Half way up Vail Pass, my legs were shaking, my arms were shaking, and my body was done.

 

I was 70 miles into the longest, hardest ride of my life (thus far), and my legs were finished. They had nothing more to give.

 

But there was no way I was going to give up this close to the top: four more miles to go and the rest would be an easy coast downhill. I just had to keep turning my legs.

 

One at a time. Right leg. Left leg.

 

I started talking to myself–out loud. You’re almost there. You can do it. Just a little further.

 

I had no speed left, and it wasn’t pretty; but what seemed like hours later, I made it to the top of the pass and coasted down to the finish.

 

I got off my bike and started crying. They weren’t tears of pain, joy, or sadness: I felt nothing. I was so completely drained, both physically and mentally, that tears were all I had. I had no idea where the tears had come from: they were tears of pure exhaustion, both mental and physical.

 

Because I didn’t finish that ride through my physical ability: my legs were completely spent with several miles left to go. I’ve been utterly fatigued before: I’ve climbed 14,000 ft. peaks, done long rides, and pushed my body to its extremes on many occasions.

 

But I’d never pushed my body so far past its limit.

 

And yes, that’s what I did. My legs were ready to give up 4 miles from the top of the last pass. But I had made it so far, and I wasn’t going to give up. What pushed me through those last few miles was my mind: my self-talk, the confidence that I could do it; the determination that I would do it; and the resilience I had built up–allowed me to push those mental boundaries as well.

Our minds and bodies are intimately connected: what we tell our bodies to do, they do. Our fears, our anger, our lack of confidence all show up in our bodies and affect how our bodies perform—not just in big events, but in our everyday lives.

 

But here’s the thing: the phone works both ways. What our bodies do also impacts how we think, how we see ourselves, and how we see the world. It’s a self-reinforcing cycle that can be either a positive or a vicious one.

 

If I lacked the confidence or resilience to push through challenge, when my legs said they were done, I would have listened. I would have said, “okay legs, that’s all you can do. Better start walking.” And then what would I believe? That I couldn’t do it: the pass was too hard after such a long ride; I wasn’t strong enough after all. And I would have been right.

 

But instead, because my mind told my body it could keep going, it did. And as a result, I discovered within me an even deeper reserve of strength than I knew I had. And I proved myself right.

 

Let’s look at another example of this: if I lack confidence in myself in general, how do you think my body responds on a daily basis? Probably hunched shoulders, stooping, frowning or tentative smiles. And what message does that send to my mind (remember the phone works both ways—the message keeps circling from mind to body and back and forth)? That I am not confident, not good enough, not worthy.

But here’s the good news: we can interrupt this game of telephone at either end.

 

We can change the message our minds are sending by changing our thoughts; or we can change our bodies by standing up straighter and walking tall. Over time, either of these things will change the message traveling back and forth between our bodies and minds and we will become more confident. And the best part?

It’s a choice.

We get to choose how we carry our bodies; we get to consciously make the decision to see things a little more positively. As a result of these new habits, we build greater resilience in the face of challenge.

 

I haven’t always been mentally strong enough for challenges like this. There have been many tears when pushing my body, and they are usually tears of frustration and failure. But because I’ve worked on my mindset and resilience over the past few years, I was able to overcome that negative chatter in my mind, the negative talk in my legs, and push through. Past the point of exhaustion, to the place where there were only tears of relief.