Doing it Anyway
Pushing through...and pulling back
“That. Sucked!”
First words of my journal entry after this weekend’s shoulda-been-race-but-wasn’t-thanks-to-another-hurricane 😒. I ran the distance anyway, hoping I could cover the ground with the same speed as I was expecting on race day.
Uh, yeah, no. That did not happen.
By mile three, I knew there was no way I could hold race pace.
By mile five, I conceded to intervals, still holding race pace during the runs.
By 7.62 when I came across my family coming back from the playground, I had absolved myself of all goals but one. Finish.
There are so many reasons why this was not my run. Legitimate, honest reasons that my logical brain knows will always impact speed. And I offered myself every one of those outs during the latter miles of the run. But my brain that’s training for a marathon, the reach deep brain, the “Can I actually do this?” brain needed to finish despite and in spite of the reasons.
So I finished. I did it anyway. It hurt, but there was quiet triumph in the pain.
So much of life requires us to do it anyway.
Exhausted? No matter! Kids have to be fed, somebody’s taking them to school, we’ve both got to work.
Do it anyway.
Heartbroken? Who’s going to order the death certificates, deal with the life insurance, figure out the funeral arrangements in the middle of COVID, clean her house, pay her bills, settle her affairs?
Do it anyway.
Overwhelmed? One parent has dementia, the other can’t walk. Except I’ve still got to work, and we still have two kids, and I’m still a human who needs to be the child, not the parent.
Do it anyway.
In our culture, the ability to push through is a badge of honor, a skill that elicits awe, respect, admiration. We aspire to push beyond our physical boundaries, ignore our emotional ones, and medicate our mental limitations in to submission. We can do this. We will do this.
Pushing through…but to where? Where are we pushing all of our boundaries and limitations and pain and hurt and energy? To where is it all supposed to go?
There’s value in being able to trust yourself, to know you can count on you. There’s also tremendous value in knowing you can take care of you.
This is my first marathon, and as a writer but not a journal-er, which feels like an oxymoron, I’ve been forcing myself to catalogue these runs on paper. It’s an interesting exercise as not only do I get to see how I felt about each run, but what I celebrated.
Pride is not an emotion I experience regularly. I wouldn’t self assess as cocky, but I portray and honestly feel a steady measure of confidence. I know what I can and cannot do. So, I clock pride rarely, and usually for only one reason. I surprise myself.
That’s reflected, as expected, in my journaling. The days I hit speeds on the track I haven’t seen in years. Closing in on distances I’ve only done once or twice in my life. You can hear the pride creeping in to my words. Pride at pushing through.
What I didn’t expect to see is the pride in pulling back.
Once or twice, I’ve journaled about days I gave myself grace, even extending gratitude to my body for being able to do this at all.
That, my friends, is true growth.
Pulling back is not my thing. I go full. fucking. throttle.
Until I can’t.
And maybe there’s been just enough “can’ts” in the past few years that I’m finally starting to see why and when and how the pulling back is just as powerful as the pushing through. As powerful. And as necessary.
I’m surprising myself by taking care of myself. 🤯
I’m supposed to do a track workout tomorrow. A hefty one. At speeds no part of my body enjoys running even on my best days.
I’m not going to do it.
I’m going to pull back.
My knees hurt. My hip keeps me awake at night. I’m struggling to walk down stairs. I could push through, but I’ll pay for it later.
I think that’s the math I’ve been looking for. How to know when the push through equals something desirable vs detrimental. Did I get the algebra right or are we still playing with x’s trying to solve for y? When math was simple, one basic rule applied; the left side of the = had to balance the right. So you couldn’t push everything one way. You had to pull back an equal amount.
Let’s be honest. Marathon running is not equal math. I’m going to be destroyed after that 26.2 miles because I absolutely will push through. But I’ve got to get there first. And that’s going to require a lot of simple math, a good massage therapist, and perhaps a fairy Unicorn 🦄.
There’s for sure joy in doing it anyway, in surprising yourself.
But it doesn’t always have to look like pushing.