Goldilocks parenting
Week 10: We run our peak long run distance, then start tapering
When I started writing today’s issue earlier this week, I had my mind made up on my topic, how I was going to lead into it, and the main idea/point I wanted to get across in the end. All wrapped up in a nice little bow, ready to go.
Then, of course, life intruded.
What I had in mind originally was a thought that’s been on my mind as I watch my nine-year-old grow up. It occurred to me this summer, as we re-watched all of the movies in the Jurassic Park/World series, ahead of the release of the latest (last?) Jurassic movie this summer.
Let me turn back the clock even earlier — to the summer of 1993, when the first Jurassic Park was released. I know it’s really not much more than a simple, silly (and hugely expensive) monster movie, but I fell in love with it. Something about it captivated me. Even to this day, I don’t care what critics might say about it today, I still love it.
Its sequel, The Lost World, has never had quite the same hold on our collective memory, but there’s a line in it that has stayed with me. (The plot we all know, of course: scientists bring dinosaurs back to life, and this time they make it off the island and onto a boat, which crashes into a dock in San Diego. A T-rex gets loose in the city, chaos ensues with lots of running and screaming, and by the end, everyone is chastened by the awesome power of nature. “And… scene!,” right?)
The line that resonated with me comes at the end of the movie, delivered by the actor Richard Attenborough as John Hammond, whose scientific discoveries brought the dinosaurs to life, as he realizes the problem he has created by bringing such ancient creatures into the modern world:
“It is absolutely imperative that we work with the Costa Rican Department of Biological Preserves to establish a set of rules for the preservation and isolation of that island. These creatures require our absence to survive, not our help. And if we could only step aside and trust in nature, life will find a way.”
I keep thinking of that line — “these creatures need our absence to survive” — when it comes to the way I see parents and their children interact with one another. Remember those Peanuts specials that aired on CBS, the ones in which the teacher’s voice is heard by Charlie Brown in class as a sound like a trombone? That’s just a silly gag, sure.
But it’s also a reminder of a clear dividing line that once existed between adults and kids — that there was a general societal acceptance of an “adult world” and a “kid world.” With the exception of mealtime, adults were more on the periphery of most kids’ lives; they were mostly an annoyance to us, people to be avoided whenever possible, you know?
Today, of course, that’s changed in a big way. Adults are much more enmeshed in their children’s lives — and, to be completely honest, I am too. I’m much more a part of my kids’ lives than I remember my parents being a part of mine. And there’s so much good that comes from that.
But I can’t help but wonder if the children we’re raising today have enough space of their own, to exist independently without adult interference. That they have places to go — real, physical places, not virtual ones — that we (adults) can be absent from, where we can “step aside and trust in nature,” and let them find their own way, as John Hammond put it in the movie.
Now, that all sounds good, I know. These were thoughts rumbling in the back of my mind, which I was prepared to start acting on by giving my nine-year-old a longer leash, so to speak. To let him solve his own problems, fight his own battles, and enjoy more of the freedom that he should.
And then, I had an experience that tested how much I really believe that: another kid was cruel to him, right in front of me.
If you have children, you know what I’m talking about. Instantly, your protectiveness kicks in and inside, you feel like one of those Home Depot Halloween werewolves, ready to do battle against anyone who might mess with one of your pups.
That impulse to step in and protect, it rises up your spine almost imperceptibly. But as I was in that moment, I remembered: isn’t this exactly the kind of situation that I’d said to myself — only moments earlier — that I need to let him handle on his own?
Even I as I write these words to you right now, I see how facile it is to lionize the past. To imagine there once was a time when parents knew what they were doing, when they struck the right balance with their kids, and that we’ve way over-complicated our relationships with our children today.
The truth, however, is that I remember growing up with more than a few kids who would go on to experience serious substance abuse problems, others that never could find functional relationships. How well did the mostly hands-off parenting style with which my generation was raised work out for them?
I wrestle with this, because I don’t have an answer.
When we’re very young, it’s like we’re in a movie. We’re the main character, the star. We’re on our own hero’s journey, moving through the obstacles in our lives toward an ultimate goal — like Frodo in The Lord of the Rings, we’re charged with an important mission to carry the ring to the mountain.
But when you grow up and have children, you’re not Frodo anymore. You’re Gandalf now, and it’s your job to guide Frodo (and any other Hobbits you have) through the lands of Middle-earth, so they can complete their quests.
The challenge of being Gandalf, of course, is figuring out how to guide your children while at the same time still navigating your own rapids in life. (We’re all learning how to play the violin while giving a concert at the same time, aren’t we?)
This I’m still working on — and I’d love to know how you navigate it, in the comments or in a reply back, as I love hearing from you all.
As always, keep in touch and let me know how your running is going.
Your friend,
— Terrell
Our training miles for the week ahead
This is the big week for our long runs! On Saturday, those running the 12-week plan hit 12 miles, those running the 16-week plan run nine (again), and the 10-milers run nine miles. Good luck this weekend! Let me know if you have any questions. — Terrell
Here are the plans for the coming week:
12-week plan:
Thursday, Nov. 3 — 4 miles/40-45 minutes
Saturday, Nov. 5 — 12 miles/120-125 minutes
Sunday, Nov. 6 — 4 miles/40-45 minutes
Tuesday, Nov. 8 — 4 miles/40-45 minutes
Wednesday, Nov. 9 — 5 miles/50-55 minutes
16-week plan:
Thursday, Nov. 3 — 4-5 miles/40-55 minutes
Saturday, Nov. 5 — 9 miles/90-95 minutes
Sunday, Nov. 6 — 2-3 miles/20-35 minutes
Tuesday, Nov. 8 — 6 miles/60-65 minutes
Wednesday, Nov. 9 — off
10-mile training plan:
Thursday, Nov. 3 — 4-5 miles/40-55 minutes
Saturday, Nov. 5 — 9 miles/90-95 minutes
Sunday, Nov. 6 — 4 miles/40-45 minutes
Tuesday, Nov. 8 — 6 miles/60-65 minutes
Wednesday, Nov. 9 — off
Until my Dad passed away at the age of 93, he would always say to me (when I would raise many of your concerns Terrell) “Once a parent, always a parent.” Yes, we will always want to protect our children from harm but “Life” has a way of teaching them the hard lessons whether we are there or not. My Dad seldom let me pay for his meals, as he always felt “love & duty bound” to feed his children even after we became adults. He said, “It was his job”. I feel the same...right or wrong. Yes, I do the best I can with my “head” but my “heart” usually gets the last word when it comes to our children and grandchildren!
My two cents: if your kid asks for help, help your kid. They rarely want you to intervene, they mostly want comfort, so if they do ask for your intervention take it seriously. If you don’t help with small things they won’t come to you with big things; they will assume your answer will be no.
our parents’ generation prided themselves on neglecting us. Look at how bullying was portrayed in 1980s movies! Kids got WALLOPED at school then whipped at home for getting beat up at school! No one ever intervened! That generation judged their parenthood by openly discussing the times they refused to help us. This is why you are wrestling with your instinct not to intervene. I teach courses begging parents to un-learn that instinct before their kids come to me needing help (I advocate for middle school and high school survivors of IPV and SA).