Training Psychology: Pushing Through or Giving Up? Neither Is the Answer!
Today, my training plan called for a longer Zone 2 session: 60 to 90 minutes on the bike ergometer, at a prescribed intensity that was supposed to feel like a recovery session. An easy, steady aerobic workout.
Well, that was the theory.
My reality looked very different.
Within two minutes, I was already struggling mentally, physically! My body seemed to resist the effort. Instead of the target of at least 125, I was sitting at just 80 on the ergometer's RPM display.
And all I could think was:
"Holy shit. How am I going to survive this? 60 minuets long?!"
I wanted to quit. I adjusted the saddle, changed the handlebars, checked my phone, looked at messages. Anything to distract myself or find a way out of this uncomfortable situation.
I caught myself doing exactly that. And it reminded me of something I had once heard about becoming a zen monk.
A Zen monk, an icy waterfall, and the instinct to escape
I once listened to someone describing the traditional training to become a Zen priest.
One of the practices involved standing under a waterfall in near-freezing temperatures, wearing nothing but underwear, with the icy water hitting directly in the face.
This practice is repeating every day for months.
The person describing the practice is explaining how, especially in the beginning, his entire body and mind desperately wanted to escape.
His mind would jump to anything other than the present experience. How much longer would this last? When would it finally be over?
What could he think about to distract himself?
Anything to avoid being fully present with something so uncomfortable.
But what stayed with me was the lesson he eventually learned:
Instead of turning away from the discomfort, turn towards it.
Look directly into the experience. Observe what is actually happening.
Where exactly is the discomfort? What does it feel like? What is the mind trying to escape from?
Rather than automatically following the impulse to distract yourself, become curious about the very thing you want to avoid.
Of course, sitting on a bike ergometer is nowhere near as extreme as standing under an icy waterfall.
But I recognised something remarkably similar in my own reaction.
The immediate urge to escape. To check my phone. To think about the end. To find anything that would take my attention away from what I was experiencing.
So I decided to experiment.
Instead of reaching for my phone again, I turned my attention towards the discomfort.
What exactly was I feeling?
Was it physical exhaustion? Mental resistance? Fear? Frustration?
What was I actually trying to avoid?
And something interesting happened.
The moment I stopped trying to escape the experience and started investigating it, my relationship with it began to change.
I became so absorbed in observing what was happening that I was no longer constantly thinking about the time.
It wasn't exactly a comfortable flow state. But there was something flow-like about it.
I was engaged with the experience rather than fighting to get away from it.
And that made a difference.
Was it really just my inner resistance?
Of course, part of my reaction was probably the usual lack of motivation.
That familiar voice saying, "I really don't feel like sitting on this bike for an hour."
Our brains naturally tend to look for the path of least resistance. But I could clearly feel that there was something else going on.
As I continued observing my reactions, I started thinking about what my body had experienced over the past two years. Even before my ankle surgery, the cartilage damage had become so severe that I had gradually stopped doing many activities that placed stress on my ankle.
For about a year before surgery, and especially during the months afterwards, my body had become accustomed to moving carefully, protecting itself and avoiding unnecessary strain.
I had barely done any sustained aerobic training during that time.
And now, suddenly, I was asking my body to perform an extended endurance session. I had the distinct feeling that my body and mind were still operating in that protective mode.
As if my subconscious was saying:
"Hang on. We've spent so long being careful. And now you suddenly want to do this again? Are you sure that's a good idea?"
I can't know for certain whether this was an unconscious protective response. But that is exactly how it felt.
As though an old safety mechanism was still active, reluctant to allow me back into a level of physical activity I had avoided for so long.
I found this fascinating to observe.
Because this resistance felt very different from simply not being motivated.
Neither quitting nor fighting
And this brings me to perhaps the most important insight from today's training.
In the past, I probably would have chosen one of two options: Either I would have stopped because it felt too difficult, or I would have gritted my teeth and forced myself through it.
Quit or push through. For a long time, those seemed like the only two choices.
Today, I know there's another way.
I don't have to escape discomfort. But I don't have to fight against it either.
I can notice it. Acknowledge it. Get curious about what's behind it.
And then find a way to continue that respects what my body and mind are capable of in that moment.
That doesn't mean giving in to every uncomfortable sensation.
But it also doesn't mean ignoring what my body is telling me or trying to overpower it through sheer willpower.
I can adjust the intensity. Give myself time. Change my expectations.
And here's the interesting part: Not reaching a target can feel like failure, but the actual gap is often much smaller than it feels.
I aimed for 125 RPM but averaged 105. That's still 84% of my target! Yet we tend to focus on the missing 16% rather than the 84% we achieved.
Isn't 84% of something better than 100% of nothing? Sometimes, adapting instead of forcing ourselves is exactly what allows us to keep going. And this is a key principle in sports psychology: Focus on what you can control, rather than obsessing over what you haven't achieved.
For example, a runner struggling to maintain their planned pace can slow down and focus on breathing, technique and completing the session instead of giving up.
Interestingly, research supports this approach. A meta-analysis of 27 studies found that focusing on the process of performing a task was more effective for improving sports performance than focusing solely on the final outcome.
A positive mindset isn't about pretending everything is easy. It's about staying flexible enough to keep making progress.
And still keep going.
Perhaps that's the real difference.
Instead of training against myself, I can learn to train with myself.
Minute by minute, something started to shift
After about 15 minutes, I began to settle into the session. I found music that helped me establish a rhythm. I covered the timer on the ergometer so I would stop constantly calculating how much longer I had to go.
And most importantly, I stopped obsessing over the number I was supposed to reach.
Instead, I focused on being present. On my breathing. On the movement. On how my body actually felt.
And with every passing minute, I could sense something changing. The resistance gradually softened.
It was almost as if my body was beginning to trust the process again.
"This is okay. I can do this. I don't need to be on high alert all the time."
It felt incredibly rewarding to experience that shift.
And here's what fascinated me most:
Even though the physical effort accumulated as the session went on, the workout actually started to feel easier. Towards the end, I was able to reach higher values on the ergometer and maintain them for longer than at the beginning. I was hitting the target here and there.
Not because I was suddenly forcing myself harder.
But because I no longer felt like I was fighting against myself.
What this workout taught me
That experience reminded me how closely our physical and mental responses are connected, and how much our previous experiences can influence what we believe we're capable of.
After surgery or an extended break from training, rebuilding fitness isn't necessarily just about physical conditioning. Sometimes, it's also about rebuilding trust in our bodies. And that takes time.
It also reminded me of something I regularly explore in my coaching and freediving practice:
The expectations we place on ourselves can sometimes become the very thing that holds us back.
When we're too focused on what we should achieve, we can create pressure that makes the experience unnecessarily difficult.
The moment I stopped insisting that I had to reach a specific number, I was finally able to engage with the training itself.
And that's when things started to change. Not because the goal suddenly became irrelevant.
But because I stopped allowing the goal to dictate my entire experience.
And then came the twist …
While writing this article, one thought kept bothering me.
Am I really that bad at endurance training?
I mean, seriously. This was supposed to be a recovery session. An easy aerobic workout. And yet it had pushed me into such an intense physical and mental struggle that I ended up reflecting on Zen monks, protective mechanisms, the psychology of discomfort and the meaning of personal strength.
Don't get me wrong. I was genuinely happy about the experience.
It had brought me to a place where I discovered a different way of responding to resistance. But something still didn't add up.
Even after such a long break from endurance training, I wouldn't normally expect my performance to be that far off. So I went back and checked the original training instructions.
And then I saw it.
125–135 BPM.
Not RPM.
BPM. BEATS PER MINUTE. HEART RATE.
Not revolutions per minute on the bike!
I had mixed up BPM and RPM! I had been trying to reach 125–135 revolutions per minute on the ergometer, thinking that was my prescribed Zone 2 intensity.
No wonder it felt so ridiculously hard! I was chasing a pedalling cadence that had absolutely nothing to do with the intended recovery workout.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
The resistance. The exhaustion. The feeling that something was completely off.
What was supposed to be a gentle aerobic session had turned into something entirely different because I had misread the instructions.
All that psychological exploration … because I mixed up two abbreviations!
I had to laugh.
And yet, here's the funny thing.
The lesson still stands.
Even though the intensity I was aiming for was completely wrong, the experience of noticing my resistance, observing my urge to escape, and finding a different way to respond was real.
The mistake doesn't invalidate what I learned.
But it adds another important dimension to the story.
Sometimes, the problem isn't our mindset.
Sometimes, the problem isn't a lack of discipline, an unconscious protective mechanism or an old psychological pattern.
Sometimes, we've simply misunderstood the task.
And no amount of mental strength, mindfulness or determination can compensate for the fact that we're trying to achieve the wrong thing.
Which brings me right back to the title of this article.
Pushing through or giving up?
Neither is necessarily the answer.
Sometimes the answer is to observe.
Sometimes it's to adapt.
Sometimes it's to question our expectations.
And sometimes … it's to read the bloody instructions properly! 😂
So yes, I'm taking away a valuable lesson about training psychology, self-awareness and rebuilding trust in my body. But I'm also taking away a very practical reminder:
Before turning a workout into a profound psychological journey, make sure you know the difference between RPM and BPM.
And perhaps the most important lesson of all remains this:
Don't automatically fight yourself when something feels wrong. Get curious.
Pay attention. And be willing to question not only your reactions, but also your assumptions.
Because sometimes the breakthrough isn't about becoming tougher. It's about understanding what's actually going on.
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