Do What You Can Do

Each of our lives (and schedules) are unique, so our running will be too

A few weeks ago, I started a new job.

(It’s going well, I’m happy to report!)

But it’s also meant a big shift in the practical realities of my day-to-day life. And so, at least for the time being, my running has fallen by the wayside in a big way.

This past weekend, I was finally able to sneak in a run along the Chattahoochee River, near where I live. It was glorious, the weather was fantastic and I felt great out there, like I hadn’t missed a run in a long time.

But the truth is that I had; almost two months had passed since the last time I ran. I knew it had been a while, but I didn’t realize it had been that long.

I know I need to figure out a schedule when I can regularly get in my runs, but it’s difficult now. I have to leave early each morning to catch my train, and I also get home from work later than I used to.

And lately, when I get home from work I’ve fallen into a routine of playing a little one-on-one basketball with little T in the (tiny!) court/parking space on the side of our house.

There are days when I could get in an after-work run, I know, either on my treadmill or in our neighborhood. But here’s the thing: he’s just a few months away from turning 13, and he’s still asking me to play with him.

“Dad, let’s go shoot some hoops,” is what I hear, right around 6:30 p.m. every evening.

That might remain the case for a while, he might keep asking me to play. But he also might not; I can see already how important his friends are becoming to him, how the world outside our home is becoming more interesting to him.

All of this was swirling in my mind when I pulled up the latest issue of one of my favorite newsletters, Caroline Cala Donofrio’s The Magic Hour, in which Caroline shares the struggle she’s been going through in sticking with her own running routine.

She’s trained for and run the New York City Marathon a few times in recent years, including last year — but has since found it near-impossible to get back out there:

“The third and final catalyst arrived, as ideas often do, while I was out on a run.¹ It was my first run in months, a hiatus I chalked up to a snowy winter and various personal commitments. But the larger truth was, I’d grown to hate it.

Where running had once been a safe space, an outlet devoid of pressure, it had morphed into a pressure-laden chore. There was always some training plan I’d fallen behind on, some pace I couldn’t hit. ‘My third unpaid job!’ I’d joke, then fail to laugh because it wasn’t funny. My attempts made me feel like a failure, so I stopped.”

Can I ever relate to this, I thought to myself.

I don’t know how it works for you, but when I get really into something that’s new to me — whether that’s running, or fly-fishing, or even Wordle — my enthusiasm acts like an ocean wave.

Something unexpected catches my eye — like running when I first started, or fly-fishing, or golf, or Wordle — and I feel a passion stir. I read everything I can about it, buy the equipment, scout out places I can go do it.

I see all the possibilities — all the places my new hobby can take me, all the fun I might have. My enthusiasm builds as I throw myself into it, going and going.

Sooner or later, though, the wave crashes on the shore. I need to take a break, get away from it for a little while. I have to wait until the passion comes back; I can’t will it into being. (Maybe this is why it’s hard to do more than a couple training cycles for big races in a single year?)

The things we put ourselves into — that we put our identities into — they change, don’t they? Not just over months and years, but days and weeks.

My feelings, I’ve found, move up and down like the mercury in a thermometer. I ask myself, “is this right for me? Am I that good at it or not? Am I kidding myself? Should I just quit?”

There are times in our lives when we really can run that ultra, or climb that mountain, or… [insert big goal here!]. But sometimes it’s our moment to pull back from that, to regroup and listen to our hearts, and try to hear what they’re calling us to next.

What is yours calling you to?

(As always, keep in touch and let me know how your running/life is going!)

Your friend,

— Terrell

1. You’ll be happy to hear that Caroline found what she was looking for: “Then one not-quite-spring day, the temperature in NYC dared to touch 70, and I decided to lace up my sneakers. Just for fun, I told myself. No pressure. No mileage to hit, no pace to hold, no plan to satisfy. Just run.

It turns out, I could still love it.”