Murders, Marathons, and Mental Toughness
If you got in the ring with Rubin “Hurricane” Carter, there was almost a 50% chance he would knock you out. In 40 professional boxing matches, he won 19 times by knockout. He won another eight by decision.
But his definitive boxing career came to an end on June 17, 1966. In the prime of his career, at just 29 years old, Carter was arrested. He was later convicted of triple homicide, and sentenced to three life sentences in prison.
Carter was familiar with prison and death. He served in the US Army. After being discharged, he spent some time in jail for mugging. Maybe it was because of his past. Maybe because of his profession. Maybe it was because he was black. But the all-white jury found Carter guilty, even though the trail was rife with conflicting evidence and side deals with prosecutors.
All the while, Carter maintained two things: first, he didn’t do it; and second, he would not be defeated.
“Carter reported to prison in an expensive, tailored suit, wearing a $5,000 diamond ring and a gold watch” Ryan Holiday writes in his book The Obstacle is the Way. “In his remarkable declaration, [Carter] told them, in so many words, ‘I know you had nothing to do with the injustice that brought me to this jail, so I'm willing to stay here until I get out. But I will not, under any circumstances, be treated like a prisoner—because I am not and never will be powerless.’”
Carter refused to give up his personhood. He recognized that there were many things out of his control—the arrest, the conviction, the imprisonment. But he also recognized how much was still in his control: his attitude, his mindset, his work ethic.
“Instead of breaking down—as many would have done in such a bleak situation-Carter declined to surrender the freedoms that were innately his: his attitude, his beliefs, his choices,” Holiday writes. “Whether they threw him in prison or threw him in solitary confinement for weeks on end, Carter maintained that he still had choices, choices that could not be taken from him even though his physical freedom had been.”
Reader, I apologize for the abrupt jump from a high-stakes story of murder and a man’s freedom, to a much lower stakes story about a marathon…but please indulge me.
I’m training for the LA Marathon. I’m about to have my seventh identical weekend in a row. Friday, to bed early. Saturday, up early to hydrate, then off to the Rose Bowl to run between 12 and 20 miles. Saturday afternoon, try to recover and not nap for too long. Sunday, recover for real, nurse the aches and pains, and get ready for Monday.
As I read the story about Hurricane Carter a few weeks ago, I felt a twinge of envy. Well, it’s easy to be so steadfast when you know you’re innocent. When you’re going through something out of your control. But I’m making myself run this marathon. There’s no escape!
I quickly realized how outrageous and pouty this line of thinking was. Then I realized how revealing it was: self-inflicted pain is difficult to endure because there’s no enemy. There’s no one to blame. There’s no injustice. You’re doing it to yourself.
This led me further into despair. That night, my spouse told me that some friends invited us over to watch a movie. I declined. I needed to brood. If I was so oppressed by this training schedule, I figured I needed to act like it…and make my friends feel a little bit of the pain, too.
“[Carter] would not wear a uniform, eat prison food, accept visitors, attend parole hearings, or work in the commissary to reduce his sentence. And he wouldn't be touched. No one could lay a hand on him, unless they wanted a fight.”
Ryan Holiday’s writing reverberated in my soul. If only I could capture a bit of that energy. If only I could tame my mindset, and make it work for me. If only I could separate myself from this circumstance like Hurricane Carter…
“All of this had a purpose: Every second of his energy was to be spent on his legal case. Every waking minute was spent reading—law books, philosophy, history. They hadn't ruined his life—they'd just put him somewhere he didn't deserve to be and he did not intend to stay there. He would learn and read and make the most of the time he had on his hands. He would leave prison not only a free and innocent man, but a better and improved one.”
I sat brooding at home while my friends and spouse had a jolly old time without me. They probably didn’t miss me at all. Just as I was spiraling, I decided to take a look from the cockpit of this nosedive. I busted out my trusty Freewrite, and started journaling.
This is when it all came together for me.
The following is an excerpt from my private brooding journal.
Mentally, marathon training is getting to a “slog zone.” I've had this ache a few times before when I've finally come to understand that I need to do a difficult thing. I feel it now with the Marathon, too.
The ache.
The only way out is through.
So if we are going to go through this, then what? How do we shift this perspective to accommodate? How do we accept the reality of the mundanity and move through it? Not as someone begrudgingly going step-by-step, but as someone who is doing a thing that is completely separate from their personhood. As someone who is making their body do one thing for the inevitable benefits, but also as someone who simultaneously exists on a different plane. The horse and the rider. The apprentice and the master.
This duality is an interesting thing.
To see my "self" not as myself but as another “self” that I control. One I must listen to and choose to work with and be kind to. But one who is another one. One who is not me, but instead, a future me, or a past me, or a parallel me—all who have, at one point, asked me to drive them…
How can I see this experience as that?
Yes, tomorrow, I must wake up and start hydrating. Yes, tomorrow, I must stretch my legs while I develop a new piece of social content. Yes, tomorrow, I must drive to the Rose Bowl, and run 15 miles.
In the midst of all this, I also exist outside of that. Not as someone who demeans or punishes himself to accomplish some goal out of guilt or spite or anger. But as someone who operates out of love for himself: the many versions of his “self.” The past self who set this goal. The future self who wants to have achieved it. The current self who is learning so much. The writer self who will use this one day. The athlete self who is stretching further than ever.
And to do it all as another self that drives them all out of love and respect.
Finally, after lots of hard work and multiple retrials, Rubin “Hurricane” Carter was proven innocent.
“It took nineteen years and two trials to overturn that verdict, but when Carter walked out of prison, he simply resumed his life,” Holiday writes. “No civil suit to recover damages, Carter did not even request an apology from the court. Because to him, that would imply that they'd taken something of his that Carter felt he was owed. That had never been his view, even in the dark depths of solitary confinement. He had made his choice: This can't harm me—I might not have wanted it to happen, but I decide how it will affect me. No one else has the right.”
After this, Carter began a new life. He became a motivational speaker. He received two honorary Doctorates of Law. He worked tirelessly as the executive director of the Association in Defence of the Wrongly Convicted for more than ten years.
As for me? I’m happily running again. I’ve accepted the pain, and am existing alongside it. I’ve recovered from my brooding (for now, about this…I’ll probably brood about something else later).
And what about you?
What are you facing? Undoubtedly, you have difficulties in your life. You have challenges. Your year isn’t off to the start you were hoping for. Friend, take a page from Hurricane Carter, just as I have. There may be struggles. There will be pain. But you don’t have to be defeated. Things may be difficult, but they don’t rob you of your personhood. You can maintain and protect that as long as you have the courage.
Good luck out there.
