Some Discipline Science

What may first Ironman taught me about the holiday gauntlet 🏊🚴🏃

It’s the Monday after the first significant fall holiday weekend. A half-empty candy bowl sits on the counter, still not completely gone. The air is still heavy with humidity in Miami, the sunsets are arriving earlier, and the light feels a bit different following daylight saving time.

We’re in that strange seasonal limbo where the year begins to speed up and slow down simultaneously. Daylight fades faster, but our schedules expand: parties, dinners, travel, expectations.

From now until New Year’s, the calendar feels like a challenge, a series of emotional and sensory checkpoints that test your focus, energy, and self-awareness.

Halloween kicks off with a sugar surge. Then Thanksgiving brings the comfort marathon. Then Christmas and the social sprint. And finally, New Year’s is the perfect time for a final emotional winddown.

Each one pulls on different aspects of our discipline: physical, mental, and emotional. It’s not one big test; it’s many small ones in a row.

And like any endurance event, it’s not the first few miles that get us. It’s what happens when the novelty wears off, when the dopamine dips, and when our focus starts drifting toward the finish line.

Discipline is often romanticized as the grit (that mystical force) which the ultra-productive seem to possess. However, it’s neither fire nor motivation. It’s about chemistry, rhythm, and attention to detail. James Clear refers to this as the shift from intensity to identity: discipline is what remains when the emotional charge has dissipated.

And it’s built with endurance: gradually, painfully, and usually after a few metaphorical (or literal) pit stops.

I learned that in Lake Placid in 2006, during my first Ironman.

☀️ The Race

The day began still and blue, Mirror Lake wrapped in morning mist. You could smell pine, sunscreen, and damp asphalt from the night’s rain. The starting gun fired, and hundreds of bodies churned through the water. Chaos. Adrenaline. Breathless anticipation.

I found rhythm early with a smooth swim, a steady bike, and near-perfect pacing. Everything was clicking.

By the halfway mark on the run, I was on track for a sub–12–hour finish—ideal for me.

Then, around mile 15, my stomach turned traitor on me.

Cramps. Diarrhea. Every sip of water felt like an attack.

By mile 18, I wasn’t racing anymore. I was surviving.

Every aid station became an act of triage: breathe, sip, move forward.

It was humbling, miserable, and oddly clarifying. Because in that moment, the idea of the “finish line” stopped mattering. The only thing I could handle was the next aid station.

And that is how discipline actually works. Psychologist Kelly McGonigal calls this the power of process focus: shifting from outcome to immediate effort when willpower runs dry.

Neuroscience has a name for what I learned that day: the focus fallacy. The illusion that big goals are achieved by thinking about the finish line.

They’re not.

The brain’s motivation systems (powered by dopamine) are wired for progress, not perfection. Dr. Wolfram Schultz’s research on dopamine demonstrates that our brains release the most dopamine in anticipation, rather than in response to the achievement itself. In other words, our motivation lives in motion.

When we fixate on the end, the gap between “here” and “there” overwhelms the limbic system, and follow-through is drained.

When we zoom in on following small and achievable actions, our dopamine fires, confidence builds, and momentum returns. As Charles Duhigg describes in The Power of Habit, these small wins are the driving force behind sustainable change. Each one is a cue that reinforces the belief: I can do this.

In endurance and in life, small wins keep the system alive.

So as we step into this holiday gauntlet, the ultimate endurance event of modern self-regulation, the lesson is simple:

Stop trying to sprint to the finish. Find your rhythm. Build in natural aid stations.

Here’s how:

🧩 1. Shrink the goal to the next aid station

Don’t promise perfection. Promise presence.

Don’t think, “I’m staying disciplined all season.” Think, “I’m making one good choice right now.”

That’s how the brain sustains effort: through completion, not commitment. Every micro-win releases dopamine and reinforces the identity of someone who follows through.

🕯️ 2. Swap intensity for identity

Forget the “discipline switch.” Instead, remind yourself who you are.

“I’m the kind of person who trains even when it’s hot.”

“I take care of my body, even when life gets busy.”

Identity-based habits activate the prefrontal cortex (the part of the brain that regulates impulse and emotion) and keep you anchored when motivation fades.

🧠 3. Protect your recovery loops

Discipline isn’t about going 100%. It’s about knowing when to rest and reset. When you sleep, your brain strengthens neural pathways through myelination, the process that makes habits automatic.

Recovery is not weakness. It’s rewiring.

Sleep. Walk. Hydrate. Breathe.

That’s our version of the ideal aid station.

🎯 4. Anchor your day in one keystone habit

For me, it’s movement and flow. Even ten minutes of sweat changes the trajectory of the day.

For you, perhaps it’s journaling, savoring a mindful coffee, or taking a morning walk without your phone.

The brain thrives on predictability. One daily anchor that steadies everything else.

I didn’t hit my sub–12 that day in Lake Placid.

But I finished: humbled, broken, and proud.

And I’ve come to realize: the holidays are the same race event each year, disguised in sheep’s wool sweater form.

We start fast, full of energy and optimism. Then the fatigue creeps in—late nights, rich food, endless noise. The trick isn’t to muscle through it; it’s to stay in motion—moment by moment, choice by choice, breath by breath.

Consistency beats motivation. Small wins beat big swings.

And focus belongs on the next step, not the summit.

So this November, as the light fades a little earlier and the calendar fills, don’t aim for a perfect season.

Aim for rhythm. Aim for awareness. Aim for your next aid station.

Because the holidays, like an Ironman, aren’t won with willpower. They’re finished through presence.