The Cost of Commitment: A Season of Burnout and Realization

[George Payan]

The Cost of Commitment: A Season of Burnout and Realization

This past year, I experienced a severe burnout that involved both the coaching staff and the administrative leadership, specifically the athletic director, at work. I took the necessary step of voicing my concerns to all the assistant track coaches and the athletic director, but despite those difficult conversations, I felt I made no progress. Gonzalez, Head Track & Field Coach very committed, I enjoyed working with him.

My discussions with the athletic director and the assistant coaches were particularly frustrating. I was direct about my feelings regarding their lack of support for the program and the liability issues stemming from the neglected facilities and the assistant coaches to be more involved with the athletes. For years, I had held a sense of responsibility—a naive belief—that my commitment could single-handedly make a difference for the athletes. I’d been supportive, volunteered countless extra hours, and dedicated months and years to helping athletes develop, improve, and succeed year after year.

The emotional toll was immense. I felt emotionally broken and disappointed, especially after repeatedly asking the athletic director and assistant coaches for simple improvements to the facilities and the assistant coaches to be able to make a effort to other events for the team. This final track and field season was the absolute worst for me.

The Wake-Up Call
When I finally decided not to return to the program, I was in a state of deep emotional pain, disconnected from what was happening to my own body and mind. Throughout the season, I had been losing weight without paying attention. It started with my clothes feeling loose, followed by a loss of appetite, and eventually, my body began to signal distress with significant pain and joint inflammation that I am still experiencing. The final tally was a 20-pound weight loss.

I didn't truly realize the extent of my crisis until a chance lunch with an old friend. I hadn't seen him in years, and I was struck by how much he had changed—he looked aged, and something felt deeply wrong. As we began to meet weekly to share a meal and talk about life, we shared our pain and frustrations at the intense internal struggles we were both facing.

It was only when I looked in the mirror that the truth hit me: I saw a "skeleton walking dead." My friend and I were both weathering different storms of chronic stress.

A Plan for Recovery and Freedom
That shared realization was the turning point. We acknowledged our collective pain and the urgent need to reclaim our lives. I made a firm decision to address my problems and create a strategic plan to reduce my pain and stress, and, most importantly, return to my freedom.

We realized recovery required a holistic approach. Together, we committed to:

Physical activity (working out).

Prioritizing nutrition.

Maintaining our weekly meals for connection and accountability.

Cultivating a positive outlook on life.

We are both focused on healing, rebuilding, and putting ourselves first.