Doing Hard Things—Do Not Go Gentle into that Dark Night
I am hard core.
I say that with some sarcasm. But hey—I also believe in positive mantras. And I just ran in the dark, in the rain, at 34 degrees!
Historically, I am a fair weather exerciser. I have a very narrow range of temperature tolerance. I am the nurse who is wearing leggings under my scrubs and sporting a long sleeve and a sweater while the other nurses are complaining that it’s hot and I get a headache when I exercise in temps higher than about 75 degrees. Sixty-five to seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit. That’s my happy place. I see those people–running when it’s snowing, running when it’s 5am, running when it’s 102 degrees. What the &%$*?! I run when it is not too hot, not too cold, not too dark. Or I don’t run. I don’t mind running on a treadmill when conditions aren’t perfect, but I haven’t had access to one since before COVID.
I moved to California seven years ago because I despise the cold, the snow, the ice, the cold. I served my time in the four seasons. I lived in Utah for the first 42 years of my life. Sentence served.
Also, I don’t exercise after work. I work 12 hour shifts, often getting in 12,000-20,000 steps. I wake up at 5am, work from 7am-7:30pm, and get home about 8pm. That leaves just enough time to chill for a sec, wash a few dishes, shower, pick up my kid from gymnastics, and get to bed so that I can do it all again the next day.
I realized at the outset that in order to accomplish an Ironman, I would have to workout on work days. And in the dark. And in the cold. Sigh. Again, it took some time for me to make this mental shift and I have to plan ahead. I can’t work 12 hours and then come home and decide. It has to be in the back of my head all day. So on Sunday, I try my best to plan the week out.
“I can’t wait to go home and have a glass of wine,” Tory said. We were all sitting at the nurse’s station, finishing up last minute charting.
“I’m gonna go home and put my feet up, watch some tv,” Carol chimed in.
I kept quiet, set my jaw. I try not to overthink it or have conversations with myself about it. No bargaining, no questioning. Just decide and do. Are there days it doesn’t happen? Yes. Just last week, I had to scratch the plan to do kid pick up because my ex had something come up.
But last night, I came home and changed into running clothes. It was pitch dark, cold (in the 30’s-Southern California is currently in the longest cold streak in 25 years), windy, and threatening rain. I put on four layers and we ran four miles. Did I love it? Kinda, actually. Surprisingly. Why?
Because I felt hard core.
Were we fast? No. Were we cold? Yes. Did we get rained on? Yes. But we got it done. Amateur style, hard core.
And I guess that’s kind of the point of this whole thing. In this, my 50th year of life, I want to see if I can still do hard things, still push myself beyond what I thought my limits were, get out of my comfort zone, toughen up instead of soften up and remind myself what it feels like to really be alive. A splash of cold water, a breath of frigid air, the uptick of my beating heart. It’s all too easy to fall into a pillowy first world softened state that, step by imperceptible step, leads to all the ailments of old age. Before we started training, I wouldn’t have said I was succumbing to that. But I can see now that I was.
Do you have to do an Ironman to be hard core? Of course not, but it is good for the brain and the body to push out of your comfort zone, surprise yourself. Splash some cold water on your face in the morning, try a new activity, put yourself on that dating app, start meditating, learn a new game. Everyday, in some small way, be hard core.
“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
~Dylan Thomas