Mental laps at 180 MPH

Regardless of your feelings about stock car racing, and NASCAR in particular, what 30-year-old Kyle Busch completed Sunday is among a thing of legends -- and should be an inspiration to everyone, especially those involved in any sport.

Busch, long dubbed "Rowdy" due in part to his attitude and in part to being another driver's younger, more trouble-making brother, won his first NASCAR Sprint Cup championship, nine months and one day after breaking his right leg and fracturing his left foot the day before the season-opening Daytona 500.

In past seasons, this would've meant Busch was out of contention for a title, but a change in 2014 permitted drivers to earn an exemption and remain eligible if they missed races for medical issues.

A lucky change for Busch, who missed 11 races to start the 36-race season. He finally made his first start in mid-May, just two days before his first child was born. Six weeks later, he won his first race of 2015. He went on to win three of the following four races and, with one race to spare before the Chase ("playoff") cutoff, locked himself into the Top 30 drivers. By way of his four wins in the 15 races he drove, and three other top-three finishes, Busch earned enough points to finish 25th and advance to the next round.

While many people disregard NASCAR as a sport, the drivers have to have a finely tuned mental game, just as a tennis player or a weightlifter. Each sport isn't solely about one race, one point or one lift. Because if any of these athletes allow just ONE instance to define their careers, most would never achieve any success. One meet, one injury, one roadblock will not be enough to derail those determined to be great.

See, Busch never gave up. He knew there was a tough road ahead -- missing nearly a third of the season, and 11 of the 26 pre-Chase races, but once healed, he kept his foot on the pedal, pun intended. During his rehabilitation period, when a "typical" athlete would be doing mobility or accessory work to prevent another injury, Busch was in constant communication with his crew chief. Other drivers he trusted were racing his car each week and he kept an ear and eye on how the car and crew were responding. When he returned, his crew knew he was still bought in and they were 100 percent behind him.

Between his wife and new baby at home, and the lack of room for error on the track, Busch was focused and fought through difficult weeks. By winning the Homestead race Sunday to capture the title, he had five victories, multiple top-five and top-10 finishes and drove the hell out of his Toyota on the track. He brought everything he had to his shortened 2015 season and showed fans and haters alike that he belonged in the winner's circle, doing more in 25 races than most champions do in a full season.

As quickly as the season could've ended for Kyle Busch, it instead became a story NASCAR fans should be telling for years. Busch's championship win showed athletes and fans everywhere that, no matter the cards you are dealt, you are in full control on your own destiny.

Choose success.

No great thing is created suddenly

Deception Pass, August 2015.

In many ways, technology has ruined most people born after approximately 1980. As we entered college and, in turn, became adults in the 'real world', everything is at our fingertips. With a few clicks of a mouse or taps on a smartphone, a multitude of things can be delivered to my doorstep within hours, if not minutes. We have become increasingly dependent on instant gratification -- when we want something, we want it now -- we don't care if it is a product across the country or a benchmark lift we are miles from hitting.

The first year of a CrossFit or Olympic Weightlifting program feed directly into this need. In CrossFit, there is an almost constant high of PRs in the first 6-12 months, because most of the movements are brand new to these new recruits. Every first attempt at a one-rep max or a benchmark workout is a PR and a notch on the proverbial Fran pole.

More specifically to weightlifting, whether you come from team sports, CrossFit or no sports history at all, the first year of working with a coach and following a weightlifting program will feel like magic. Once a week -- and sometimes more frequently -- there is a PR of some kind, be it a weight PR or a technique PR. And when the focus is so narrow on the snatch, clean and jerk and squats, a couple consistent sets of coaching eyes on an athlete can find a new detail to fix as soon as another is checked off the list, leading to some considerably fast improvement.

But from there, you'll hit a plateau. It can last for months or years without a PR on one or both lifts. And if you lift with a team, you might watch these new folks come in with their weekly PRs and just want to go into the corner and sulk, or worse, put the barbell away and quit. But this is when the focus is actually on you -- their bright, shiny, naive eyes are on you: the veteran who comes in every session and puts in the work. The lifter who has a definitive PR celebration, because they don't get to use it every week. The athlete who has honest, open, effective communication with the coach, but can also toss in a snarky comment as needed.

If you want to be truly successful, you have to be that veteran. You're allowed bad days. You can yell "FUCK!" really loudly and scare the fresh blood, you can go outside for "fresh air" and you can ask the coach for a fresh perspective, but you must push through. The magic in weightlifting is that success doesn't happen overnight. It takes a lot of hours with the barbell, many hours working on related things (nutrition, mobility, singlet shopping) and some time spent with that organ that sits between your ears. You must tune out that need for immediate gratification and embrace the long journey you are on, one where you can't snap your fingers and have AmazonNow deliver you a shiny new PR.

"You wanna fly, you've got to give up the shit that weighs you down."

Writing.

It's what I am meant to do. As much as I loved math and computer science in school, once I settled into my first newspaper class and learned to find a voice, I knew I'd found my love. Which is what has made the past five-plus years so bloody frustrating.

I've always been a perfectionist. I let projects go unfinished because they don't come out looking like the pipe dreams I've built in my head. I push away people when shit gets messy, in part because I'm an only child and in part because I learned at a very young age that I am the only person I can trust to truly take care of my heart. I teeter back and forth on epic life goals because life is messy and messy is scary.

But that stops today. My voice has been trying to escape through my keyboard again since I left ESPN, but no blog subject has been "perfect", so I've put the kibosh on more than a dozen ideas after a post or two in the past five years. I have so much to say, but it doesn't fit into any perfect "niche" mold that I could turn into a business, build a following and make my actual job... because the only mold it fits into is me.

So I'm committing myself to this blog. What is it about? Rediscovering my voice, in whatever ways I decide to do that. There will be hikes and food and friends and hockey and weightlifting and whatever magical shit my heart desires. It's going to be messy and I'm going to be scared. But I'm going to embrace it and everything will be okay.

There's no other option.

I have to write again.