Summoning the courage to do scary things
I did my first podcast interview, and it was almost like that time I bombed out trying to qualify for nationals in Olympic lifting.
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I did my first podcast interview a couple of weeks ago with the Eating Disorder Therapist, and it was every bit as nerve-wracking as I expected it to be. With host Harriet Frew, I discussed the family crisis that prompted me to stop dieting, embrace intuitive eating, and begin writing about the experience. While I’ve been sharing the link, I’m still working up my courage to listen.
Heading into the interview, I expected to be nervous. I ran through talking points I had put together in anticipation and gave myself plenty of time to fully set up and record in my home office. Would I bomb? There is always the possibility.
Strangely, I was pretty calm until we actually started recording, and then I could feel the rush of nerves rising from my stomach. My cheeks flushed. The air suddenly felt thin, and I tried to catch my breath as I articulated who I am and what brought me to this moment. Those first couple of minutes felt like an eternity, but eventually I steadied my breath and carried on for the remainder of the interview.
Later, as I ran back through my performance, I realized the experience was a lot of like when I competed in Olympic weightlifting.
From years of competition, I learned that some nervousness is good, and sometimes even really helpful, but too much nervousness is a recipe for disaster. If you allow the adrenaline to run unchecked, you can flood your nervous system to the point that you completely forget what you’re doing.
Competing in weightlifting meets is always terrifying. After all, you’re getting up on a platform in front of a bunch of friends, family and complete strangers—plus three judges—and lifting heavy weights from floor to ceiling. For fun! And sport!
Sort of like with the podcast, the first time I competed, I didn’t know exactly how I would feel, so I was spared the big nerves until I arrived at the gym. After I got that first meet under my belt, the nerves would start creeping up days and even weeks before the next meet. My stomach would start somersaulting every time I would even think of getting on stage.
One of the challenges in these types of situations is simply learning how to channel that energy into something productive. I learned very early on that I actually performed better in competition. That little extra kick of adrenaline would usually help me eke out another kilo or two in the snatch and clean and jerk—the two Oly lifts. Except that one time when it didn’t.
After a less than stellar performance at the 2019 state meet in Houston, I decided to make one more run at nationals at a meet the following week in San Antonio. I knew it was risky, having peaked and competed the week before, but nothing seemed amiss as I warmed up backstage, performing progressively heavier lifts, until it was time for me to hit my opening weight. But when I walked onstage, the adrenaline completely took over. When I heard the buzzer, I took a deep breath and took my place behind the bar, bending forward to grab the knurling in just the right spot and then crouching down into my starting position. After the first pull, with the bar at my knees, my mind went blank. It was if I’d forgotten how to lift!
Bombing out—that’s the term for when you don’t make a single valid lift in competition, and it happens to every lifter at some point. The sooner you get it out of the way, the better. Because you learn more from failure than success. What I took away from that meet was you can get too nervous. Until that point, I thought that because I performed better at competition with that extra adrenaline, that I should just let it flow untapped. I was wrong about that. And while I was so bummed about that meet, because it was my last chance to qualify for nationals that year, it didn't stop me from qualifying the next year.
With time and exposure, I learned to be more present and focused while competing, which almost always made for a better outcome. I suspect this is the same with just about any activity that takes you outside of your comfort zone, whether it’s speaking in front of a crowd, swinging from a trapeze or being interviewed for a podcast.
My first podcast interview wasn’t the best performance of my life, but it was a start. And the start is what’s important.
For us perfectionists, we can get so caught up in doing things so perfectly that we never do them at all. Starting anything new is hard—especially if it’s something that makes us feel exposed or takes us right out of our comfort zone.
But it’s absolutely critical that we do scary things.
The biggest reason isn’t for growth, although that’s my favorite reason.
Doing scary things helps us build resiliency. We’re able to bounce back faster when life throws us obstacles.
Doing scary things also takes us outside of our comfort zone, which helps us acclimate to the unknown.
What makes new things so scary? Because we don’t know what to expect and we often have less control over the outcome. Letting go of control, which will be its own topic in an upcoming post, is especially difficult for those of us who have experienced trauma.
It’s why some of us can’t quit diets, even when we know they don’t work. It’s why some of us are terrified of trusting our bodies to tell us when we’re hungry or full. We’re so afraid that if we let go of rules around food or if we give ourselves full permission to eat that one forbidden thing, we’ll never stop. When we’ve spent years on the hamster wheel of diets and restriction, there’s safety and comfort in the same old song and dance, even when we know it’s not working. Dieting keeps us caged in, stuck in old thought patterns that don’t serve us.
It’s when we’re willing to step outside of our comfort zone—and do something scary—that we can often find better outcomes. But taking that first step is so hard.
The more we do things that scare us, the more we realize that fear isn’t always serving us. We develop courage with every scary thing we overcome, and with time, we can apply the lessons from that scary thing to the next.
The lessons I learned from competing—trying and failing and learning from mistakes and getting better—prepared me for the experience of being interviewed for a podcast.
And I will take the lessons from that experience and apply it to the next.
Oh… and yes, here’s the link to the podcast interview again in case you want to listen.
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Your point about doing scary things is so important. I managed to do one today and it felt so good.
So much truth to this whole post. Good job doing both things, Olympic lifting and being a podcast guest!
Moving past our comfort zone takes practice - the more we do it the better we get at recognizing what's happening. Our sons began racing as young children and, what I see in hindsight is, it provided them with the skill to do hard things in the rest of their life. Competition is not about the podium but about putting yourself out there. We don't need competition to provide this but it's an easily accessible way to do a very hard thing. Showing up is difficult but easier to find than a slot on a podcast😉
Well done!