How to Finish Strong When the Reward Feels Distant?
By Inga Stasiulionyte
I stepped into the finals carrying momentum - the second-best throw from qualifications. I felt strong. My body was aligned, my technique stable, and everything pointed to a performance I could be proud of. The evening sky opened like a canvas, glowing softly in the sunset’s light as the competition began.
I was the last to throw. The air hung misty and quiet as I stepped onto the runway, my mind calm, already visualizing my javelin soaring clean into that fiery horizon.
“Please wait,” the judge called, rushing toward me. I froze mid-focus, my preparation halted. Runners needed to pass, their start delayed by technical issues. Minutes turned long. I paced, trying not to let the chill sink into my muscles, trying not to lose the fragile thread of focus I’d built. And then - as if summoned by the tension - a heavy cloud rolled in and split open above us.
Rain. Unrelenting, unkind, and untimely.
While others disappeared beneath umbrellas, protecting their calm and their composure, I stood drenched. My chance to perform like the others had - dry and steady - was gone. When my turn came, the damage was done. My first throw left me last, a mark that burned more because it felt unfair.
I had two throws left. My mind raced. The frustration came in waves - tired, disconnected, wet, I imagined newspaper headlines proclaiming failure: “Inga lost again. Last place.” And with that headline came the reality of the stakes - financial support for next year, slipping through my fingers. Everything was slipping away.
If you were my coach, what would you say?
I was the last to throw. The air hung misty and quiet as I stepped onto the runway, my mind calm, already visualizing my javelin soaring clean into that fiery horizon.
“Please wait,” the judge called, rushing toward me. I froze mid-focus, my preparation halted. Runners needed to pass, their start delayed by technical issues. Minutes turned long. I paced, trying not to let the chill sink into my muscles, trying not to lose the fragile thread of focus I’d built. And then - as if summoned by the tension - a heavy cloud rolled in and split open above us.
Rain. Unrelenting, unkind, and untimely.
While others disappeared beneath umbrellas, protecting their calm and their composure, I stood drenched. My chance to perform like the others had - dry and steady - was gone. When my turn came, the damage was done. My first throw left me last, a mark that burned more because it felt unfair.
I had two throws left. My mind raced. The frustration came in waves - tired, disconnected, wet, I imagined newspaper headlines proclaiming failure: “Inga lost again. Last place.” And with that headline came the reality of the stakes - financial support for next year, slipping through my fingers. Everything was slipping away.
If you were my coach, what would you say?
What words would you give me as I face this second throw - standing soaked and weary, knowing victory is out of reach? When the ground is slippery and pushing too hard risks injury, how would you guide me? How would you keep me believing in the long road ahead, in my place within this sport, even when doubt begins to cloud the dream?
It’s the final month of the year. Have you reached your goals, or are they still just out of reach? How do you dig deep and push yourself and your team when the reward feels distant? Do you press harder to ensure no regrets, or step back to avoid burnout? How will you prepare for new, higher goals, fresh challenges, and the unknown, uncertain new year?
I invite you to share your thoughts. Reply using the form below.
I invite you to share your thoughts. Reply using the form below.
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