Pain and I Are Not on Speaking Terms – And That’s the Problem

Let me tell you about the time I tried to plank for one minute.

At 42 seconds, my core gave up, my arms started trembling like a pensioner holding a mobile phone, and I collapsed onto the carpet with a noise that was half grunt, half existential cry for help. I lay there for a moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning and for my sense of self-respect to crawl back in through the cat flap.

It didn’t.

Now, I’m not what you’d call a masochist. I don’t get a thrill from lactic acid or unreturned phone calls. But there’s something painfully obvious (pun intended) I’ve had to admit in my twilight years: everything worth doing hurts a bit.

And I don’t just mean the gym.

I mean business. Relationships. Facing rejection. Starting again. Standing up when you’d rather stay down. All of it comes with a sting, a cramp, or a good old-fashioned kick in the ego.

Most people spend their lives trying to dodge discomfort. They put off awkward conversations. They avoid feedback. They ghost gym memberships faster than dodgy Tinder dates. They’d rather coast comfortably toward mediocrity than hobble painfully towards progress.

But here’s the kicker: that avoidance is the source of their suffering.

I’ll tell you what no one told me when I was younger and full of swagger and digestive biscuits: you don’t get to avoid pain. You just get to choose your flavour.

You can have the pain of discipline or the pain of regret.
The pain of a hard conversation or the pain of years of resentment.
The pain of lifting a dumbbell or the pain of not being able to lift your suitcase at the airport without pulling a muscle and whimpering like a startled dachshund.

Pain is part of the ticket. It’s built into the ride. And the only real freedom you have is whether you embrace it as part of the process or resist it like a toddler refusing broccoli.

Let’s do a quick mental rewire. Most of us treat pain as a punishment. A signal to stop. A flashing light that says, “Danger: Turn Back.”

But what if pain isn’t punishment at all?

What if pain is the receipt? The proof of purchase for progress?

Think about it. The ache after a workout isn’t failure—it’s growth happening in real-time. The sting of rejection isn’t evidence you’re rubbish—it’s proof you’re trying. The frustration of starting something new? That’s your brain lifting mental weights.

You wouldn’t expect to build muscle without strain. So why do we expect to build resilience, wealth, love, or confidence without the emotional equivalent?

It’s a bit like trying to get fit by watching other people do press-ups. Nice idea. Doesn’t work. (I’ve tried.)

Now, some clever sod is probably reading this thinking, “Yes, but surely life shouldn’t be all pain?”

To which I say: calm down, Nietzsche. I’m not saying you need to suffer constantly. I’m saying the right kind of pain is the toll you pay to cross the bridge from who you are to who you want to be.

The problem is, we’ve built an entire culture on the idea that ease equals success. Convenience! Comfort! Effortless abundance! It’s all nonsense. Comfort zones are where dreams go to take naps.

The minute you make peace with discomfort—as part of the game, not a glitch in the matrix—you stop flinching every time things get tough.

You might even start seeking out a bit of pain. Not because you’re broken, but because you’re finally paying attention to what growth feels like.

Next time something’s hard—truly hard, not “Wi-Fi’s down” hard—don’t sprint in the opposite direction.

Pause. Breathe. And ask yourself: “Is this the price of progress?”

If the answer’s yes, crack on.

Hard work, awkward truths, sore muscles, sleepless nights… these are signs you’re in the arena, not watching from the bleachers.

Pain doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.
It means you’re doing it right.

So the next time life gets uncomfortable—your startup flops, your date ghosts you, your knees pop like bubble wrap when you bend—don’t panic.

Just nod politely, grit your teeth, and think:

“Ah. There you are. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Then get on with it.

Because the people who learn to walk with pain—not run from it—are the ones who actually get somewhere.