Hard work

I recently read an article that quoted one Eliot Butler, thus:

To learn is hard work.  It requires discipline.  And there is much drudgery.  When I hear someone say that learning is fun, I wonder if that person has never learned or if he has just never had fun.  There are moments of excitement in learning: these seem to come after long periods of hard work, but not after all long periods of hard work. (Quoted in "That's How the Light Gets In", BYU Magazine.  Fall 2013, pg 28.)

Though this is a wonderful quote by itself, part of me wishes he had substituted "running" for each time he uses the word "learning". So it would read instead:

To run is hard work.  It requires discipline.  And there is much drudgery.  When I hear someone say that running is fun, I wonder if that person has never run or if he has just never had fun.  There are moments of excitement in running:  these seem to come after long periods of hard work, but not after all long periods of hard work.  

Interesting to me how the two words are interchangeable.  Does that mean that running is learning?  Or just that everything worthwhile, including running and learning, requires hard work before the reward?  I assert the answer to both questions is yes: running is a continuous learning experience (learning about self, limits, racing, pacing, etc) that requires hours (days, months, years) of work before any reward.  

So don't expect every moment of every run to be fun.  Like life and learning, running is a lot of hard work.  But if you keep at it long enough, there will be moments of excitement and joy scattered along the way.  And those moments make all the hard work worth it.   

Happy running.  

Ninja mama

When I left for my run this morning it was five degrees.  I realize this flirts with the line between dedicated and crazy, but that's another issue.  I was so layered in spandex that once I extended my leg, it automatically snapped back like I was elastigirl.  Covered head to toe in black, with only an opening for my frosted eyelashes, my little boy commented, "Wow mom, you look like a ninja."

Coming from a kid whose new career aspiration is to be a power ranger in the Macy's thanksgiving parade, this was a pretty high compliment.  I like the thought that my kid doesn't bat an eyelash when considering that his mom gets up, dons her ninja outfit, and fights crime before returning home to fix breakfast.  Even if I am only fighting the triple nemeses of old age, flab, and personal toughness, everyone should have a ninja outfit they can put on once in a while.  If only to keep the kids guessing.