When I was a teenager I used to both dread and relish the week we're in now. I used to race at swimming and, the week before we had time off for Christmas, there was an evil tradition called 'Hell Week".
It was exactly that, seven days of the hardest training our coaches thought we could endure, except even tougher.
The reasoning behind it was sound. Firstly, it only takes two weeks for the bodies of trained athletes to lose a significant amount of the conditioning they may have built up, so it made some sense to put some pain in the bank before the Christmas break.
More than that though, most of high level sport is won in the mind, your brain tells you the body is incapable of carrying on before you really have reached your limit. A week of going beyond what you thought you could do, while not sustainable for long, trained the mind to deal with more.
We all used to fear this week. Before, or since, I have never been that tired, never willingly gone through that much physical pain. A killer session before school, another one after. The ache in my arms and shoulders, always a constant companion, genuine hurt that would only go away with more training.
I also used to love it though. I liked to win of course, but I was much more interested in finding out what I was capable of. 'Hell Week' was the week of truth, nowhere to hide. You learned what how far you could go without giving in.
Those weeks didn't just put short term fitness in the bank, they taught me some things that help today.
If you're like me, not the most talented planner, the capacity for hard work doesn't half help. I've seen those for whom great thinking comes easily ultimately fail because when things gets tough, they're not used to having to fight. When you're used to having to battle for everything, you end up doing better work, because you leave no stone unturned.
That annual ritual also taught valuable lessons for dealing with crisis. Let's be honest, there is lots of pressure in agency life, lots of setbacks and lots moments when you're really up against it. Those weeks taught me that as long as you endure, things will get better eventually, nothing is forever.
Yet, the real learning is that self-reliance can only get you so far. I would never have got through those weeks without the team around me.
My swim team was incredibly close, yet these shared weeks of real hardship knit us together even more. We encouraged each other, never judged anyone who caved in, we just helped them pick themselves up and go again next time.
None of us could have done it without each other.
So today, I'm not afraid to ask for help, not afraid to show weakness and only too willing to help others when they day job has some challenges. I also use a crisis to bond teams closer together, so they get through the moment, yet also emerge stronger for it.
Bollocks to the stupid British stiff upper lip, real strength is admitting you're vulnerable.
These lessons have helped in life too.
It's been an interesting year.
It would be easy to say that those weeks of learning resilience has made me capable of dealing with anything.
That would be untrue.
There is more than one kind of strength and the macho bollocks, or the British Reserve are probably the weakest.
I've learned that even the toughest times end eventually if you can just find a way to hold on.
More importantly, I know there is no shame in asking for help, that failing isn't failure, giving up is failure.
Eventually, not now, but at some point, I"ll know the feeling of pride and self-worth from having survived. Able to smile fondly, standing on the edge of the whole you crawled out of, smiling fondly at the bloody claw prints that marked the journey up the walls. Yet profoundly grateful for the footprints next to you, of the people who reached out to pull you up, and the fact you could swallow your stupid pride to let them.
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