Hello My Name Is…Failure
Last winter, when it was too cold for outdoor aerobic activity, I purchased EA Sports Active for my Wii. I got started the day I brought it home. I set my workout goals in the system, and met my new personal virtual trainer – I called her “Betty.”
Betty challenged me with workouts designed to meet my goals. She used the data from the sensors I wore on my leg and arm to praise my form and progress.
Her canned encouragement was endless. “Nice technique!” “You’re a machine out there!” “Way to go!” “Great pace, keep up this momentum and you’ll achieve your goals in no time.”
I was so happy with the system. I studied the graphs and charts that showcased my progress at the completion of each workout. When I would feel down or frustrated during the day, I would use the memory of my most recent workout to boost my self-esteem.
Certainly there was nothing wrong with reveling in this success, right? I was taking care of my body, a temple for God Most High, after all.
Then, one day, Betty and I got into an epic argument. It was ugly! The game sensors stopped working. Betty was only “seeing” 1 out of every 10 reps I was completing.
So, I was doing 100s of mountain climbers, lunges, squats and leg lifts, trying to please Betty. But, my new arch enemy just hurled insults at me:
“Come on! You’re going to have to work harder than that if you want to see results!”
“You’re not trying very hard!”
”I know you can do better than that!”
I breathlessly hollered back, “I am working hard! These stupid sensors aren’t working!”
I may have then called her a name that good girls aren’t supposed to know, let alone speak! It is nothing short of a miracle that my fight with dear Betty didn’t lead to a Wii-remote-shaped-hole in our TV screen.
Determined to complete the workout earn credit for my effort on the game’s charts and graphs, I tried to ignore Betty’s insults and preserve. After all, virtual Betty couldn’t look through the TV, into my living room, and see that technical difficulties were to blame for my apparent refusal to do as she asked.
But after 30 minutes of working out to insults, I was too exhausted to continue. Soon thereafter, my husband found his breathless, sweaty, sobbing wife in a heap on the living room floor.
“You don’t need the game, Jennifer,” he said, trying to encourage me. “You know what to do on your own. Forget the stupid game!”
“But,” I sobbed back, “I want to fill out those progress bars on the game to 100%! I want Betty to see me do it!”
I tried a few more times – with new batteries, different placement of the sensors, a reboot of the game, even different clothes. Nothing worked. I worked my tail off, Betty insulted me, and eventually I gave up on the game.
I moped around for days, maybe weeks, letting that “failure” define me. In time, I did move on without Betty and find a new workout grove.
But, you know what, that “failure”, and others like it, call out to me in the quiet space at the end of the day. “You messed that one up.” “You never did finish what you started there.” “That was a total flop.”
As I’ve prayed about it, I realized something important. When I yoke my worth and identity to my success or failure, just like virtual Betty, I am only looking at some of the data.
My successes and my failures are only a few sentences in the story of my life.
Sometimes, the voice I’m trying to drown out at night is that of a failure. When I hear her this week, I’ll ask my Father to show her the bigger picture.
P.S. This post is part of a series on my own identity crisis. Check here for other “Hello My Name Is” posts.
Anybody else name their virtual trainers? Do your failures call out to you in the quiet space at the end of the day? I’d love to hear your story!
