Morgan is someone I resonate with. She is a mom like me. She is a wife like me. We struggle, we play. I like her sense of words and space. I'm grateful to her for helping me out as we go to our family reunion today. Thanks again! ***edited to add SORRY I scheduled it for PM instead of AM Morgan. So So Sorry!!!
I am completely in awe at being given the opportunity to take up space on JBS’ blog today. She has become more or less one of my heroes, someone that I find myself referring to in conversation with non-bloggy people, someone who amazes me with nearly every post she writes. So in addition to being in awe, I am also completely somewhat nervous at the thought of needing to live up to some shade of her standard so that you, her loyal friends and readers, won’t want to come after me with pitchforks and torches ala Young Frankenstein (a riot is an ugly thing.)
Lately I have been thinking a lot about pushing, and all the kinds of difficult things that we have to push our way through every day. Working out, making ends meet, doing those things that we don’t necessarily want to do but which keep our houses and families functioning. Sometimes those things are easy, convenient, and almost like second-nature. For some of us, it is always like that, and I hate those people love those fortunate souls and strive to be more like them. But for me? Well, it isn’t all coconut cake and sunshine.
Five days a week I drag myself to the gym. Three of those days I push myself through 25-30 minutes of running as I work my way through C25K. Nearly every minute of that time is a challenge for me. I spend most of the time I am running convincing myself not to push that big red button on the treadmill and walk (or hobble) away. I push and push until those last seconds close, and then? I breathe heavy and try to staunch the river of sweat pouring from my face. And that’s it. There is no fanfare, no soaring feeling of accomplishment. Just me and my beet red face gulping down water and wiping down my sodden machine under the watchful eyes of the other gym-goers.
Hubby and I are pushing through his job right now – long long hours, ever-changing schedule, never knowing when he will actually be getting off or if he will be able to make it to any family events. I push myself through living with my mother-in-law, not having my own space for me or my children, not being able to raise those four kids the way that I want. And after a day of forcing myself though these things, what do I find on the other side? Another day of the same pushing.
Sometimes pushing through the pain, through the resistance, through the crap, and breaking through that wall that circumstances have placed in front of you (or you have placed in front of yourself) feels good. Or freaking fantastic. And it is followed by a sense of accomplishment and empowerment. But more often than not? Pushing just sucks. It is hard, it is sweaty, and it hurts. And when you break through that wall? You are left panting, exhausted, and sore. And yet, we keep pushing. Because the other option? Death. Homelessness. Spending a lifetime in a body that has become too heavy, too unhealthy, too uncomfortable to get through this life. And the pain of one of those options is infinitely worse than the blood, sweat, and tears of the pushing.
Awesome guest post! Just what I needed to hear today. :)
ReplyDeleteThis was great..thanks!
ReplyDeletePushing is such a mental mind game. And sometimes I push too much, then find myself having to push to slow down. Does that makes sense? It's like pushing in reverse.
ReplyDeletePushing does often suck, why can't we sometimes coast gently?
ReplyDeleteBut when we stop pushing, even in the suckiest of times, we've given up - and who wants that!