英文原文
The Necessary Evil of Ego In Sports - SHIFT Speed Coaching
I’m terrified of my own sport. Every starting line, every meet, every registration, and every training session involving the sprint hurdles fills me with anxiety. Just thinking about hurdling fills me with a strange cocktail of dread, anxiousness, and...excitement.
The way I know that I have to hurdle is that I have never stopped thinking about it, even when I thought the sport was over for me in high school, and even when I struggled to sprint respectably fast as a post-collegiate, and even now as I grapple with an established career while fitting in training. And the way I know that I have to be careful with hurdling is this terror I experience as I prepare for it.
The challenge of deeply loving your sport, of identifying with it, and of having grand ambitions in it is that your ego gets intimately tied to every moment you’re in it. Your ego is the most dangerous liability and the most critical asset you have as an athlete. A few tools have helped me manage my own ego that may help you with yours.
How Your Ego Cripples You
Identifying yourself with your sport is dangerous. Doing so means your sense of self and your sense of worth are all wrapped up in your performance and your progression. There is no good enough in this situation. Even the notion of retiring, resting, or slowing down can cripple your emotional health.
Every unit of progress I make as a sprinter gets compared to my standards and my aspirations. I don’t believe there’s a single unit of possibility that I ever run under 13.00 in the 110 meter high hurdles, much less approach Aries Merritt’s unbelievable 12.80, yet those numbers are in my head as my own PRs march down. No amount of progress comes quickly enough to satisfy me.
This drives me to train more, even though my Achilles hurts in the morning. This drives me to watch one more slow motion video of a world championship final, even though I’m 45 minutes past bedtime.
My ego is so consumed with reminding me I haven’t achieved the pinnacle – and, somehow, that if I just work a little harder I’ll magically arrive there, like, yesterday – that there isn’t any perception of upward trend, positive progress, or victory in showing up.
This is the dangerous part of ego as an athlete. You never reach the bar you’ve set for yourself. You criticize your own performance while it happens, not even leaving enough space or having enough grace to wait to look objectively at your performance after the fact.
But without your ego, you wouldn’t be in the sport at all.
How Your Ego Bolsters You
Because your perception of yourself includes being a successful athlete, you commit to doing the unpleasant, unglamorous work necessary to become one. Unless you’re being forced to participate by outside forces, presumably you’re in your sport for the love of the game or the love of the community or both. But every possible environmental factor is begging to distract you from preparing to play.
Your ego is the reason you can turn pro. The sense that you belong on the field and that being on the field is a source of joy keeps you from taking a haphazard approach to preparation.
I massage my feet, foam roll, and stretch every night because I know that doing so keeps me available to train. I ultrasound my old injuries – I mean, I own an ultrasound tool at all, let’s be serious – because I know that doing so might be the 5% capacity I need to have another hurdle session this week rather than resting. I built PVC hurdles and have a playlist of ultra-slow-mo hurdle technique videos so there’s no excuse for wild Colorado weather to stop me from developing my skills.
This all comes from ego. I don’t watch TV and I don’t drink often and I don’t eat many desserts because my identity as a hurdler is stronger than my desire for leisure. Further, I don’t identify as just an athlete. I don’t just play track & field. I am a hurdler.
To be a hurdler comes with certain defining traits and I’m unreasonably proud of them. I’m both brave enough and fool enough to run full speed at barriers. I’m not the fastest, but I’m flexible and snappy and aggressive. I’m obsessed with technique and that’s okay. To be a hurdler is to be all these things and I’ve never been able to release these traits from the shrine in my heart to running hurdles.
This degree of identification is why I choose training over all the other options available for my free time. But this degree of identification is also why the hurdles are so frightening for me.
What Ego Fears Most
The end state of this sort of identification with my sport and with my event within the sport is that I’m afraid.
If it’s time to line up to race, despite how much satisfaction the feeling of running over hurdles gives me, I’m weighed down by fear. If I’m rehearsing good technique and quick rhythm in practice, despite how beautiful I find the act of hurdling to be, I’m distracted by perfectionism. If I’ve gone more than 5 days without going over hurdles, despite how essential recovery is to my longevity in this event, I’m crushed by anxiety that I’m losing form.
These feelings lead to dumb decisions. I’m a MASTER of dumb decisions!
So where’s this all coming from?
Ego. Ego is most afraid of being embarrassed. Ego hates the thought of striving yet falling short. Ego is a victim of its own expectations. My expectations.
Because I love the hurdles so much, I want to look and be as beautifully violent as the best in the sport. Because I want to be like the best, the emotional message is that I want to be the best. If I want to be the best, then my standard candle for every moment in the sport is doing what I think the best would do.
And since my thoughts about what the best in my sport would do are not based on any lived experience of my own, every individual bit of my expectation about being a hurdler is delusional.
This is what I actually work hardest at: selling myself reality and dismissing delusion.
Managing My Ego’s Fear
When I’ve gone more than 5 days without going over hurdles, I make a note about the impact of this rest on my immediate recovery and on my likely sustainable participation. I check my journals about times I got hurt from doing too much, about times my athletes thrived on low-volume programs, and about advice my coaching mentors have shared from their own experiences.
When I’m rehearsing good technique and quick rhythm in practice, I recite a mantra about staying present before each rep and focus on a single cue while moving. I use techniques I learned in therapy to emphasize the present. I use techniques I learned in meditation to feel the skill while imagining so I can feel it while moving.
When I line up to race, I celebrate the fact that I get to play, then I settle into my routines for the start. I remind myself that racing is just an interim exam on the way to my goals. I try to sense every part of my body, so I know this team of bones and tissues is on board to perform.
And when I talk about my hobbies, I make a point of never saying “I am a hurdler.” I tell folks who know track that I run hurdles. I tell folks who don’t know the sport that I play at track & field. I tell people that I dream of continuing to race in this sport into my 100s.
It’s a series of little actions that help divorce my identity from the thing I do. A series of little actions that help disconnect my ego from my hobby.
To imagine myself as one with what I love is a sort of dysfunctional dependency. To acknowledge that I love this thing but am not, necessarily, made up of this thing, is intentional emotional distance. That distance let’s me reflect on running track. That distance let’s me coach myself in the hurdles. And that distance makes the fear tolerable.
That distance is what leaves room for the excitement. Amid a cocktail of destructive, distracting, disquieting emotions when I think about running hurdles, excitement is the ultimate garnish.
I’m still terrified of my sport, even 20 years after I first tried it. I’m scared to fall short of my own expectations for it. The excitement of playing it and excitement at the prospect of being able to do it for decades to come is how I know I love it.
If you’re struggling with anxiety about your sport, as I have at intervals for two decades now, it’s probably time to reconnect with what you love about it.
That love is what keeps the ego at bay.
中文翻译
体育中自我的必要之恶 - SHIFT速度训练
我害怕自己的运动。每一个起跑线、每一次比赛、每一次报名、每一次涉及跨栏短跑的训练都让我充满焦虑。仅仅想到跨栏就让我充满一种奇怪的恐惧、焦虑和……兴奋的混合情绪。
我知道我必须跨栏，因为我从未停止思考它，即使我在高中时认为这项运动对我来说已经结束，即使我在大学毕业后努力跑出体面的速度，即使现在我在处理一份稳定职业的同时还要安排训练。我知道我必须小心对待跨栏，是因为我在准备时经历的这种恐惧。
深爱你的运动、认同它、在其中怀有远大抱负的挑战在于，你的自我与你在其中的每一刻紧密相连。作为运动员，你的自我是最危险的责任，也是最关键的资产。一些工具帮助我管理自己的自我，可能对你也有帮助。
你的自我如何让你瘫痪
将自己与运动认同是危险的。这样做意味着你的自我感和价值感都包裹在你的表现和进步中。在这种情况下，没有足够好。即使是退役、休息或放慢速度的想法也可能损害你的情感健康。
我作为短跑运动员取得的每一个进步单位都与我的标准和抱负相比较。我不相信我有任何可能跑进110米高栏13.00秒以内，更不用说接近Aries Merritt令人难以置信的12.80秒，但这些数字在我脑海中，因为我的个人纪录在下降。没有任何进步足够快以满足我。
这驱使我训练更多，即使我的跟腱在早上疼痛。这驱使我再看一个世界锦标赛决赛的慢动作视频，即使我已经过了就寝时间45分钟。
我的自我如此专注于提醒我我还没有达到顶峰——而且，不知何故，如果我更努力一点，我就能神奇地到达那里，就像昨天一样——以至于没有任何对上升趋势、积极进步或出场的胜利的感知。
这是作为运动员自我的危险部分。你永远达不到为自己设定的标准。你在表现发生时批评自己的表现，甚至没有留下足够的空间或优雅来等待事后客观地看待你的表现。
但没有你的自我，你根本不会从事这项运动。
你的自我如何支持你
因为你对自我的认知包括成为一名成功的运动员，你承诺做成为运动员所需的不愉快、不光彩的工作。除非你被外部力量强迫参与，否则你从事这项运动可能是出于对比赛的热爱或对社区的热爱，或两者兼有。但每一个可能的环境因素都在试图分散你准备比赛的注意力。
你的自我是你能成为职业运动员的原因。那种你属于赛场、在赛场上是一种快乐来源的感觉，让你不会采取随意的准备方式。
我每晚按摩脚、用泡沫轴滚动和拉伸，因为我知道这样做能让我保持训练状态。我用超声波治疗旧伤——我的意思是，我拥有一台超声波工具，说真的——因为我知道这样做可能是我本周需要再进行一次跨栏训练而不是休息的5%能力。我建造了PVC跨栏，并有一个超慢动作跨栏技术视频播放列表，这样就没有借口让科罗拉多州的恶劣天气阻止我发展技能。
这一切都来自自我。我不看电视，不经常喝酒，不吃很多甜点，因为我作为跨栏运动员的身份比我对休闲的渴望更强。此外，我不认同自己只是一个运动员。我不只是玩田径。我是一个跨栏运动员。
成为一名跨栏运动员带有某些定义性特征，我为此感到不合理的自豪。我既勇敢又愚蠢，以全速冲向障碍。我不是最快的，但我灵活、敏捷、有攻击性。我痴迷于技术，这没关系。成为一名跨栏运动员就是拥有所有这些特征，我从未能将这些特征从我心中对跨栏的神圣殿堂中释放出来。
这种认同程度是我选择训练而不是所有其他空闲时间选项的原因。但这种认同程度也是为什么跨栏对我来说如此可怕。
自我最害怕什么
这种与我的运动和运动中项目的认同的最终状态是我害怕。
如果到了排队比赛的时候，尽管跨栏的感觉给我带来多少满足感，我被恐惧压垮。如果我在练习中排练好技术和快节奏，尽管我发现跨栏行为多么美丽，我被完美主义分散注意力。如果我超过5天没有跨栏，尽管恢复对我的长期参与至关重要，我被焦虑压垮，担心我正在失去状态。
这些感觉导致愚蠢的决定。我是愚蠢决定的大师！
那么这一切来自哪里？
自我。自我最害怕尴尬。自我讨厌努力却失败的想法。自我是自己期望的受害者。我的期望。
因为我如此热爱跨栏，我想看起来和表现得像这项运动中最好的那样美丽而暴力。因为我想像最好的那样，情感信息是我想成为最好的。如果我想成为最好的，那么我在运动中每一刻的标准蜡烛就是做我认为最好的会做的事。
由于我对这项运动中最好的会做什么的想法不是基于我自己的任何生活经验，我对成为一名跨栏运动员的每一个期望都是妄想。
这是我实际上最努力工作的：向自己推销现实并摒弃妄想。
管理我的自我的恐惧
当我超过5天没有跨栏时，我记录这种休息对我即时恢复和可能可持续参与的影响。我查看我的日记，关于我因做太多而受伤的时候，关于我的运动员在低量计划中茁壮成长的时候，以及关于我的教练导师从他们自己的经验中分享的建议。
当我在练习中排练好技术和快节奏时，我在每次重复前背诵一个关于保持当下的咒语，并在移动时专注于一个单一提示。我使用在治疗中学到的技巧来强调当下。我使用在冥想中学到的技巧来感受技能，同时想象，这样我可以在移动时感受它。
当我排队比赛时，我庆祝我能玩的事实，然后我进入起跑的例行程序。我提醒自己比赛只是通往目标途中的中期考试。我试图感知身体的每一部分，所以我知道这个骨骼和组织团队准备好表现。
当我谈论我的爱好时，我特意从不“我是一个跨栏运动员”。我告诉懂田径的人我跑跨栏。我告诉不懂这项运动的人我玩田径。我告诉人们我梦想继续在这项运动中比赛到100岁。
这是一系列小行动，帮助将我的身份与我所做的事情分开。一系列小行动，帮助将我的自我与我的爱好断开。
想象自己与我所爱的事物合为一体是一种功能失调的依赖。承认我爱这件事但不一定由这件事组成，是有意的情感距离。那种距离让我反思跑步。那种距离让我在跨栏中指导自己。那种距离让恐惧变得可容忍。
那种距离为兴奋留下了空间。在我想到跨栏时，破坏性、分散注意力、令人不安的情绪混合中，兴奋是最终的装饰。
我仍然害怕我的运动，即使在我第一次尝试20年后。我害怕达不到我对它的期望。玩它的兴奋和未来几十年能做的兴奋是我知道我热爱它的方式。
如果你正在为你的运动焦虑而挣扎，就像我二十年来间歇性地经历的那样，可能是时候重新连接你热爱它的地方了。
那种爱是让自我保持距离的东西。
文章概要
本文通过一位跨栏运动员的自述，探讨了自我在体育中的双重作用。作者描述了自我如何既是推动训练的动力来源，又是导致焦虑和恐惧的根源。文章详细分析了自我如何通过认同运动身份来激励运动员进行艰苦训练，但同时也因过度认同而引发完美主义、焦虑和情感依赖。作者分享了一系列管理自我恐惧的策略，如保持情感距离、使用正念技巧和重新定义身份，最终强调通过重新连接对运动的热爱来平衡自我。
高德明老师的评价
用12岁初中生可以听懂的语音来重复翻译的内容
这篇文章讲的是一个跨栏运动员的故事。他超级喜欢跨栏，每次训练和比赛都又害怕又兴奋。他把跨栏当成了自己的一部分，所以特别努力，每天按摩、拉伸，甚至自己造跨栏来练习。但这也让他压力很大，总觉得自己不够好，害怕失败。后来他学会了一些方法，比如比赛前告诉自己“这只是个游戏”，或者不把自己完全当成“跨栏运动员”，这样就不那么害怕了。他说，真正重要的是记住自己为什么喜欢跨栏，这样就不会被压力打垮。
TA沟通分析心理学理论评价
从沟通分析心理学视角看，这篇文章生动展示了成人自我状态在体育训练中的动态平衡。作者作为跨栏运动员，其成人自我状态在训练中表现出高度的理性规划能力，例如系统记录恢复数据、制定训练计划和使用技术工具，这体现了成人自我状态对现实的有效适应。然而，当自我过度认同运动身份时，儿童自我状态中的恐惧、焦虑和完美主义被激活，导致情感困扰，如“害怕尴尬”和“批评自己的表现”。同时，父母自我状态中的高标准期望，如“想成为最好的”，驱动了训练投入，但也可能引发内在冲突。作者通过一系列策略，如保持情感距离和使用正念技巧，成功调节了自我状态，使成人自我状态重新主导，从而管理恐惧并重拾对运动的热爱。这突显了沟通分析理论中自我状态整合的重要性，即通过成人自我状态的理性调节，平衡儿童自我状态的情感和父母自我状态的期望，以实现健康的心理功能。
在实践上可以应用的领域和可以解决人们的十个问题
在实践上，这篇文章的内容可以应用于多个领域，帮助人们解决以下十个问题：1. 运动员训练中的焦虑管理，通过识别和调节自我状态来减少比赛压力。2. 职场人士的身份认同问题，帮助员工区分工作角色与个人价值，避免过度投入导致的倦怠。3. 学生学业压力缓解，教导如何平衡高标准期望与自我接纳。4. 健身爱好者的动机维持，利用成人自我状态制定可持续的训练计划。5. 艺术家的创作瓶颈突破，通过情感距离管理完美主义倾向。6. 团队领导中的绩效压力，培养理性决策能力以应对高期望环境。7. 退休人员的身份过渡，协助从职业角色中分离自我认同。8. 亲子教育中的期望管理，帮助家长平衡鼓励与压力。9. 社交焦虑的改善，通过调整自我状态减少对他人评价的恐惧。10. 个人爱好发展，促进健康的情感投入而不产生依赖。