I know this sounds crazy, but the half-marathon Mike and I completed a week ago was… enjoyable.

The experience was night and day to the half-marathons I completed almost a decade ago. Those were, for the most part, miserable and grueling.

Part of what made this one different was, of course, that I had Mike by my side. Having a team (even if it’s a team of two) is a proactive step in setting yourself up for success.

But I started to think also about why this last race hurt so much less than the previous ones. Physically. I mean, I’m older and in poorer shape. It would stand to reason that this one would be the epitome of suck.

But it wasn’t.

Ryan Fletcher wrote today about how “everybody likes the story of the tortoise and the hare… yet no one wants to be the plodding tortoise.”

It’s true, you get to the starting line and you want to win.

But you don’t win at the starting line.

You win at the FINISH line.

Discipline + Endurance = Achievement

Discipline = Showing Up

Not just showing up on race day, but showing up every day. Whether you feel like it or not.

Endurance = Turtle Onward

You don’t take off like the hare. You don’t white-knuckle your way through.

THIS is why my previous races were so painful.
(I thought I understood endurance, but I was wrong.)

THIS is why ideas are so exciting at inception and then fizzle.

THIS is why so many people never finish that novel they’ve been working on.

You have to be the turtle. It’s not always as exciting as you want it to be. It’s not always sexy.

But you Turtle Onward.

That’s how Mike and I approached this race, how we approach our endeavors. It’s a long game.

Discipline and endurance aren’t gifts. These aren’t things that some people have and others do not.

They are daily practices.

What areas of our lives could we incorporate discipline and endurance?

In what instances are we behaving like the hare?

If we can answer those questions, we might achieve more than we thought possible.

And we might find that true endurance – embracing the pain of effort and using it to fuel us forward – leads not only to achievement, but also enjoyment along the way.

#TheBusinessofUs
#StoryAthlete
#ImpactClub

The other day I had a crazy idea.

I said to Mike, “What if being in the best shape of our lives isn’t something in the past? What if it’s ahead of us?”

When I think of me at my strongest, my mind goes back. Always to the past.

Running and playing soccer in high school.

Installing a pull-up bar in my first apartment.

And honestly, some of the most intense physical training I ever did was waiting tables. Pulling a double shift and running the entire time will make you lean. (Also, please tip your server.)

I’m not obsessed with numbers on a scale or fitting into a smaller pair of jeans or something ridiculous like thigh gap. But I do recognize that my physical health impacts every other part of my life, not least of which is how I’m able to interact with my children.

Like a lot of people, my weight, strength, and overall level of fitness fluctuate. They are malleable and fluid aspects of me. That’s not something I feel I need to fight.

There are times when I let a project consume me.

For example, if it’s crunch time and I need to write for three weeks straight to meet a deadline, I’m okay with keeping my ass in the chair.

If I’m training for a physical event, on the other hand, I might spend half my day on various forms of exercise, but be far less productive in my professional life.

I don’t think either of these scenarios is bad, as long as the pendulum keeps moving between the two.

In the past seven years, I’ve written a lot of books. I’ve exceeded what I thought was possible in that realm. But that also necessitated a lot of hours with my ass in the chair.

So I’ve been thinking… if I’ve achieved more than I thought possible in one area, why not do so in another?

In the past week Mike and I have covered about 40 miles of territory in preparation for a half-marathon this coming Saturday.

Yes, our bodies are older and our joints are creakier and at the end of most days you’ll find us with ice packs on our knees and ankles. But we’re moving. A lot. (Cue Rocky theme-song).

Maybe getting in the best shape of our lives is a crazy idea.

Or maybe what’s really crazy is the idea of putting limits on what we think is possible.

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P.S. We just finished a 28 challenge called Story Athlete, it was epic, and it has our highest recommendation (if you want to do something that really makes an impact in your life).  You can learn more and sign up for the next one here: Story Athlete or reach out to us if you have questions about it:  Us@BusinessofUs.com

For the longest time I believed that for anyone to be happy, they had to first heal all of the traumas of their past.

Sure, there are certain things in the past that require thought, introspection, reconciliation, and therapy to overcome. Especially if that past inhibits your present and future.

If you feel guilt over having wronged another, maybe you need to look at why you behaved the way you did and make amends. If you’ve been hurt by someone and are unable to move forward because of it, maybe you need to address the issue with the person who hurt you.

But too often I’ve given relatively minor things more importance than they deserve.

I can turn dust into a tornado.

Make a scratch into a life-threatening wound.

This is a great tool when it comes to creative writing. But for operating as a rational, productive adult? Not so much.

And making things right isn’t always possible. People die, change, forget, or sometimes remember completely different realities from what we’d swear to be true. What then?

How are we supposed to move on if we can’t right the wrong?

And there’s the thing that held me back: the idea that the past needed fixing.

I have not lived a life of trauma. I’ve been lucky and privileged and I know it. But we’ve all got our shit. Healing and therapy can be necessary and life-changing, but let’s not also forget that these things are an industry.

No matter what it is that plagues you, there’s always someone there with the promise of making it better (for the low, low price of…). For every dedicated therapist out there, there’s also a snake-oil salesman ready with a great deal for you.

I’ve had beneficial therapy and fallen victim to the snake-oil salesmen, but I’m equally apt to throw myself a pity party.

I’ve wallowed over the deaths of friends and relatives.

I’ve been self-indulgent and negative.

Not only are these behaviors unbecoming, unproductive, and unhealthy, but they are completely at odds with what the dearly departed would have wanted for me.

When I finally realized this, it was like the lifting of a fog. Feeling sorry for myself helps no one. Life is short and we only have so much emotional capacity, so there’s no point in wasting it on the negative. It’s far better to channel our energy into the positive.

I’m an emotional creature. By dwelling on that which I cannot change, I let a lot of that emotion manifest into anger. That’s not how I want to live, and those around me deserve better.

There is too much good to do in this world to waste a day in self-pity. I don’t want to do it anymore. I remind myself of this every day.

But there’s still that tricky issue of the past. I believe that it doesn’t always need healing. I don’t need to labor over every screw up, whether it’s my own or someone else’s.

Maybe the past is just a series of events that have taught me to listen to my instincts and move about the world with greater self-awareness and empathy. And since it’s done, I’m better served to focus on what’s right here, right now.

Negative experiences have whatever power we award them. If you need help, get it. (We all need help at times). But if it’s a minor occurrence, and something that isn’t going to resolve itself no matter how much you dwell on it, it’s time to move on.

It may not always feel like a choice, especially when something is still raw. But in time, it’s absolutely a choice. Just not an easy one.

I’ll never have all the answers and I’ll continually find new ways to both improve and screw up. But in either case, I’m going to remind myself to choose to move forward.

You with me?

I’m the runner of the family. I’m the one who’s trained for and completed a handful of half-marathons. Sure, that was close to a decade ago, but still. I’m the one with the medals.

Mike is not a runner. He hates running, but every now and then decides he’s going to take up the sport. This decision, at least half a dozen times, has been followed by a run in which he goes too far, too fast, and for too long. He returns broken and injured and frustrated that his stint as a runner is over before it started.

Awhile back, Mike and I completed an alcohol-free challenge. We like challenges and we’ve embraced them as a means of examining and improving different aspects of our lives. All of this ties in to The Business of Us, the venture we’ll be launching soon for others who are interested in doing the same.

We’ve done push-up challenges, writing challenges, meditation challenges, and are currently doing a StoryAthlete challenge (writing, but ties into improvement in Mind, Body, Business, and Relationships). A couple months ago we took on the alcohol-free challenge, and when you give up any vice, it’s helpful to take on a physical challenge to take its place.

That’s when we decided we’d train for and complete a half-marathon.

But I had rules. And Mike had to agree to them.

We had to stick to a proven schedule. We had to pace ourselves. We had to ice in the evenings. After all, I was the one with four half-marathons under her belt. Mike was the one who always ended up injured. It only made sense that I have a say in setting some parameters.

We started well, following my training schedule with shorter runs during the week and one long weekend run. Each week our distances increased. We had rest days; we iced. I was so proud of what we accomplished in that first month of training.

And then my arrogance bit me in the ass. Hard.

My ankles swelled up to the size of grapefruits (and let me tell you, this is not my most attractive look). I spent much of our anniversary trip to Spain awkwardly hobbling around (it was still an incredible trip). The running progress halted.

When my ankles returned to normal, Mike stepped in and created a new schedule, this time with run/walk intervals. It made sense and I agreed to it. I had a bad cold when we returned that interfered a bit, but we still managed to keep up with the schedule.

The cold subsided, and then I woke with my throat on fire, unable to eat. Can’t drink anything warm, so the next person to recommend a nice hot cup of tea can suck it.

This past week I’ve been living on cough drops and small sips of water.

I’ve never understood people who lose their appetites when ill or sad. I’ve always said I could eat my way through any number of infectious diseases or tragedies. I’m gifted like that.

But this is different. The physical pain actually outweighs the hunger. So I unwrap a cough drop and fantasize about eating when this shit is over. Seriously, you cannot imagine how much of my day is spent thinking about pasta.

Last night, as Mike snacked on a handful of roasted nuts, I actually said, “Wow. Those peanuts smell really good.” I digress.

I am SURE that I’m on the mend. I am POSITIVE that by Monday morning, we’ll be back on track and completing Mike’s schedule for the week.

It’s time for this crud that his physically knocked me down to DIE. (And along with it, my arrogance for thinking I’ve got it all figured out.)

And then, I’m going to fully embrace resuming the challenges we’ve set before us. It’s about fighting stagnation and improving every day. I’m not only going to embrace it, I’m going to ENJOY it. (And there’s a good chance I might also enjoy a giant bowl of pasta).