I've set a new goal for myself. It's a physical goal, I guess it qualifies as a mid-term goal, and there will be many mini goals to accomplish along the way. I'm training to run my third half marathon. The first time I was happy to finish, the second I was happy to finish without feeling like I might die. This time, for the first time ever, I've set a time goal to achieve. I'd like to run this half marathon in under 2 hours. By the math, that averages just over a 9 minute mile, which is not fast by many standards. Before I set into a full training schedule I went out to see how long I could sustain this pace. I ran 3 miles. And it was hard. And it was one of the best runs I've had in a long time.
The realization I made as I ran was unsettling. I was heaving for breath, my hips were tight and strained with each step, my calves burned, and my smile was huge. I was so uncomfortable. But I was comfortable with the sensation of struggle. The blood pounding in my head with dizziness created a euphoria I'd forgotten I longed for. I had a moment of pure understanding where I knew what has been missing from my life in the past months. I haven't been fighting for anything. I've been content. I've become static. My everyday is white noise.
I have been accused with the fear of commitment so many times, and I disagree every time. I disagree because, beyond a healthy respect, I'm not afraid to commit myself. I commit to lofty goals as regularly as I can conceive them. I've committed to walking 2,000 miles, and then 500 more. To running 26 miles and now running 13, again. To the days and hours it takes to reach these goals. I've committed to doing away with economical transportation in exchange for a years long project to see through my dreams of travel and minimal living. And most difficult of all I commit to my relationships; to being a daughter, and sister, and aunt; to being a friend. I have no fear in throwing myself full force into anything.
What I am afraid of is being comfortable. When I wake up uninspired, I am afraid. When my day ends and I feel like a breeze blew me through, I'm terrified. When there's no challenge to my walk through life, that's where contentment comes from. I've been fooled by the passivity of a contented life before. I've let the ease pretend to be peace, and make me forget what passion is. And what I forgot is that there is no happiness in contentment; I will never be inspired by living as a ghost.
I developed a mantra during my first long distance hike. When I spent day after day soaked, if not by rain then by sweat. When I force fed myself oatmeal every morning because, it's what I had and I couldn't climb a mountain on an empty stomach. When I barely squeezed 4 hours of sleep out of a tent that was too wet, or too cold, or too slanted. "Get comfortable with being uncomfortable." I chanted. I counted steps by these words. I drowned out hunger and pain and fear with this thought. Discomfort is a way of life, one that does not equal misery, but self-satisfaction. When every step is a struggle, the summit is that much sweeter.
As a reminder to myself why I refuse to accept a contented life, I've reflected on the moments of struggle that have kept me living:
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| Half way point from my first AT hike. |
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| Hiking into CT after finishing the AT, but I couldn't stop hiking! |
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| My first time rock climbing in CO. |
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| My first 14er summit! |
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| My first mountaineering trip! |
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| The day I bought Rus. |
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| My first trip to Zion! When I fell in love with the dessert. |
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| Fantastic Four at the Grand Canyon! |
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| The first day of my first official thru-hike. |
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| My first marathon. |
