Why Try?
“‘Get to work.’ Every step I’d take, every individual one, I could hear, ‘Get to work. Get to work,’ over and over again. It was still quiet, but as long as I could hold onto it, the angel’s voice, through all the doubt, through the devil’s echoes, I could get through. I could keep marching.”
A tactical ruck march is a movement soldiers use to reposition and move themselves towards advantageous areas for combat operations. This movement is conducted on foot, and each soldier is required to carry their belongings in a large backpack (typically 35-50 pounds depending on the soldier) as well as their primary weapon and any additional ammunition. At Basic Combat Training, the final requirement for graduation is that each soldier completes a twelve mile ruck march within an allotted time. This was one of the most difficult things I had to do in order to become a soldier. You would think the most challenging part was the hours of nonstop, high-speed marching while carrying your rifle in your hands and a backpack on your back that might as well be a boulder; however, the hardest part was the mental load. The march began at midnight, when it was pitch black, and finished roughly around four in the morning. For tactical purposes, you march in a single file, no one to your left or right. No one is beside you to motivate you. No one is there to keep you moving. It is just you, and that was the hardest part. The challenge wasn’t the march; I was in the best shape of my life during basic combat training. I was on the threshold of success, but something was holding me back: not my body, but my mind. Wrestling with my thoughts was the hardest part.
“Why are you still trying?”
“My feet hurt, why are we still walking?”
”My stomach hurts, when’s the last time we ate?”
”I’m tired, how long has it been since we slept?”
”I'm in pain, why are we still trying?”
”Why are you still trying?”
No matter how strong or tough I am, my mind always seems to ask this question. The second the going gets tough, the question echoes in my head, “Why are you still trying?” Our brains are beautiful things: so complex and advanced. The instant the brain feels pain or discomfort, it sends signals to the body to stop doing what it is doing before we hurt ourselves. It’s so intelligent – so why do we ignore it? Why am I still trying? This is a question I have been battling with for sometime now, one that has been on my mind since high school wrestling, then into my time in basic training, and now at college. Yes, my brain is trying to protect me, but it's not just that. It's also fear – fear of failure.
“Why take calculus? You’re going to fail.”
“Why wrestle in this tournament? You’re going to lose.”
Fear of failure and defeat amplifies this voice in my head that constantly asks, over and over, “Why try?”
Not everyone hears a voice in their head, but I do. For those who don’t have a voice in their head, and are feeling pretty lucky about that after all I’ve said, I want to explain why the voice in my head is so important. The best way I can describe the echos, the “Why?” is that it is like having a devil on your shoulder. He is always there, and always has an opinion on what you are doing, constantly asking, “Why are you pushing yourself? Why are you working so hard?” He is always giving you reasons to stop: pain, exhaustion, hopelessness. The devil is so persistent and loud that it becomes impossible to block him out: “Why am I still trying?”
Once he sneaks in and makes himself comfortable, the self doubt begins to creep in. You question yourself, what you are capable of. Then failure is imminent, and defeat becomes a possibility; however, for every time the devil asks you, “Why try?” there has to be an answer. There always is. If the devil sits on your right shoulder, then the angel sits on your left. Unfortunately, the angel is not as persistent as the devil, but he has the answer, the why. He is quiet, though. The true challenge ends up being not the task at hand itself but finding the angel's voice, finding an answer for all the doubt. When I begin to question myself, I look for the angel; I search desperately. Sometimes it’s my mother’s voice, sometimes it's a coach, and sometimes it’s a drill sergeant. It doesn't really matter who the angel chooses to echo through my head. Once I find that voice, it’s like I’ve found an extra gear; I can keep going. I can keep pushing. It's an amazing feeling.
While on my final ruck march, around the halfway point, I began to crash, with no food and little sleep. There were a few times I even began to doze off while walking, and that’s when the doubt got louder, the devil hammering the thoughts into my head: “Why? Why? Why?” over and over again. It was so overwhelming, impossible to block out, but then I heard another voice. The angel in my other ear said, “Come on baby, get to work!” This is something my dad said often when I was wrestling. I could not hear him while I was on the mat, but he would film my matches for me, and I would hear it on the video later.
This stuck with me and motivated me: “Get to work.” Every step I’d take, every individual one, I could hear, “Get to work. Get to work” over and over again. It was still quiet, but as long as I could hold onto it, the angel's voice, through all the doubt, through the devil’s echoes, I could get through. I could keep marching.
“Why try and complete this ruck? We’re in pain.”
The angel gave me that answer, “To make your father proud.” My dad is also in the Army and one of the reasons I enlisted.
“Why keep moving? You're in pain.”
“To get stronger, to become better. Get to work.”
I think the devil and the angel have an important balance: the devil asks me the question, creates the doubt, and the angel gives me the answer, the reason to keep pushing on.
I first learned how to truly push myself when I was a high school wrestler. This part of my life was just as hard if not harder than Basic Training. Wrestling is a grueling sport; in order to win you have to challenge yourself beyond your limits, and then some. I had to immerse myself in conditioning and give one hundred percent effort. There was not a season where I was not battling an injury. I was constantly cutting weight, practicing, running or lifting in my free time. Wrestling was a never ending grind; however, the hardest part was the match itself. Typically in sports, it is never an individual's fault for a loss. You win as a team and lose as a team, but wrestling is different. It’s you against the other guy. Who put in the most work? Who wants it more? Winning a match was a high I'll chase for the rest of my life, a way to prove everything I did was worth it. I became stronger; I became better. Losing a match is crushing because it's all on you.
“Why am I still trying to get better? I wasn’t strong enough.”
“Why am I still pushing myself? I wasn’t even close to beating him.”
No matter how far I ran, how much I would lift, or how hard I trained, there was always a bigger mountain to climb, new things to learn, more work to be done. That’s when the doubt began to take over, “Will I ever make it to where I want to be? Why even try?” In the writing, “Why Italian?” by Jhumpa Lahiri, she talks about doors as a metaphor for this overwhelming feeling of constant struggle to learn something new. She explains that life is a series of never ending doors that are slowly closing. As she runs through one door she finds another just about to close, then she runs through that, and the pattern repeats itself indefinitely. She uses this metaphor to talk about her journey learning to write in Italian. There is a long chain of doors; behind each one is new knowledge, new vocabulary, new techniques, but there are too many to go through. She wants to go through all of them, but there’s not enough time. I feel this was similar to my time learning how to wrestle. I realized when I was thirteen I had a natural affinity for the sport. Even though I have competed for about seven years now, and continue to wrestle on the college club team, I have yet to scratch the surface. There are so many techniques and moves to learn, and on top of that comes learning how to train your body and mind to be ready to compete in such a challenging combat sport. So many different doors to go through, not enough time. It is immensely overwhelming.
“So why even try?” If I could never truly master the art of wrestling, “Why keep trying?”
I believe the best answer to these questions comes from not looking at the endless maze of doors ahead, but instead, looking at the one in front of you. The truth is the doors will never cease to appear; no matter what you're doing, be it learning a sport or learning a language, there's always another door. There is always more to learn, and by looking at the grand scheme of things you will inevitably create that self doubt: “I'll never make it, so why try?”
Instead of crumbling under the seemingly endless plight, look at the door in front of you. What can you learn and how can you improve right now? Once you have everything you need from that door, go to the next. For example, I see each practice as a door, and as I run through, I look to get stronger and gain more knowledge. I see matches, win or lose, as doors. If I win I ask myself, “What did I do to get there, and how can I replicate it?” If I lose, I ask, “What do I do to fix this and how do I get better?” The only way to fight self doubt is to focus less on the end results and focus more on your step by step progress, from door to door. Then, by the time you reach the end, you’ll have become stronger, smarter, and more knowledgeable than you could have ever imagined. All the self doubt you face, you approach the same way, one step at a time.
“Why even try? That guy was way faster than me.” Then find the door that will help you get faster.
“That guy was ten times stronger than me. I won't be able to beat him come postseason, so why try?” Then find the door that will help you get stronger.
Every time doubt arises, find a way to get through the door to improve and grow, and I promise that doubt will disappear. The physical and mental leap I made from freshman year to now, using this approach to life, has been unbelievable. If you saw a picture of fifteen year old me and me right now, you would not believe we are the same person.
I still struggle with self doubt today. Unfortunately it is impossible to get rid of it fully. it is human nature to question our own abilities, to be cautious. I have decided to get my bachelors in mechanical engineering, a challenge I know will be very difficult. I know it will be extremely challenging, and I know it will be hard work. It's impossible to not think, “Will I make it? Why try?” Life should be approached one door at a time, and not only looking at the long road ahead. This will ensure that you can keep growing as a person, and when you begin to doubt yourself, find a reason to try, and to keep trying. The angel's voice will guide you down the path to keep marching forward.