Who knew? Turns out I was passionate.
But in the end, was that a good thing?
Recently, one of my Thoughts from a Guy and His Dog readers forwarded me a newsletter he had received from a professional athlete describing the moment he knew his career as a major league baseball player was over. Not because he was injured or cut from his team, but instead because, as he put it, the passion was gone—he’d lost the love for the game.
Hmmm. That got me thinking. What’s the difference between passion and love? Because I’ve never described myself as passionate about rowing or coaching. Even in my early days of high school rowing, I would’ve agreed with someone if they’d said, “Wow, you really love rowing!” However, if their interpretation was, “You’re clearly passionate about this sport!” That, I wouldn’t have necessarily felt described my often obsessive relationship.
So, I did some reading—more about that later.
As a teenager in high school, I can recall impatiently egging on those black pointed hands as they slowly crept around the face of the classroom clock. Ugh—come on, can’t you go faster? I couldn’t wait to run back to my house, change into my sweats, and head off to rowing practice. It was my reprieve from our academic rigour. It was the one part of our day where instead of feeling, well, stupid, I felt capable, trusted, and looked up to even—I loved that feeling.
However, despite the fact that I resembled the characteristics of a passionate athlete, I wouldn’t have necessarily used that term.
I once worked with a coach who sometimes yelled and swore at the athletes and even their parents. On one occasion, I remember a parent leaning toward me while quietly saying admiringly, “She’s so passionate!” What the hell are you talking about? That’s not passion; that’s abuse!
The same goes for Conor McDavid during last year's Stanley Cup playoff run. The recently released Prime series captures the Edmonton captain demonstrating his passion for the game by reaming out his teammates in the locker room between periods.
Again, not passion in my books. Instead, I would consider it uncontrollable rage. Rage, whose sole purpose was to shame his teammates into playing better. “But it worked,” is the argument. “They almost came back and won the Cup!” True, almost being the integral part of the statement. Because, as I would eventually learn as a younger athlete, shame will only get you so far.
During my failed comeback attempt for the 1992 Olympic Games in Barcelona, I used self-induced shame to fuel my motivation to return for another shot at an Olympic gold medal. Every day before morning and afternoon practice and again before bed, I would look at the front page of the Globe and Mail sports section from the day after our race. It had a photo of us slumped over our oars moments after crossing the finish line with the headline, Canadians Bomb Out in Seoul, in bold black letters below it. Remembering the sound of the Germans celebrating their victory and reliving the shock, embarrassment, and devastation of losing that race helped fuel a response in me that announced to the world, There was no way in hell it would ever happen again. I would return to the next Games and win, fixing what had gone wrong in Seoul.
After a year away from training, I was amazed at the rate at which I was returning to my previous level of strength and fitness. Within months, I was lifting more weight than before Seoul and managing workouts I never imagined I would have this quickly. The revenge and retribution thing proved to be a powerful force facilitating a speedy return to peak performance.
What I didn’t see coming was the cumulative impact of generating this level of hatred and rage three times a day. True enough, it was proving an impressive motivational strategy. However, about six months into this return trip to the Olympics, the conductor came looking for my ticket.
It happened one morning while walking down to practice. I was deep in thought, considering the workout for the day. As I got halfway across the road, I noticed a station wagon coming around the bend near the boathouse, and it wasn’t slowing down. Instinctively, I leapt out of the way just in time, barely missing being struck by the car. In disbelief, I jumped to my feet and shared some choice words with the car's driver as they sped away.
At the door of the boathouse, fidgeting with the lock, an unexpected thought arose: If you had just been nicked by that car, you could take a day or two off and rest—you know, have a break. Immediately, I caught myself; Shut the hell up, you idiot—what a stupid ass thing to say!
I spent the next few moments getting my boat and oars down to the edge of the dock. As I leaned out to place my oar in the oarlock, the same thought returned. Immediately, I rolled back onto the dock, settling with my knees bent, arms outstretched on either side, and my head resting on the hard wooden planks. I lay still, watching the clouds above and reflecting on my unconscious dialogue; two questions posed themselves. Why are you doing this, Jase? And who are you doing it for—honestly?
After what seemed like an eternity, my answers became clear. And despite my all-consuming fixation on winning an Olympic gold medal, I knew they weren’t healthy or at the very able to sustain me through another three years of training. That was it—in that moment, I retired from rowing forever.
Back to passion and its role in supporting our desires and dreams. From a young age, we’re told to be passionate … strive, work harder, chase, and never give up! However, this is where I believe passion represents a potential interference in pursuing our goals. According to what I read, passion does drive us to push harder than we might otherwise. It’s an essential component when generating intrinsic motivation and developing perseverance—it is. Hell, it’s clearly what drove me even when I didn’t recognize that my passion for rowing, not necessarily my love, is what fueled my dream to win on the world stage.
However, as I found out, it has an ugly side, too. When our passion for our dreams takes over, we can lose control and, along with it, our once-healthy perspective, which usually keeps things in check. How does it manifest? Well, I can speak from experience—tunnel vision, burnout, unhealthy boundaries, loss of objectivity, our identity becoming entangled in our pursuit, and losing touch with reality.
Yikes, all these years later, I won’t lie; there’s some relief in reading this research. Goodness, I was a young kid. Yes, being in my early twenties is still young, and I had no idea where my supposed passion was leading me because I had lost control of my pursuit. Passion was no longer just supplying fuel for training; it was driving my entire operating system. My single solitary reason for existence was to chase a reward that I really didn’t have any control over. Regardless of the physical sacrifices, it was my mental health and my relationships that took a bigger hit. Honestly, none of what I was about at the time was healthy.
So, how do we acknowledge the role of passion and utilize all the good stuff it has to offer without crossing over into a self-destructive existence? Well, good question. And if I could do it again, yes, there are some things I would most certainly change. First and foremost, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to operate in isolation. I should have surrounded myself with catch nets that regularly checked in on me to see how things were going. And not just my training but how I was doing—on all levels. Knowing that some people who were around at that time are reading this now, please don’t see this as a criticism. It was a different time. What I struggled with wasn’t something we easily talked about back then.
But today, we know better. I would’ve found a better balance between my love for rowing and the passion that developed. Also, the two questions I asked myself on the dock are essential quantifiers for anyone embarking on an extraordinary journey—I would’ve asked myself those sooner. Why and for whom? If you’re playing along at home, pay attention to what comes back, healthy or unhealthy; you’ll know either way, or if you share your answers with a trusted friend or family member, they’ll tell you the honest goods.
Healthy fuel—keep ‘er going. Unhealthy—take a break and do some soul searching. Better now than while possibly crossing a road someday.
