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When I started running 10 years ago, I wasn’t fit. I was a big kid with no real sporting ability, forced to run for my school. I walked for the majority of my first year. I was thirteen, and I remember one of the matrics, a particularly tall eighteen year old, thought of himself as a running Guru. His name was Timothy. I knew him from around, our school was tiny so most people knew most others, and we both spent a little extra time in the art room after school to work on our projects. Timothy would often run past me and throw a comment or running tip my way. They were meant to helpful but you know teenagers, a backhanded compliment snuck its way in here and there. I remember one day, towards the end of the 4.8km loop we ran around the school, he slowed down and began walking with me. He explained that when I ran, I ran too quickly, using up all of my energy before the run was finished. He used some metaphor with a candle, but I’d be making it up if I retold it now. In any case, he managed to convince me that it wasn’t my job to be fast but rather to finish my race running, not walking. Just don’t stop. Easy. Armed with newfound wisdom, my running style changed and I began completing my runs. And then I started speeding up, what a shock! I got so carried away that the two mandatory runs per week turned into four elective runs per week. A friend and I even twisted the head of the sport department’s arm when she discontinued running as a school sport, and the two of us kept going. Side note: the sport was originally called ‘casual running’, which didn’t really help our dwindling numbers. It was later revived as ‘long distance running’. I was fortunate in my schooling experience, I liked many of my subjects and I didn’t have to force myself to work. I had always been useless with throwing and catching, and pushing myself to improve yielded inconclusive results, so I never quite flexed my persistence there, either. It was only once I began running that I began exercising that muscle. All I had to do to be a good runner was not stop.
As life would have it, my running habit taught me a little endurance. I am immensely thankful for what physical endurance I have left, though as I mentioned some weeks ago, I’m not quite the runner I used to be. I think that running has also prepared me, in part, for other flavours of endurance. This year I spent around five months looking for a job. Everyone was quick to tell me that it only takes one yes, but no one told me how many nos there’d be. The rejection letters total somewhere in the hundreds, I’ve lost track of the specific count. It takes a lot of emotional endurance to apply for the next job with a gmail bin full of reasons not to. Though I enjoyed school, I was far from the best university student. In first year, we all worked in a big, round room on the ground floor. We’d get photography or design assignments and the kids that did well had their projects hung on the walls. I never made it to that wall. I learned to be intellectually, perhaps creatively, persistent in university. I had to learn how to dig through lots of mediocre ideas for a good one, which involved continually hearing that my ideas were mediocre. It’s tough to come up with ten more designs after your first twenty have been refused. I like to believe that my running made it easier. When I’m running and I’m tired or hungry or just over it, like I was this morning, and all I can focus on is how much my feet hurt and how slowly I’m going and that sweat is just about to drip into my eye: all I want to do is stop! But Timothy’s words and a little personal experience have taught me the value of persistence. I always feel like I’ve won something when I get home from those gross runs. I didn’t stop with my job search, I needed a lot of encouragement and frequent breaks, but I didn’t stop. Had I stopped, I may not be employed today. I didn’t make an academic comeback, I graduated as a fine design student. I learnt, however, how to push for great ideas, what they look like, and that I am capable of producing them. Whether I need to flex my emotional endurance, intellectual persistence or face a new, daunting challenge, I believe that running has equipped me with a powerful perspective: all I need to do is not stop.
I think, though, that I am still learning that I have to stop sometimes. When I was an unfit kid, I had to learn to be uncomfortable and keep running anyway. I was fighting against laziness. As my fitness grew and I became a more capable runner, I had to learn when not to push my body. On days when I was too tired, too sore, when it was too hot, I had to learn how to recognise the wisdom in stopping. Were I to push for persistence in the wrong circumstances, I would damage my body. Jujitsu functions on the same principle; if the body is in a vulnerable position, pushing it a little further breaks bones. Running hasn’t broken my bones yet, but I’ve learned through some foolhardy decisions that I need to respect the boundaries my body sets. It’s my responsibility to discern the lazy instincts from the healthy ones.
I’ve cracked the running lesson, but I’m still figuring it out when it comes to life. I’ve had a really, really busy week. To give you an idea, I’m writing this on Friday night at quarter to eleven. I’ve been a walking to-do list, finding hundreds of menial chores and important tasks that need my attention. I think the problem is that I haven’t made time to sit with myself. Check in. I’m worried that I’m not setting aside enough time to process my emotions or allow myself to rest. That, in turn, makes me concerned that I’ll be overwhelmed the next time I face an emotional challenge. I feel a bit like I have a psychological postbox overflowing with unpaid and overdue feelings. And yet, I can’t justify stopping my check list to take care of it. I think the unstructured nature of sitting alone and resting and digesting is hard for me to prioritise it feels so unmeasurable. I feel like I don’t make visible progress fast enough to feel like my time is being used wisely. So my instinct is to push through; just don’t stop. I think it’s foolish. I think, if I’m not careful, something is going to break. I don’t really know how to stop, and it doesn’t feel like I can afford to. But perhaps I can’t afford not to.
In the interest of rest, I won’t be posting a journal next week, but I’ll be back the week after. I think I need some time to sit with myself, I hope you understand.
Maybe this is your day to give running a shot. Or resting. If this journal resonated with you, please send it to someone you love.