If you’ve ever listened to Buddhist teacher Tara Brach, you’ve likely heard her discuss the Buddha’s story of the second arrow.

The Buddha once asked a student "if a person is struck by an arrow, is it painful?" The student replied that it was. The Buddha then asked "if the person is struck by a second arrow, is that even more painful?" The student replied that it was. The teaching is that in life, we cannot always control the first arrow, however, our second arrow is our reaction to the first.

Sometimes the first arrow is someone putting a hat on you for a cookie - but you still tell yourself that you're doing great. And that the cookie will come eventually...

And if you're like me, you often shoot yourself with the second arrow. Over, and over, and over again. 

It's just how I roll. 

The first arrow is when something happens - whether it's something we do - hit the snooze button for 30 minutes instead of 10 (me, this morning), overeat at a party when we swore we wouldn’t, have five drinks instead of two; but it's also when something happens to us - treats us in a way that feels disrespectful. Brach describes the first arrow as the natural experiences that arise from the human animal that we are: fear, aggression, greed, craving. 

But the second arrow is our reaction to what happens. In the Buddhist teaching, we are reminded that with the second arrow comes choice. 

A few weeks ago I wrote a post talking about the phrase “I can’t get out of my own way.” The second part of that expression might be “and I can’t forgive myself for that.” I have talked openly about my struggles with depression - which is a first arrow for me. I'm not sure where or why I experience depression, but it's a complicated mix of genetics and life experience. So often the things we hate about ourselves are shaped by a plethora of forces - genetics - brain chemistry - experience - but as Brach reminds us, we didn’t choose any of this. 

I didn't choose depression. In fact, I hate the way my depression makes me feel. Lazy, unproductive, sad, unfocused. I hate it. That hate is my second arrow. Hate is my reaction to how I feel. And it's often self-hate.

The fitness industry is as much about human behavior as the science of periodization, fat loss, and hypertrophy. And nowhere have I seen more self-blame and self-flagellation than in fitness. We set goals, for getting to the gym, for changing our eating habits, for more self-care, and those goals can often become clouded by those first arrows - a compulsion to overeat that we don't understand, fear that comes from a place that we can't reach.

We can't control what happens to us. Did you know that there's even research out there suggesting that we are predisposed to be morning or night people? Me neither, but I'm looking into it. Have you ever tried to make yourself a morning workout person and just couldn't make it happen? Instead of going with the grain however, you beat yourself up for not going to be earlier, not waking up sooner, and being too lazy to get to the gym. You hate yourself for not being a morning person. 

I’m not saying we don’t need some accountability. But what else can we make room for if we stop the pattern of self-blame? If we replace the phrases “I suck at life, I suck at adulting, I hate myself for not trying harder” with something more positive? After I published this original post at work, a client reached out and offered this great phrase "thank you for the learning experience." 

What if you substitute that approach for the self-flagellation? What other positive feelings might creep in? I don't know because I still spend 90% of the time with the second arrow. But like so many other habits, change is an evolving process and it begins with awareness.

We cannot control the action - but we have some choice about the reaction. 

As the only member of our coaching staff who has even sniffed 30 years old, let alone 40, I can get a little defensive about my age. I promise you that casual conversations around the office have become a bit more challenging for Josh, our very knowledgeable and mild-mannered director of training since I’ve come on board. 

Josh: “Generally we won’t have a 40 something-year-old…” 

Me: What?? What won’t you have a 40 something-year-old do? Hmm???

Josh: “Back squat 400 pounds.”

Me (Slathering Icy Hot all over my body): Why because you think they can’t? Hmmmm??? You think because I’m old I can’t back squat a small car??” (Storming out of the room in my knee wraps and elbow brace).

These days, I find myself digging my heels in about age the way I did about being a girl playing with the boys.

“Are you saying I can’t do that because I’m a girl?? I’ll show you!”

And I did.

Eventually, I climb out of Josh's throat and take my creaky knees into the gym for a workout. I’m getting older. And I’m grateful for the privilege of aging, I truly am. But I’m learning, at every twist and turn, to embrace the changes in my body. Each day is a new lesson in training myself to look forward and not backward. It is so easy, as we get older, to become hyper-focused on what we used to do.

I used to read a menu without playing trombone.

I used to walk up and down stairs without a crunching noise in my knees. 

I used to be able to skip my warm up without pulling a muscle. 

Currently, I'm training for a half-marathon, and hopefully a full one. Yesterday on my 5k route, as I looked at my time, I was overcome with a major case of used to’s. I used to run a 5k in 26 minutes or less. I used to run nine-minute miles. 

It can be depressing to focus on. I suppose I could force myself to run faster. Or I could just enjoy the run. 

I’m training for the future, not the past. 

I’m not going to stop doing things because I’m getting older. Honestly, my main goal is to stay active as I get older. I want to lift weights and I want to run and I’d like to beat my dad in a game of golf, and hey, maybe take up tennis.

I love me some Bruce Springsteen but I refuse to be that guy in “Glory Days.” 

I think there are plenty of those still to come. 

The other day, in a fit of rage, I hopped on the treadmill, put on Disturbed, and ran like I was being chased by an angry rooster.

Roosters scare me ok? 

This is the best angry album out there. By far. 

I worked up a healthy sweat, zoned completely out for a few minutes, and ran my fastest mile of the year. Boom. Nailed it right? Working out is a healthy way to deal with your emotions right?

Yes and no.

Sometimes I have to draw a line when it comes to using fitness to process my feelings, and I’m terrible at it.  

I got on that treadmill with zero schtups* left to give. I’ve had pain in my achilles, my lower back, and in my neck. (Some days I feel every day of my 40 plus years). After working out three days in a row, I was scheduled for a day off.

But I didn’t care. I just wanted to blow off some steam. 

That's the danger zone. 

I didn't care what my body needed - I didn't care. End of story. 

The moments when we give in to the not caring are what place a level red threat on our goals and progress. 

I don’t care anymore, so I’ll eat what I want.

I don’t care anymore, I’ll drink a bottle of wine.

I don’t care anymore, I’m going to lift until my lips are paralyzed because you only live once, right?

Throughout my life, I’ve used exercise as a way to feel better when I’m depressed, or to work through anger, or generally distract myself from whatever it is I’m unwilling to feel. Sometimes the exercise itself makes me feel better, and I’m grateful for that. But that high is temporary. The relief is short-lived.  

Inevitably I have to come back to that question that Buddhist teacher Tara Brach asks frequently in her teachings.

What am I unwilling to feel? 

I don't know about anyone else, but that's a loaded question for me. Fitness helps me, and I believe helps many people, feel better. But there's a balance. And there's also a price to pay with a reality that sets in physically. 

In my twenties and thirties, I could get away with beating myself up physically while ignoring my emotions. I thought a 10 mile run or a 90 minute workout could exhaust the feelings right out of me.

In fact, as many of you who read my blog know, it was my inability to push my way through a run that helped me understand my depression.

My challenge for you today, (and for myself, let's be honest), is to take inventory of our intentions. To pay attention. To be aware and to recognize that soft and tender place where we hold our emotions. To be kind to ourselves for having feelings. To be patient with ourselves as we learn how to handle those feelings.

Yes, work out. But work out from a place of care. Not from a place of suffering. 

*Another word for cares. Zero cares left to give.