Yesterday, before embarking on what would have been my third 5K of the week (spoiler alert: I didn’t make it), I downloaded a Mel Robbins podcast titled “3 Small Decisions That Make You Feel Incredible: Do This Every Morning After Waking Up” to listen to on my run. I had just finished a long video date with a dear friend. Among the things we discussed was how to tackle self-care, a daunting prospect when one is unsure where to begin.
As I have been obsessing nearly non-stop about this very topic for the last few months, I repeated an oft-heard piece of wisdom. That is, making even the smallest change, when applied consistently, will allow one to build momentum for future success. For example, instead of becoming overwhelmed by the thought of overhauling my diet, I could start today with eating a carrot. Rather than creating stress with overambitious goals for exercise at the outset, I could start today with ten jumping jacks.
I felt good about offering this advice, thinking that it was the very thing I’ve been practicing lately. This particular podcast seemed apropos, and I’ve come to enjoy Mel’s charismatic delivery of scientifically backed insights. I donned my sneakers and headphones and, from a cold start, began running south towards Pacific Beach. I quickly settled into a comfortable pace which, mind you, is only a shade faster than a power walk around the mall, as I listened to Mel explain the cognitive bias of false confidence.
To paraphrase, false confidence is the erroneous belief that one is somehow exempt from the rules that govern science and common sense. Instead of making hard decisions that are better for us in the long run, we make easy decisions that feel good in the moment. In Mel’s example, false confidence caused her to forgo turning in early to get rest before an early flight home. She opted for the easy decision of partying on with her team, which inevitably led to a chaotic, workout-less morning. (This sounds like SOP for my entire 20s.)
The three decisions that she touts to be life-changing arrive from small but critical moments in our morning. As a public service to the five readers of this blog, and a reminder to myself, here they are:
- Do not hit the snooze button. Just get up.
- Natural light before artificial light. No screens and scrolling before getting at least a few minutes of sunlight.
- Drink a big glass of water before anything else. If possible, hold off on coffee for at least 90 minutes.
The podcast was occasionally interrupted by updates from my running tracker app, which reported my status every half mile. Though I had run nearly two and a half miles in one direction, I kept disregarding the little voice that insisted I turn around. I was in the midst of a runner’s high, padding along euphorically on a brilliant Saturday morning along the boardwalk. I may have even been feeling a little self-righteous, since I more or less had already incorporated these decisions into my life.
But as the podcast was ending, I began to feel my right calf tensing up until it almost seized on me. I immediately changed course to head back but it was too late — I had to stop running. At this point, I am exactly 2.69 miles away from home and I can barely walk. Every step was excruciating and drew a sharp, involuntary cuss word. I limped along the boardwalk till I could turn onto a side street and continue walking on Mission Boulevard. I prayed that it would shave a few hundred feet from the commute. Worst case scenario, I’d be more conveniently poised to take an Uber or an ambulance.
As I hobbled home, I had plenty of time to think of the false confidence that landed me in this situation. That is, I am someone who doesn’t need to warm up before a run. I can run my longest distance, and run it for a second and third time in the same week. Yours truly is exempt from the rules of exercise physiology. In other words, I am special.
It appears that I have a love-hate relationship with running — I love running, but running hates me. And my husband incessantly reminds me of how injury prone I am when it comes to running. I own just about every kind of cockamamie gadget on Amazon for over-exuberant runners. Knee and ankle compression braces, plantar fasciitis boots, bunion correctors — you name it, I’ve bought it. There is a closet full of evidence that I could benefit from a more conservative, low-impact alternative — like knitting. Whenever an injury derails my running ambitions, I swear off running like it’s a cheating ex until my memory and resentment fade.
The false confidence that enables me to skip warmups applies not only to running, but to yoga, climbing, and surfing. Eventually I make up for that time by researching how I strained myself during an innocent downward dog or an embarrassingly easy 5.8 at the climbing gym. As for surfing, I march into the water past the sorry blokes stretching on the beach. More waves for me! I haven’t received my comeuppance (yet) for not warming up before a surf session, but hey, there’s always next time!
But false confidence has figured into many other facets of my life, not just the fitness related ones. As in, I am a normally functioning person with three to four hours of sleep every night. Other people can get cancer from smoking, but not me! I can eat anything I want, as much as I want, with no recourse. I don’t need help, I can handle this all on my own.
By the time I’ve shambled home, it’s time for brunch. My daughter waited almost two hours since I told her, “I’ll be back soon,” leaving her staring at a tray of freshly baked chocolate croissants. Ken was too engrossed on his computer to notice the pronounced limp I was desperately trying to hide. For this I was grateful, because right before I left, I had (false) confidently assured him that I knew exactly what I was doing this time around.
After brunch, I sat down at my desk to vent into the nonjudgmental void of my online diary. That’s when read the entry I jotted down right before I left for my run:
There are many things that I go all in, that’s just me. I do it until I overdo it. But I’m trying to be mindful and careful and build on the things that I’m doing one bit at a time. It didn’t take long to go from no running whatsoever, and now I’m about to embark on my third 5K this week. Third!
Mic drop!
There is a phrase that rings in my head, “Now you know, and knowing is half the battle.” It is attributed to the 1980s fictional action hero of my youth, G.I. Joe. There are other brilliant quotes regarding awareness and change, created by some of the the most formidable minds in history. But for me this is by far the stickiest. Maybe because it implies that awareness of a troubling behavior or situation will naturally lead to the ideal resolution. (This idea would later become formalized as the G.I. Joe Fallacy, to indicate the error in believing that simple awareness of our cognitive biases is enough to avoid them.)
Had G.I. Joe said, “Now you know, but knowing is only half the battle,” then perhaps the generations that followed would be more proactive in their approach to self-improvement. Maybe, maybe not. What I can see with the greatest of clarity right now is the deep fundamental chasm between knowing and doing. All the knowing in the world won’t matter if I don’t cross the rickety suspension bridge to the side of doing. But just thinking about it has my heart palpitating. Did I ever mention I was scared of heights?
It seems that whenever I shine the light of awareness, it illuminates yet another stumbling block on the path to enlightenment. But I won’t be discouraged, because isn’t it about the journey, not the destination, after all? Whether we run, walk, roll or shuffle, the destination is inevitably the same for all of us, returning to the world as dust and memories. The question life asks each of us is: will you go blindly forth to a bitter end, or lead an examined life and learn to appreciate the scenic route?