On the hard days, joy feels like a lie.

It feels thin. Forced. Unrealistic.

But that is usually the day it matters most.

We talk about winning. We chase results. We circle dates on the calendar and imagine how it will feel when everything clicks. Yet the longer I compete, coach, and study champions, the clearer one truth becomes:

The journey is the star of the show. The destination is not.

The grind.
The showing up.
The rebound after a bad event.

The journey is always there waiting for you, no matter what happened yesterday. It is patient. It is willing. It is demanding. It is fun. It does not care about your mood. It only cares whether you are willing to step in again.

Choosing Joy on the Hard Days

On the days when nothing feels sharp, when your body is heavy, when your last performance still stings, you have two options.

You can show up resentful.

Or you can show up grateful.

Research in sports psychology calls this a task orientation. Athletes who focus on mastery, growth, and effort stay more motivated and resilient than those who obsess over outcomes. They learn to love the process itself. That love becomes fuel.

Joy, in this sense, is not bubbly. It is not loud. It is not pretending everything is perfect.

Joy is a decision.

It is the quiet commitment to say, I get to be here. I get to work. I get to improve.

On the hard days, what helps you choose joy anyway?

Sometimes it is remembering how far you have come. Sometimes it is remembering that if it were easy, everyone would be a champion. Sometimes it is simply remembering who you are trying to become.

Joy often begins with perspective.

The Discipline of Showing Up

Champions are not built on highlight days.

They are built in the snow.
In the rain.
On the tired legs.
On the mornings when excuses line up politely at the door.

Show up when it is snowing.
Show up when it is raining.
Show up when you are tired.
Show up when you have every reason not to.

Just show up.

Consistency compounds. Research on deliberate practice shows that long term improvement is less about intensity spikes and more about sustained, focused effort over time. The athletes who win are rarely the ones who felt amazing every day. They are the ones who kept returning.

The game has a way of teaching this. It humbles you. It exposes you. It shows you exactly where you are weak. But it also invites you back.

Every practice asks the same question: Are you in, fully, today?

Showing up fully does not mean you feel your best. It means you bring your heart anyway.

Loving Imperfection

The moment everything changed for me was the moment I stopped waiting to feel perfect.

Perfection is seductive. It whispers that once everything aligns, then you will perform with joy. But the truth is that joy grows in the imperfect reps.

In the missed shot you stay late to fix.
In the routine you repeat for the hundredth time.
In the mistake you own instead of blame.

Perfection is a liar.

Those Ah Hah moments are rarely dramatic. They are quiet breakthroughs. The day the skill finally feels natural. The day your patience pays off. The competition where you recover from a mistake and realize you are stronger than your fear.

That is meaning.

Not the medal. Not the applause.

The alignment between your effort and your growth.

Measuring Success Differently

If you measure success only by wins and losses, your joy will always be fragile.

Wins are not fully in your control. Performance has variables. Opponents have good days.

Effort is in your control.

Energy is in your control.

Preparation is in your control.

So ask yourself harder questions:

Are you giving it your all?
Are you present in your reps?
Are you tracking your outputs, your focus, your intensity?

Or are you expecting success because you think about it once in a while?

Champions measure standards, not just scoreboards.

Did I execute my plan?
Did I respond well to adversity?
Did I compete with heart?

When you shift the metric, you shift the experience. You free yourself from waiting for validation. You start finding satisfaction in the work itself.

And that is where joy lives.

The Journey Is Waiting

The beautiful thing about the journey is that it does not disappear after a bad event. It does not shame you. It does not hold grudges.

It waits.

It waits for you to lace up again.
To step onto the lanes again.
To begin again.

The destination is a moment.
The journey is a relationship.

And like any relationship, it rewards presence.

So on the next hard day, when motivation feels low and doubt feels loud, do not ask whether you feel joyful.

Ask whether you are willing.

Joy follows willingness.

Show up with heart.
Trust the imperfect reps.
Measure what truly matters.

Because in the end, the champions are not the ones who loved winning.

They are the ones who learned to love the work.