Embracing the Grind: How a 56-hour event changed my perspective

When I first entered the industry, I was told things like, “You have to grind,” and, “Embrace the grind.” So when I was waking up at 3:30am, working as much as physically possible, and eating dinner at 10pm so that I could go to bed by 11pm for my four hours of sleep, I thought I was doing everything right. It was even encouraged and applauded by managers, co-workers and others in the industry. I was a rock star. Then came the wake-up call.

The irony was, the alarm went off, but I didn’t get up. I couldn’t. My body literally wouldn’t move.

This is a true story and an event that put things into perspective for me. When I was beginning to feel successful, my body told me otherwise. My schedule was full. It was packed. It was “a good problem to have,” and I was reminded that daily. I quickly learned that the feeling wasn’t so much of success, but a slow march toward a realization that my schedule wasn’t sustainable.

It was Thursday morning, and my alarm went off as it always did, bright and early at 4am so that I could eat, shower, and get to work in time for my first session. At this time, I lived only a few minutes from the gym. I had plenty of time. Living closer to work at this point gave me a little more sleep time, though I was still up before the sun on most days.

“Just 5 more minutes,” probably sounds like a familiar refrain. At 4:30am, I finally rolled out of bed, grabbed a protein bar that I chewed quickly in the shower, dressed, and ran out the door. Phew! I made it!

The session went well, and I went about the rest of my day as planned, all the way through my last session. She was a high school senior, non-athlete, but one who was setting herself up for great things. She was also “embracing the grind” in her own way of going to school, taking AP classes, working two jobs, and coming in to train with me at 8:30pm. Her energy was inspiring, and to be honest, kept me going to finish out the long day.

By the time I got home that night, it was 10pm. I walked up the stairs, dropped my keys off along the way to my room, and fell face down in my bed. It felt good after the 17-hour day to fall into my pillow top mattress and soft comforter – and to feel a sense of calm. “I’ll just lay here a couple minutes and then change my clothes, use the bathroom, get a quick snack for dinner, and then prepare for the next day.” That was the plan, anyway.

My first session was scheduled for 7am the next day, Friday. I could finally sleep in a little and get a bit of relief. Saturday would be a little better with an 8am first session, followed by an eight-hour shift at Vitamin Shoppe. Church would come quickly on Sunday morning, and then another six-hour shift at Vitamin Shoppe with a little bit of downtime Sunday evening before starting it all over again on Monday. Everything is fine.

Until it wasn’t.

I never got up to use the restroom, never got anything to eat, and never changed out of my work clothes. I don’t remember falling asleep, but the sun shining in through the bedroom window woke me up around 5am. What a nap! I grabbed my phone to check the time and thought about getting up to get my day started. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. It was a terrifying feeling. Five o’clock quickly became 6:30am, and I ultimately texted to cancel the session.

I felt awful. My body felt exhausted, but that wasn’t what worried me. I never cancel sessions. This was a first. Was I letting my clients down?

I’ll lay here a little longer, I thought, and make it to my 8am session.

One-by-one, I began texting and canceling sessions. By the end of the day, I had canceled six sessions, and realized I had no choice but to do the same for Saturday.

I napped on and off Friday night into Saturday, and it might have been the first time since I got my first cell phone that I didn’t pick it up to even check the time.

I couldn’t. I physically couldn’t do it. My body had shut down, and it was a scary feeling.

As I laid motionless, time ticked away and the sun started to set. I began thinking about all the work I had to do and all the work I was missing. Normally, that would add to my anxiety. But this time, it didn’t.

It reminds me of the scene in Office Space when Bob walks up to Peter’s cubical and says, “Looks like you’ve been missing a lot of work lately.” Peter responds with, “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say I’ve been missing it, Bob.”

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel bad about missing a session, and it was liberating. I didn’t feel bad about not staying ahead of schedule with studying or programming. For clarification, the passion was still there, and I cared deeply about my clients and athletes. But for that moment, my sole focus was being able to move enough to walk across the hallway to go to the bathroom. It wasn’t until 8pm that evening that it happened.

As I slowly made my way across the hall, I realized it was going to be a process. A long process. What should have taken seconds took minutes, and things that should have taken minutes seemed like forevers. It had been roughly 56 hours since I had left my bed for any reason at all. No food, no water, no bathroom breaks. Nothing.

As I eventually made my way to the store – for the sake of picking up essentials, but to also get outside for the first time in two days – I found myself buying things I would have never imagined buying had I felt completely healthy. And in that time, it was fine. I chose to listen to my cravings for that evening because I neglected what my body had been warning me for so long in terms of rest and recovery. Something had to change.

Prior to this, I had requested to be removed from my 5am group time. Given the structure of my schedule, that was the easiest change. I was denied. Instead, I was encouraged to keep grinding. I took it as a sign of respect and confidence that I was the right person for that group. I knew that was the intention. Remaining loyal was what I wanted to do most, so I “kept grinding.” I came up short on two more attempts to change my schedule before the frightening weekend that forced my hand.

It reminds me of a quote by Gary Schofield, who is the Director of Junior High and High School Development at PLAE, and the founder of the NHSSCA. He despises the word “grind” and everything that comes with it. Gary said, “If I start my car up and the engine grinds, is that a good thing? Is my Jeep going to go very far when the engine is grinding? … No, it’s going to blow up.”

That sounds so obvious, yet we don’t always do what is obvious. Your car won’t go very far if it is grinding, and neither will your body. Without proper fuel, rest, and recovery, you simply won’t be able to function to your potential.

We are taught from a young age that working excessive hours or practicing every available moment or competing in endless matches or games year-round is the answer. It’s true that consistency is key to being successful at whatever goal you are working toward, but it has to be done to scale. The other crucial components of proper fueling, adequate rest and recovery, and freedom from mental stress and anxiety will never happen if we constantly “grind.”

In this story of my wake-up call, like the car, my body literally shut down because I refused to perform the routine maintenance it needed. I continued to plow through making my engine weaker and weaker until my body said, “Enough!” It was tired of the grind. It needed some maintenance, and that maintenance was rest. It was a painful and alarming lesson, but one that was needed. All I wanted to do was encourage other people, make a positive impact in their lives, and help them reach (or exceed) their potential. I was doing that, but my approach was costly. Making changes didn’t mean I had to stop mentoring and making an impact, I simply had to change my approach.

The only long-term accomplishment we will ever see if we continue to “grind” is grinding away the true benefits we hope to gain from the lifestyle we falsely believe will get us to our end goal.