Back when I was a teenager, before the term “short king” existed, I was just plain short. And skinny. So, when I was with friends, I was typically the smallest. In the von Trapp lineup, I would have been Gretl. So, while I may have been plucky, I did not exactly present as a physical juggernaut.
Every once in a while, there would be some kind of aggressive Gen X teenage peacocking. We were, after all, the last semi-feral generation. These moments would take place in parking lots or on random downtown streets. The threat of a fight — a brawl —would be presented. In reality, these were always just words — none of us were truly tough guys. I knew a few real ones (like Ian who, as a 17-year-old, took on — and defeated — three adult construction workers during morning rush hour on Toronto transit). Real tough guys were rare, though. The rest of us were just teenage boys playing at toughness.
In these moments, there was a sort of arranging of players. The biggest, strongest-looking guys would eyeball each other but something else would happen too: another member of the group (never the smallest guy, by the way) would march directly over to me and start escalating things. I would be nervous. But I knew a secret: whoever decided to zero in on Gretl was a coward. So as long as I appeared ready to go, I would never actually have to. It was a neat little paradox. I would stow my feelings and step forward. And then they would flinch and step back. It the briefest of musical numbers. Eventually, we would all scatter and hope not to run into each other again at Dairy Queen.
Is toughness important as an adult — far, far away from schoolyard shenanigans? Yes. Absolutely. That’s because the greatest stresses you regularly encounter set the standard for everything else. So, if find yourself reeling from a tough deadline or traffic congestion on Bathurst (take it up with Summerhill Market), you wind up carrying around a high load of chronic stress. That’s the long-term health equivalent of a sucking chest wound. It’s got to be treated. The question is how.
Exercise develops the physiology required to handle stresses more effectively. Good cardiovascular health means that spikes in blood pressure drop faster. Good balance means having less apprehension when you lose your footing. Good strength means that day-to-day tasks require a smaller percentage of your capacity. And, if that all that doesn’t save you, good bone density and strong glutes means that you’re less likely to get hurt when you fall on your ass.
But there’s a key distinction that you need to make in your exercise practice:
Dissociative Toughness is when you stay on course but take your mind elsewhere. The actions are in place but your mind is on Neptune. It gets the job done — when you’re afraid the the job would otherwise be too painful to handle.
Mindful Resilience is when you stay in the moment and meet the discomfort head-on. It’s noticing that you’re altering the way you move to reduce stress on a specific muscle and probing that response with curiosity. It’s crawling into the ice bath and seeking out the feeling of cold (and breathing slowly through it). It’s noticing the first internal signals that tell you to quit or back off and gently challenging them.
Both get the physical job done but only one reliably builds toughness. And if that makes you nervous, good.
If you want to explore mindful resilience at Bang Personal Training, you can begin with a free session. Click here to get started.
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