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Hungry Ghost Athletes

Writer's picture: Dylan BellesDylan Belles


Instead of graduating in four years, I chose to spread my remaining credit hours over a fifth year so I could compete for one more full season in Cross Country, Indoor Track, and Outdoor Track.


I "red-shirted" my fourth year, meaning I didn’t compete with the team. I still trained and attended meets to support my teammates, but I didn’t race in a school uniform.


During this period, I set all my best times, which had me excited to return for my fifth year.


In my mind, I was on track to set a couple of school records, qualify for the national meet in Cross Country, and qualify for Regionals in Outdoor Track. Based on my red-shirt year results, I was already there; I just needed to do it again, and hopefully, a little better.


Driven by a desire to elevate my performance, I trained harder than ever before. I spent my summer at altitude, ran more mileage than I’d ever run, and started doing workouts during the summer, something I hadn’t done in years past.


I was determined to show up to school in August in the best shape of my life.


Unfortunately, I didn’t make it back in one piece.


A few weeks prior, I tore my quad (VMO) during a combination of running an uphill 7-mile race (and then running back down as a cool down/long run) followed by an 18-mile run in the Grand Canyon the next day. The last 9 miles climbing out of the canyon were absolute agony.


I spent the rest of that fall rehabbing my leg. I ran the last two races of the season, but by then, I had missed months of training and had zero base to pull from. I was a shell of myself, and honestly, I was pissed about it.


Because I was young and not inclined to learn from mistakes, I repeated the same pattern of events that got me hurt before Cross Country, going into track season. I tried too hard. I got hurt. I failed.


So why is this relevant?


One more detour!


During my miserable fifth-year experience, I had to pick up a few extra classes to maintain my status as a full-time student. You need enough credit hours to compete. I only needed five hours to graduate, so there were a lot of "fun" classes thrown into the mix.


One of those classes was Buddhism 101. I learned a lot in many classes, but not many had a lasting impact like this one.


Here’s the point.


During this class, we learned about "hungry ghosts," spirits from Buddhist and Taoist beliefs, stuck in a cycle of never-ending craving. The idea is that someone who was really greedy or attached to things in life might come back as one of these spirits. They’re often depicted with huge empty stomachs but tiny mouths, always hungry but never able to satisfy their cravings. It’s a reminder of how too much desire can lead to endless frustration and suffering.


I didn’t realize it at the time, but this was me. I was a hungry ghost.


I was stuck in this desire to prove something, to transform myself into an athlete that, at that time, I wasn’t. I scratched and clawed, and do you know what? I never got what I wanted. I never found pleasure or happiness during that time, only disappointment.


I wanted it so badly that I ruined any chance I had. I couldn’t see through it.


Now, eight years later, as a coach, I see hungry ghosts all over the place!


I work with athletes who are extremely motivated, diligent, and successful in their own right, yet fall into the trap of feeling like they’re never doing enough, never running fast enough, resting too much, and approaching training with an all-or-nothing mindset.


There’s a correlation between runners with this kind of mindset and the length of time I get to coach them.


The same runners who burn brightly fizzle out just as hard.


Some desires need to be tamed. Brought down to earth. It’s more important and effective to work within your own means—not to ask for too much. Be consistent. Own the little things. Work passionately toward getting better, but be rational in your approach to getting there.

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