Embracing the Suck

Lean into discomfort and watch the magic happen....

Triathletes often encourage each other with phrase also used in military circles: "embrace the suck."

It means leaning into the uncomfortable moments—the 4:00 a.m. alarm clock, the chilly, choppy swim, the burning sensation in your quads at mile 90 of a century bike ride. I had no idea that learning to embrace the suck during training would become my secret weapon for surviving cancer twice.

Modern life is meticulously engineered to eliminate discomfort. Your morning coffee is programmed to brew before you wake up. Your car seats warm your back while your phone delivers entertainment, news, and validation with a simple swipe. Dinner arrives at your door in thirty minutes, and your thermostat adjusts itself so you never feel too hot or too cold. We've created a world where inconvenience is increasingly optional.

Don't get me wrong—I love convenience as much as the next person. After completing eight rounds of chemotherapy, I was grateful for heated car seats during those frigid winter drives home from the infusion center. When nausea made cooking impossible, food delivery was a godsend. Comfort has its place, especially when you're fighting for your life.

But here's what I learned through thousands of training miles and hundreds of medical appointments: our bodies and souls don't just want challenge—they need it. We're wired to push against resistance, to grow stronger through struggle. The same muscle fibers that adapt to the stress of a long run are connected to the mental muscles that help you endure six hours of toxic chemicals flowing through your veins.

The real skill in triathlon and in life is learning to find strength, even joy, in discomfort. That 20-mile training run in 90-degree heat wasn't just preparing my body for race day—it was teaching my mind that I could handle more than I thought possible. Every time I pushed through when everything in me wanted to quit, I was making a deposit in my bank filled with grit, determination and resolve.

Those deposits became withdrawals during cancer treatment. When the chemo made everything taste like metal and my hands tingled with neuropathy, I remembered the satisfaction of completing workouts that seemed impossible at the start. When I sat in that infusion chair for hours, I recalled the meditative rhythm of swimming lap after lap in open water, trusting that each stroke was moving me toward something better.

I'm not suggesting that your entire day should feel like a struggle. That's not sustainable, and frankly, it's not wise. But I am convinced that a meaningful, fulfilling day requires small moments where you choose the harder path. These don't have to be dramatic—they can be beautifully simple.

Take the stairs instead of the elevator. Have that difficult conversation you've been avoiding. Read a challenging book instead of scrolling social media. Take a cold shower. Go for a walk when you'd rather stay on the couch. Call your aging parent even when you're tired. Choose the salad when you want the burger. Sit in silence for five minutes instead of immediately reaching for your phone.

Each of these micro-challenges builds what researchers call "psychological flexibility"—your ability to adapt and respond effectively when life throws you curveballs. And trust me, life will throw you curveballs. Maybe it won't be cancer like it was for me, but it will be something that tests every fiber of your being.

The beautiful irony is that deliberately seeking small discomforts actually makes your life more comfortable in the long run. When you've trained yourself to handle minor challenges, major ones become less overwhelming. When you've practiced pushing through when you don't feel like it, you develop confidence that you can handle whatever comes next.

This isn't about becoming masochistic or making your life unnecessarily difficult. It's about recognizing that growth demands discomfort, and that we need something to push against to discover how strong we can become.

Every rep, every uncomfortable conversation, every moment you choose discipline over impulse is training for the race you might not even know you're going to run.

Your daily discomforts are your daily training. The question isn't whether you'll face adversity—it's whether you'll be ready when it arrives.

What small discomfort will you embrace today?