An executive I met recently, let’s call him Cláudio, said he cried profusely in the final moments of a sporting event he participated in this year. He cried not with joy, as is common, but with disappointment: he was going to do a much shorter time than he imagined, and the business now came down to completing the stop.
Even though he was untrained, or rather, not trained enough, his initial expectations were much higher.
Why isn’t it enough for amateur athletes to try to enjoy the competition without goals to be achieved? Did Cláudio need to be disappointed?
Although apparently no one participates in something to lose, it’s not just by getting on the podium or breaking personal records, I want to believe, that you win something. By definition, amateur sport is a sport to which one devotes, or should be devoted, love. Dilettantism.
Are we uniquely designed to win? It doesn’t seem to me that in our genetic code there is only the information that we must be the alpha, otherwise we wouldn’t form societies.
It is increasingly common at “expos”, the fair held on the eve of marathons, for coaches to talk about the “circuit” to be followed by the runners.
At that moment, they scrupulously describe this or that kilometer, the ideal moment to approach or move away from the sidewalk, as if we were car drivers looking for the best way to adhere to the ground, to attack a curve, to take advantage of the curb.
Demand may create supply, or vice versa, I don’t know, and this indicates that there is interest in this type of guidance, which perhaps only makes sense for those who run at 20km/h. I therefore infer that much slower guys, with a 6 pace, come to these tests with the knife in their teeth.
I don’t deny that running fast, and faster and faster, has its charms, and I admit that I’ve been experiencing the sensation. But I wonder how it is possible for the tiger to endure the 42km of the marathon (or the 21km of the half), and effectively complete the race, if what comes to mind are goals, metrics, formulas, memos, imaginary post-its from the coach’s tips, in other words, heightened competitiveness.
I don’t think we should all be like Joe Strummer, the leader of the seminal band The Clash, who, according to legend, ran the London Marathon in his golden years in a completely casual mood, after sending four pints of beer the day before. By the way, I’ve already “broken” a Rio sock as a result, I believe, of the poor choice of cachaça –not metaphorical– the night before, at the mythical Adega Pérola.
There is a belief, especially in the corporate world, and this spills over into the gravel, that training for an endurance competition necessarily requires discipline, method, planning, and that this even comes back to work, improving the manager. It may be true, but the B side of this business, and this is almost never remembered, is that, if the result doesn’t come, the disappointment comes strong.
And by the way, why do we even need to achieve a result? Is this an unavoidable imperative in this new performance society?
A fellow columnist from Sheeteconomist Michael França, always dedicates his columns to music. I pay homage to him here, using his method.
This column is dedicated to “Poema em Linha Reta”, by Fernando Pessoa, in the punk version of Patife Band, by Paulo Barnabé.
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