I like running, and over the years I’ve ran a lot—on, and then off, and then really off. Over the past few years, I haven’t ran much at all.
Today I went for a run—and it was truly pathetic.
I should clarify: that’s a compliment! One of my favorite things to do is take labels often used to chastise (usually myself) and turn them into something positive. A badge that I’d proudly wear: Proudly Pathetic.
In running and in almost everything else, I used to think that I needed to start on day zero with a massive plan. Grand ambitions. Something that people would notice. I wanted to get all of the satisfaction and glory as soon as possible, even if it was painful.
The problem is that most of those things never worked out, because I’d hate how it actually felt. I’d run until I was hurt and exhausted and never want to do it again. I’d sit down to plan out a massive project and immediately feel the weight of it, so I’d abandon it.
Over the years, I’ve found so much more fulfillment, enthusiasm and joy from trying to make things as small as possible when starting out. So small that I feel sort of embarrassed to even do it.
You’re running a block, not a marathon.
You’re reading a page, not a book.
Jumping rope for 30 seconds.
Drawing a single letter.
You could go smaller than all of those (and I do, all the time), and it’s still forward progress. One block is more than none. The next page is eventually the last page. Many single letters make the alphabet.
My run today had a single goal: for the whole run to be an actual run, which meant (for me, right now) the pace had to be absolutely pathetic—and I felt great about it. I didn’t hunch over with a stitch, my breath wasn’t ragged, and I didn’t constantly think about when it would (please) end.
Instead, I just ran. A Proudly Pathetic run.
It turns out that pacing yourself and listening to your body (including your brain) is the simple secret to sustaining something that you care about, and that you want to actually enjoy.
It’s one of those truths that we all know about already, but that we willfully and regularly ignore. It doesn’t mean that we don’t push ourselves, and it doesn’t mean that we don’t show up on race day—it just means that running ourselves ragged isn’t the default.
I’m still learning this lesson, and there are so many things that I want to do with my life that I still find myself wishing that I could skip ahead, but the only things that I keep doing are the ones where I start small.
Join my club. The Proudly Pathetic club.