Strength

There are all different kinds of strength.

For many, strength might be taking one step before sitting down. Strength might be walking a mile before resting. Strength might be lifting 300 pounds off the ground.

Telling the truth when you know it will hurt. Giving more of yourself when you're exhausted or sick or stretched thin. Creating something that others might tear down. Trying something you'll probably fail at.


What makes a person strong? Why does it matter?

I was inspired to write this post after watching this video. Once an expert diver, Cliff Devries now experiences partial paralysis because of a brain tumor. But he still finds the strength within himself to get the most he can out of life.



I have been struggling to feel motivated lately, and not just with going to the gym. Everything has been in a slump, and I don't know how to solve the problem. I feel like I'm constantly playing catch-up, but I can't motivate myself enough to get my literal and figurative house in order.

I sometimes feel like I've moved backward instead of forwards. I feel like I need more help than I have.

But the cool thing about this video is that this diver taps into deep mental and physical strength to enjoy just a few seconds of happiness. And people all around him help him to make sure he can experience that joy. Someone climbs up the board with him. Swimmers get in the water to guide him back.

I want to thank the people who've been on my team the past few weeks. The friends who jump-started my car (which seems to be eternally dying), the people who cheered me on during those last few seconds of a plank hold (thanks a lot, Jeff), the people who believed in me more than I believed in myself. All your kind words, patience, willingness to work with my weaknesses, and your ability to see through the exterior to comfort the person underneath mean that I can actually succeed at things that are beyond my own strength.

Strength comes from inside, but when it's not enough, strength comes from your team, and when you're weak and can't pick up the slack, even when you're determined to excel, you'll fail without them.

All that support is what brings those few seconds of triumph -- when you are suddenly able to carry the load on your own and experience the joy. All your work suddenly means something, but it means something because of the people who walked the board right alongside you.

To quote Cliff,

“When you see my dive, what else can you do? What can you find in yourself - what can you find in others? When you look in the mirror, what else is there? What else do you have? What more can you bring out? Which is a little bit beyond what you think right now.”

Anything I Can Do, I Can Do Better

So, cultured people know that old musicals are the height of true entertainment.

Today I was thinking about how far I've come in the last few months, and a scene from Annie Get Your Gun came to mind. The scene opens with Annie arguing with Frank about who is better with a gun, and they're both comparing their awards. They launch into song (of course), continually upping the competition. Here's a great rendition by Laura Osnes and Santino Fontana.

Humor aside, the reason I thought of this video was that lately (like almost every day), I'm able to do something I couldn't do before or I'm able to do something much better than I did before.

When starting Sisu:

• I could not do a single push up. Now I could maybe do five before having to go down to my knees.
• I had to use a blue and black band doubled up to do a pull-up. Now I can use the purple band to do one or two, before moving to the green. 
• I could only front squat with the light (35-pound bar). I haven't attempted a PR, but I have done 85 pounds on a few different occasions. 
• I could not do a box jump. I can now do a box jump. 

This is not an exhaustive list.

So, today when I was doing the floor press, I was struggling to complete my set, so I sang to myself "Anything I can do, I can do better. I can do anything better than me."

And then I ignore Frank who says, "No you can't," and I say louder, "Yes, I can."

And it's true for everyone who goes. Whenever I hear someone wonder out loud if they could lift a certain weight, or try another rep, or do an entire set heavier than before, I always think they can, and I tell them so.

Whenever these break-through moments happen for me, I just feel amazed. I'm surprised by myself, and I hope that feeling never goes away. I constantly want to believe that anything I can do, I can do better and then succeed.

Don't listen to Frank.

Integrity

I had an interesting experience during my workout today. I don't know whose idea it was to plan 5-minute planks as part of the conditioning routine, but when I came in and looked at the board, I knew that I would struggle to complete that part when the time came.

And I was right.

Within thirty seconds of holding the plank, I wanted to quit. I started to find things to take my mind off how much I hate planking, and then I thought I'd try and shave off some effort by maybe relaxing my form, resting a bit.

I needed that rest during those five minutes, but as I was trying to find the resolve to finish the round, the words of Job popped into my mind, "Til I die I will not remove mine integrity from me... I hold fast, and will not let it go."

I latched onto that statement and used it to get me through the last ninety seconds.

For those who don't know, Job is a guy from the Bible who got a pretty raw deal. He loses everything: his family, his friends, his health, his wealth. We're talking boils, death, famine, theft, poverty... you can name what this guy had to lose, and he lost it. After he's lost it all, people try to tell him to leave his convictions behind. "You deserve to get angry," they say, "What have you got to lose?" He refuses and stays true to what he believes.

That's integrity. It's being honest and real with yourself, sticking to your code even when it sucks, and never backing down, even when the fire is burning and the flood is rising.

I was tempted later in the workout to cut my run short (no one would know, I was sore, I was tired, I felt like I deserved to rest, I wanted to be done) but instantly, I remembered again those words, "Till I die, I will not remove mine integrity from me." No one would know -- except me. I'd know. I'd know I didn't live up to my potential, but I'd also know I didn't stick with my expectations for myself. A small thing, but as I mentioned last time, small things become big things.



Integrity. That means that when I say something is important to me, I act like it is important to me. All the time. Every time.

Obviously, I'm not perfect at always following through on the things that matter to me. But I can practice following through on a daily basis to the point that not following through would seem like a foreign concept to me. The idea of giving up or quitting or not bringing my best effort won't sneak in like it did today.

"I hold fast, and will not let it go."

Small Stuff

One of my personal weaknesses is complacency. I enjoy coasting too much, I often procrastinate, and I often choose not to care about things that should be important.

This weakness can sometimes be a strength. For example, I can be completely chill about my house being a mess because I actively choose not to be bothered. I relax and embrace the inner lazy, which can save me from my own anxieties.

But sometimes I can take the "don't sweat the small stuff" attitude too far. Sometimes, it's important to care. And sometimes it's even important to force yourself to care when you don't want to.
There comes a point when you have to choose between making yourself better or just keeping on keeping on.

Ten wasted minutes is a small thing. If I said to you, "I wasted ten minutes today," you'd shrug and say, "So what?"

If I waste ten minutes every day, that's sixty wasted hours in a year. Sixty hours. Enough time to make a quilt. Read three or four books. Volunteer for a weekend. Workout every day for two months. Bake 30 loaves of bread.

Suddenly, the small stuff turns into big stuff. How much small stuff am I going to shrug off before I realize that caring enough about it will actually make a big difference in my life?

How much do you lose when you do nine burpees instead of ten? One burpee is barely anything. You might not notice a difference by stopping at nine thinking, "Well, that was good enough."

Over time, the gap widens between those who do nine and those who do ten. One person remains good enough, and the other becomes excellent.

Life is rarely determined by one major choice. Instead, it's defined by the small choices you make for yourself every day. Start to see those choices in the scope of what they build. See the forest instead of just seeing the singular trees. Books are made of small words. Paintings are made with single brushstrokes. Castles are built with small bricks.

Eat the elephant. Care about the small stuff, because big stuff is made out of small stuff.

Skipping Out

I wake up to the sound of shuffling footsteps on the carpet at the foot of my bed. I look over at the clock. 5:23 AM. There's an internal sigh, a feeling of annoyance, and a feeling of dread, because the kids are up an hour earlier than normal, which means the day will be an hour longer.

I wish-- just for a minute-- I wish I could skip. Push fast forward. Erase the hours I have to live until I can go to sleep again.

I don't hate my life. I actually like it a lot. But sometimes, I don't like that I'm the one in charge of that life. I don't like being the person that always has to wash the dishes or drive the cars or supervise the piano playing or clean the toilet or wipe the nose or find the socks in the mountains of laundry I haven't folded yet.

I'm tired just thinking about everything that's my job to get done before the day starts, and it would be easier for everybody if we just didn't live that day at all. If we skipped it, the same mess would be there tomorrow, without any new mess thrown in.

When do you feel tempted to skip out?

Is it when you wake up sore because yesterday's workout was really tough? Your mind tells you that working hard today will be painful, and maybe you deserve to skip this one time.

Is it when you come home after a day at work, and instead of making the same boring healthy food, you want to just skip that mental burden and eat potatoes and ice-cream? (Potatoes are the best food in the world, by the way. Fight me.)

Is it when you're tired of getting to church on time, getting to school on time, getting to work on time, getting everybody there on time?

The desire to skip out is real. But whenever you skip out on something that's important to you, you end up losing something too. Sometimes, that opportunity cost is worth it. A day of rest is important for sanity and rejuvenation.

But most of the time, like in the morning when I want to skip the day, I have to make myself grow up again. I can't afford to skip. People are counting on me. So, I make the breakfast and I find the socks. I'd feel like the worst version of myself if I didn't show up for the people I care about.

The person who counts on you the most though is not your kids or your spouse or your friends. It's yourself. You count on you.

Because if you don't show up for your goals, you start losing hold of them. If you force yourself to grow up and show up for someone you love, take that resolve and grit, and use it for yourself too. Don't skip out, or the things you want and hope for will skip right on past you.