and that mattered. The 600 felt smooth. The 400 was over before I knew it. I did my cooldown jog believing in myself more than I have in weeks. In fact, I’m confident I can run that same workout again and push it faster next time.
Accepting that feedback is a self-care move. Not a weak one. The manosphere would have me believe that going easier on myself is surrender. But this morning, going a little easier is the only reason I finished the workout at all. And finishing is what’s going to get me to the start line in shape to race.
I don’t know yet if I’ve actually changed. I just know that today, for one workout, I let three people be right about me instead of arguing with them. That felt like enough.
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