True to my Minnesotan roots, I grew up playing hockey. I spent my nights lacing up my skates and my Saturday mornings shooting pucks in the garage. I often tell my friends I am more comfortable on ice than I am on land.
However, something interesting about hockey that people might not know is that a single shift only lasts around 45 seconds — even in the NHL. While hockey is fast-paced, it is made up of many small, intense bursts all stitched together. From the first day we can hold a stick, the golden 45-second rule is drilled into us by our coaches. You give one hundred and ten percent until you run empty, then you get off the ice and rest on the bench for two shifts until it's time to do it all over again. Sprint. Recover. Sprint again. And repeat until the final buzzer sounds.
Hockey shaped my childhood, and I am realizing that this golden mantra has unknowingly shaped my strategy for approaching all things in life.
Take school, for instance. In undergrad, I resolved to never let myself regret not doing more in college. So I joined every club I could and took seventeen credits a semester, often taking classes not required just to challenge myself to learn more. I spent my days furiously taking notes in class and attending meetings and rehearsals for clubs, and I spent five or more nights a week at the library, studying past midnight before staggering back home to bed exhausted and waking up early the next morning to do it all over again.
I tend to throw myself in deep and give everything I have until I am completely spent. Then I take a short break to recover and do it all over again. I thought this was simply how I worked best.
Yet as the semesters added up, something wasn’t working. I felt myself getting more sluggish, my energy and motivation waning. Each semester permanently chipped away at my energy and summer or winter break never seemed to be able to provide the recovery I needed.
The truth is, even in hockey, this cycle isn’t meant to last forever. Each period only lasts twenty minutes and each game only lasts three periods. But unfortunately life doesn’t afford you the same structure. There are no intermissions between periods, no substitutes when you are tired, and no offseasons to give you a break. Life comes at you constantly, buffeting you with an endless stream with no reprieve.
However, since I have gotten older and hung up my skates for the last time, I’ve instead taken up running. And my time spent running has shown me a different way. See, one problem I constantly have in running is that my body wants to approach it like hockey. The second my feet hit the pavement, I just want to take off running as fast as I can. And while that feels pretty good for about two minutes, I end up hitting a wall and spend the rest of my route doing the walk of shame home. Instead, a crucial skill in running is learning how to pace yourself. To continue along at a sustainable pace that you can keep up for potentially hours without overexerting yourself. And while it’s frustrating to hold myself back (I just want to go fast!), it makes for a much more enjoyable run.
Sometimes I still can’t help myself but sprint, but slowly I think I am getting better. At running, yes, but also at taking life a bit more well-paced in general. I am learning how to not simply give one hundred and ten percent every second. Learning how to save some of my energy for tomorrow, or being okay with simply saving it for myself.
My favorite part of my days is always the walk back from the library at night. For those sacred fifteen minutes of the day, there are no more tasks on the lists and no more productivity I can squeeze out of the day. It is the only time I allow myself to wander; to pause and admire the full moon, to listen to the crickets chirping, and to stop and appreciate the flower I rushed by earlier. The only time I feel calm.
Perhaps more of my day can be like those walks back home at night. Learn to break out of the endless cycle of sprints and recovery and instead take life at a sustainable pace. When you sprint too fast, your surroundings start to blur and you can lose sight of the beauty around you. Hopefully one day I can learn to experience the world instead of just racing through it.
Jason Chang is a graduate student from Woodbury, Minn. studying Chemical and Biomolecular Engineering. His column is a celebration of the quiet moments that linger amid the jumble of our busy lives: moments of stillness, reflection and a space to just exist.
