The Relief of Winning the CrossFit Games

They assume I have to summon some dark, angry version of myself. They imagine I’m screaming internally, fueled by rage or insecurity.

The truth is much quieter—and maybe a little more complicated.

There are two Jasons. And honestly? The “Competitor” is the easier one to be.

This edition of the Journal is brought to you by Thirdzy. If you have trouble flipping the switch from "GO" to "REST," you need this. It’s a melatonin-free nightly nutrient formula that helps you sleep deeper and recover stronger. Use code JASONZZZ for a discount at thirdzy.com.

They assume I have to summon some dark, angry version of myself. They imagine I’m screaming internally, fueled by rage or insecurity.

The truth is much quieter—and maybe a little more complicated.

There are two Jasons. And honestly? The “Competitor” is the easier one to be.

Jason the Dad and Husband is a happy-go-lucky guy. I love to chill. I love to be adventurous with my kids. I love to laugh.

But being that guy takes work.

When I’m at home, I feel the pull of a dozen different directions. I feel a little overworked, a little distracted. To be truly present—to sit on the floor and play Legos, to listen deeply to my wife without thinking about the next email—takes a tremendous amount of dedicated effort. It is a discipline I am actively working on, but it doesn’t come for free.

Training? That’s different.

When I walk into the gym, or when I step onto the competition floor, the noise stops.

My vision narrows. Literally. I get tunnel vision. I don’t hear the crowd. I don’t hear the music. The distractions of “life”—the emails, the stress, the to-do lists—vanish.

At “3-2-1, GO,” the blinders come on. I am there to do a job.

And even though that job is excruciatingly difficult physically, mentally it is a relief. It is singular. It is simple. I am well-prepared, and I know exactly what to do.

When I’m deep in the pain cave—when my lungs are burning and every fiber of my body wants to stop—my internal monologue isn’t what you might expect.

It’s not positive (“You’re doing great, Jason!”). It’s not negative (“Don’t you dare quit, you coward”).

It is simply factual.

There is no choice. We are doing this. We are getting the job done. I am here to win.

It’s not aggressive. It’s not emotional. It’s just... work. It’s a cold, calculated execution of a plan.

That doesn’t mean I’m not competitive. I am there to beat you.

There is a moment in certain races—usually the longer ones where stamina is king—where I look for the “Kill Shot.”

In the 2025 Games, during the 7K run, I stayed patient. I kept my primary competitors in sight. I knew I had the engine to catch them.

But catching them isn’t enough. You have to break them.

When I make my move, I don’t just pass. I surge. I create significant space immediately. I do this for a specific reason: To remove hope.

I want them to look at my back and realize, instantly, that they cannot catch me. I want the math in their head to say, “It’s over.”

That is the Competitor. He is strategic. He is ruthless in his execution.

The fear, of course, is that this “Combat Mode” will bleed over into real life. That I’ll come home and try to “win” at dinner.

But I find the opposite is true.

When the competition is over, I’m cooked. I’m done. The blinders come off, and I feel a wash of relief. I don’t feel irritable or restless. I feel light.

I can go back to being the happy guy who wants to help other athletes. I genuinely want other people to feel the greatness of what their bodies can do.

Sometimes, I wonder which one is the “real” me. Is the Competitor the truth, and the Nice Guy the mask? Maybe a little.

But I think the truth is that we all need a place where the world narrows. We all need a place where the noise stops and the only thing that matters is the next rep.

For me, that’s the competition floor. It’s the place where I don’t have to try to be present—I just am.

Stay Bold as Ever.

Jason

(Footer)

🎥 Recent Videos:

`Masters in Motion Podcast