From his book “Shoe Dog.”

I thought back on my running career at Oregon. I’d competed with, and against, men far better, faster, more physically gifted. Many were future Olympians. And yet I’d trained myself to forget this unhappy fact. People reflexively assume that competition is always a good thing, that it always brings out the best in people, but that’s only true of people who can forget the competition. The art of computing, I’d learn from track, is the art of forgetting, and I now reminded myself of that fact. You must forget your limits. You must forget your doubts, your pain, your past. You must forget that internal voice screaming, begging, “Not one more step!” And when it’s not possible to forget, you must negotiate with it. I thought over all the races in which my mind wanted one thing, and my body wanted another, those laps in which I had to tell my body, “Yes, you raise some excellent points, but let’s keep going anyway…”

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