In 2012, researchers at the University of Birmingham invited one hundred athletes into a laboratory for what appeared to be a straightforward test of endurance and perseverance. Each athlete sat on a stationary bike to complete ten stages, each harder than the last. The goal was simple: pedal at least 70 revolutions per minute for two minutes, then move to the next stage where the resistance increased. Fall below 70 RPM, and you’re out.

It looked like a test of physical limits.
But the researchers were interested in something else entirely.

Before the first pedal stroke, each athlete was asked a simple question:

Why do you want to complete all ten stages?

Some athletes talked about curiosity. They wanted to learn something about themselves. They wanted to see how far they could go. They were collecting information. Others said they enjoyed the challenge. Their reasons reflected what psychologists call autonomous motivation—pursuing a goal because it connects to your interests or values.

Still other athletes gave different reasons. They said they felt expected to finish. They would feel embarrassed if they quit. They didn’t want to let anyone down. These answers reflected controlled motivation—pursuing a goal because of pressure, guilt, or obligation.

Then the test began. As the resistance increased, the difference became apparent.

Athletes driven by autonomous motivation lasted longer. On average, they completed nearly six stages. But the most revealing difference wasn’t just how far they went. It was how they interpreted what was happening to them.

As the pedals grew heavier, these athletes treated difficulty as information. The challenge signaled that the task was doing its job. They adjusted their effort. They narrowed their focus. Discomfort wasn’t proof of failure; it was part of the process.

Athletes driven by controlled motivation experienced the same resistance differently. The added strain felt like a threat. Each stage wasn’t just harder—it was a reminder of the possibility of embarrassment or falling short of expectations. Frustration rose. Attention drifted. Disengagement crept in. They barely made it past stage four.

Both groups wanted to succeed.
Both groups understood the goal.

The difference wasn’t in willpower.
It was in meaning.

 

The Story We Tell About Perseverance

 

We have a familiar story about perseverance. When things get hard, the story goes, you need more grit. More discipline. More willpower. The people who succeed are the ones who can push through pain when others quit.

We admire the entrepreneur who works punishing hours. The athlete who trains through injury. The student who stays up late while everyone else sleeps. Their success seems to confirm the story: perseverance is a matter of how much discomfort you’re willing to tolerate.

In this story, motivation is like a gas tank. You start full. Difficulty drains the tank. The people who make it are the ones with the biggest tank—or the ones who can force themselves to keep going when the tank is nearly empty.

But this experiment points to a quieter truth:

Motivation is not a tank that runs dry.
It’s a system you design.

When goals get harder—as they usually do—the system you’re running determines whether you engage or shut down.

 

Why Difficulty Breaks Perseverance

 

Research on motivation usually studies goals that don’t change in difficulty, largely because studies on fixed tasks are easier to design and measure. But in the real world, most goals don’t work that way.

A fitness goal becomes harder as you get stronger.
A business goal becomes harder as your organization grows.
A learning goal becomes harder as you move beyond the basics.

As pursuing goals over time inevitably increases in difficulty, your experience will take one of two courses:

If you pursue your goals out of interest, difficulty will feel like information. It signals where to adjust. Where to focus. Where to grow.

If you pursue goals to avoid embarrassment, difficulty will feel like judgment. It will threaten your self-worth. And the natural response is to disengage.

The reason you pursue a goal shapes how you hold difficulty.
How you hold difficulty shapes whether you persist.

This is why goals that demand long-term perseverance are exactly where pressure fails most. We respond to slipping motivation by adding more pressure—raising the stakes, tightening the rules—like trying to fix a bad engine by flooring the gas pedal.

 

Design Comes Before Discipline

 

Most advice about perseverance focuses on what to do when things get hard: push through, stay motivated, don’t quit.

But that targets the wrong moment.

The moment that determines perseverance is earlier.
It’s the moment you decide why the goal matters to you.

That decision creates the system you’ll be running when difficulty increases.

This doesn’t mean every task has to be inherently enjoyable. Many worthwhile goals involve boring or uncomfortable actions. But you can redesign the meaning of the goal.

Instead of framing exercise as “something I should do so I don’t feel bad about my body,” you might frame it as “an experiment in building physical capability.”

Instead of framing a project as “something I have to finish so I don’t look incompetent,” you might frame it as “a chance to solve a problem I find interesting.”.

Perseverance is not a willpower problem.
It’s a design problem.

 

How Systems Compound Over Time

 

The researchers also looked at what happened after the task ended.

Athletes driven by autonomous motivation reported more positive emotion and more interest in doing similar tasks again. The experience built momentum.

Athletes driven by controlled motivation felt worse afterward and were less interested in returning to similar challenges. The experience built avoidance.

Over time, these patterns compound.

Autonomous systems create a history of engagement, learning, and increasing capacity.
Controlled systems create a history of depletion, frustration, and shrinking willingness to try.

We can see this all around us, in our institutions, schools, and businesses. Some people are running systems where perseverance is supported by meaning and interest. Others are running systems where perseverance easily breaks under pressure.

We can design better.

 

When the Going Gets Tough

 

The Birmingham study is titled: When the Going Gets Tough: The “Why” of Goal Striving Matters.

Not goal setting.
Goal striving.

Setting goals is easy.
Striving for them is where systems fail.

When the path steepens, having more willpower doesn’t help if the system you’re running interprets difficulty as threat. And you don’t need extraordinary willpower if your system interprets difficulty as challenge.

You can’t always control how difficult your goal pursuit becomes.
But you can control what difficulty means to you.

You can decide whether obstacles are information or judgment.
You can decide whether effort feels like engagement or punishment.

That system is built before the first obstacle appears.
It’s built the moment you decide why the goal is worth pursuing. And it’s maintained as you remind yourself of that motive.

Perseverance, then, isn’t something you summon at the point of struggle.
It’s something you build in advance—by choosing reasons that make hard things worth doing.