The Last Bucket

Currently I´m making my way to Dubai for the T100 race, via Berlin. Travel has been plenty but Audible and Spotify make it entertaining at least…

My old buddy Sebastian Kienle and I were talking in Marbella last weekend during the 70.3 World Championships. And as we saw the pros passing one by one we were reminded of the many stages one goes through as a pro.

It made me realize that I have a whole new take on championship racing. I find myself wondering where each athlete is in their trajectory. Not their training cycle or their season build - their motivational arc. What “bucket“ are they scooping from to drag themselves through another dawn training session, another injury rehab protocol or another race where everything has to align perfectly?

Championship racing over years becomes an infinite game that requires continuous motivation- which is definitely finite. You need to constantly reinvent your relationship to the process because you're a fundamentally different person every few years. The tricks that get you through year three don't work in year thirteen. And if you're not honest about that, you'll burn out chasing results with motivation that expired years ago.

Early in my career, the bucket was simple: financial freedom, making the national team, earning my place in “the club”. The novelty of the sport itself was fuel enough. Every race felt like discovery. Every session a step away from scraping by to pay the bills.

Mid-career, I was on the hedonic treadmill - chasing records, bigger wins, higher rankings. But I also learned something crucial: the professional approach meant restraint around sport and letting go away from it (see also “tight loose”). Financial rewards and external pressure stopped working as motivators once the overall novelty wore off. I needed new buckets.

The last phase was different. I felt a strange mix of contentment and urgency. The motivation came from realizing this is a one-way door. Those last few races would be my only ones ever. That scarcity created its own fire.

James Clear writes in Atomic Habits that it doesn't make sense to keep wanting something if you're not willing to do what it takes to get it. But let me add something: it also doesn't make sense to keep wanting something if you're not willing to constantly reinvent WHY you're doing what it takes.

The overnight success story typically takes about a decade of practice. Nobody notices until suddenly everyone does. But the catch is, that in those ten years, you become a very different person. The motivation that started the journey rarely finishes it.

I wonder if athletes eventually fail when they refuse to question their motivation. "Never change a winning team" sounds wise until you realize the team isn't winning anymore - not because the tactics failed, but because the why underneath them has evaporated. They keep using old tricks that no longer work, forcing themselves through processes they no longer authentically want. We see it time and time again, someone dominating for a couple of years only to slide down the result sheet, once again.

I realized this in hospital in 2022. Lying there, I knew I could fire myself up one more time. Not because I'd found a new bucket, but because I was honest enough to admit it was the last one. The urgency of finality - of knowing I'd never have another shot - that was enough. Barely. But enough.

Watching Marbella, Dubai or really any sports event at all, I can’t help that part of me always wonders what bucket athletes are drawing from. And how much that bucket still has left in it.

Jan.