Endurance

I heard someone talking about raising kids the other day. He said that new parents assume that the newborn phase must be the hardest part, and if they can just get through that thing will get easier. Then, they get into the toddler phase, and assume that THAT must be the hardest part, and if they can just get through it, then things will get easier. Etc etc. This guy’s argument was that the teenager phase was actually the hardest part, and that you never actually reach a point as a parent where it suddenly gets easier. My boys are 6 and 3, so I can’t speak to the teenager part yet, but I have some doubts about this argument already. Easily the hardest part of the last six years was when our younger son was a newborn and our older son was 3. I know that’s the hardest part because it’s the only time that I had legitimate doubts about my ability to get through it. I have very clear memories of standing by the kitchen sink at 1 in the morning mixing up a pitcher of formula and trying to figure out how I was possibly going to survive the experience. I was confident that I would, since so many other people have in the past (one of the crazy things about parenting is it is simultaneously the most miraculous, unequivocal, bizarre things you can do, but at the same time it is one of the most common, universal, ordinary experiences of humanity) but I honestly had no idea how I was going to make it. But you know what? I did.

I’ve had similar experiences in some of the long distance races I’ve run. I’ve stood in the starting corrals before a marathon and found myself wondering how I could possibly run all this way and endure the pain that I knew was coming. And yet, I did it. One of the more surreal experiences of running a marathon is that you run 6 miles— a distance that would impress almost anyone and that many people will never run in their entire lives— and you still have another 20 miles to go, which is a cartoon, made up sounding distance. And yet, people do it, every day, all around the world.

I quit drinking around three and a half years ago, and when I started out, I had no idea how I was going to do it. The concept of an entire second half of my life without alcohol just seemed absurd. For years, I had struggled to complete a “Dry January” or hold myself to some kind of “only on the weekends” policy, and now I was going to never drink again? And yet, so far, I’ve done it. I did it the same way I ran marathons and managed to get through sleep training a newborn while dealing with a threenager. One day at a time, like the book says. You just focus on getting through this one day without drinking, or running to that next lamppost, or staying alert through one more day of work after another sleepless night, and then all of a sudden you look up and you’ve put some actual distance behind you. At some point, you look up and you’ve hit a goal. And then, most importantly, once you’ve done that, now you know—- actually know—- that these things aren’t impossible.

I’m thinking about this today because I was looking back over my last 3 blog posts and they kind of look like a slow decent into nihilism. I’m pretty upset about the state of things in my country right now, and, like a lot of people, I’m struggling to process just how big some of the changes that are happening are and how impossible it seems to imagine a path through to a better future. But I’m actually pretty confident that we are going to make it through, in the same way we get through everything else that is painful, overwhelming, and exhausting. One day at a time, one moment at a time. Keep track of progress, recognize that we’re already a little closer to the end than we were a few weeks ago, and do the next right thing. Like every other difficult, miserable thing I’ve endured in my life, I’m pretty confident that one day I’ll be able to look back on this as something challenging that happened in the past and now is over.

It’s currently 8 degrees outside, and I just went for a three mile training run. I didn’t really want to do it, but I made myself get out there and keep moving, one foot in front of the other until it was done. And now I’m warm and comfortable after a hot shower, writing my blog. I completed my winter night jog and now it is in the past. I endured it. In fact, now I have that experience to look back on as motivation. Some day this summer when I’m running a half marathon, I’ll be able to remind myself that I got out and ran in the cold so that I would be ready to finish this stupid race, so let’s not quit today buddy.

Let me stipulate that this isn’t true for everyone. I’m experiencing the pain of the current moment in the abstract and as anxiety about the future. I read news stories about things that are happening and worry about what happen to me or my kids at some vague point in the future. I haven’t been fired, no one turned off funding for life saving medicine I need, I’m not in increased danger of hate crimes or discrimination. I recognize that. But this is also a blog about my personal experience, so that’s what you’re getting here.

Anyway. If you’re new here, I’m writing this blog about my experiences training to run 5 half marathons across 5 states in July of this year. The project is a fundraiser for the National Diaper Bank Network. If you’ve made it this far, please consider hitting the “Donate” button up at the top and making even a small contribution. Thanks!