Today is January 1st. Not a good day for looking back on the year that has just ended. I’ve already spent a lot of time doing that — revisiting what I experienced, the successes and the wounds, the progress and the setbacks, taking a closer look at encounters and goodbyes, taking stock. Today, I don’t want to do it again.
In October last year, when my Achilles tendon had finally made its opinion known, I found myself in a park in Cologne. I wasn’t running. I was jogging, slowly, with my eyes covered and one hand lightly resting on the arm of someone guiding me. We were part of a workshop for sighted running guides—learning how to help blind and visually impaired runners move safely, confidently, freely. It was humbling. I was there to learn how to guide. But at that moment, I needed guidance myself.
New Year’s resolutions are a curious thing. Lucky for me, I don’t really need them to aim for more or less in my life. For instance, I don’t have to push myself to exercise; it’s such a natural part of my daily routine that it’s not even necessary. But of course, I have goals and desires too. Like running pain-free – after nearly two years of a nagging Achilles tendon. Or building strength – after tearing my bicep tendon last fall, it’s not just a wish, but a necessity.
I don’t want to run like this anymore. It’s not doing me any good. More than that: it’s jeopardizing my health. I’m jeopardizing my health. And my joy of running is at risk too. I owe this realization to a gadget, not my own insight. But let’s start from the beginning.
Have you ever heard of the concept of a sweet spot of stress? If so, you’ve heard about the Yerkes-Dodson Law (YDL) — the idea that there’s an optimal level of strain for peak performance. It’s been widely cited in management and organizational psychology, but what if I told you it’s not as clear-cut as you might think?