In a powerlifting meet, a lifter has three attempts at three lifts (squat, bench, deadlift), each attempt becoming increasingly heavier. The lifter must successfully complete an attempt before she progresses to the next heavier attempt. So, for example, if she does not make her second attempt on squat, she repeats that same weight for her third squat attempt. Coaches employ different strategies in determining the weights to submit for each attempt, but generally the third attempt (if not the second also) is heavier than the heaviest completed training lift, something usually reasonable, but often not yet attained.
Part of what interests me in all of this is the language: a lifter makes an “attempt”; she does not “try”. Louise and I often debate the use of the word “try” in relation to coaching and habit change. Louise is Yoda: “Do or do not. There is no try”. She likes to illustrate her position by holding out her open palm with a pencil balanced on it. She then says “OK. Try to pick up this pencil”. Point being that either you do or you don’t. I understand this position. When working with a client to instill a sustainable habit change, it’s generally advisable to start with a small enough step that the client is virtually assured of success; this helps build confidence and encourages adherence. I also understand that sometimes people use “try” as a cop out when they don’t feel like doing something, when they aren’t fully committed to the change or the process or the training session that day; in which case “try” is just a half-assed effort.
There are plenty of other situations, however, where I believe “try” is entirely warranted. I will always take an “I’ll try” from a client instead of an “I can’t”. Frequently I get the two together, as in “I really don’t think I can do that, but I’ll try”. Yoda’s directive seems to present us with a binary outcome: do or do not, succeed or don’t. When immediate success is not assured, or sometimes when an individual really doesn’t believe success is possible, “I’ll try” affords another alternative, an entry point. “Try” can be the foothold for a wholehearted effort in the face of an uncertain outcome. “Try” can act as a linguistic bridge that transports a person outside of their comfort zone, to the place where they can experience change and growth.
But “try” has its limits, which are highlighted in the subtle differences between the word “try” and one which we often use as its synonym, “attempt.” I think the difference gets down to one’s investment in a process and how one deals with a fail. “Try” requires nothing more of an individual aside from an initial effort; no prior commitment or training and no further assurances to continue when things get tough. “Attempt”, on the other hand, indicates a deeper level of commitment over time. One who is making an “attempt” has a clear goal in mind and is invested in a process designed to ultimately get her there, despite setbacks or failures. So our powerlifter has fully committed to a training program, has dedicated months to building strength. She will make nine attempts on meet day, aiming to get them all (to go “949”) and to put her highest score possible up on the board. This may not happen, but if she misses a lift, the expectation is that she steps back up onto the platform for another attempt the next time her name is called.
So at the end of it all, if something interests you, go ahead; give it a try. Get past that self-limiting fear. But if what you’re “trying” to do is reach a goal, trade your “try” for an “attempt” and then be prepared to make many.