Heavy lifts … that’s where the magic happens.

The extra mile…that’s where the magic happens.

Consistency…that’s where the magic happens.

Growth…that’s where the magic happens.

Or, having a friend who will drop everything to help you out. Who makes sure your car smells like Christmas and you are properly caffeinated at all times. Who has notes about everyone’s bloodwork and compares Pub Med research to the doctor’s recommendations. Who pays for copays for friends so he can be sure they go to the doctor when they are sick and who buys groceries and meal preps for people who are going through rough times. Who embodies positivity even when you don’t. Who pushes you to lift heavier, run faster, be better. Who thinks everyone he is friends with and cares about is perfect and there is no arguing with him. (Newsflash: his friends might not be perfect…) Who signs you up for random races and encourages you when you doubt you can finish them.

Who encourages his pregnant friend to run a double marathon…on her due date. Who shows up to a basketball game past his bedtime to see a friend perform pre-game. Who makes every birthday, ‘birthday month’, anniversary, and heck, even ‘date-a-versaries’ special. Who thinks making those celebrations special equals writing unique kinds of torture for all of us to do at 4:45 am, and sometimes giving the gift of heavier dumbbells or gloves or energy drinks or a book someone mentioned wanting to read or a supplement he thinks would be good for the person. Who never quits, even when things are painful or hard. Who truly feels others’ pain and does whatever he can to take that away.

Maybe the magic happens when we truly look at those people in our life who are there for us no matter what and spread themselves thin to make sure every person they care about feels cared for, and we take a moment to let them know that we see them. We see everything they do for everyone, with little to no thought to what it might cost them. We see the good they do even when they think they are keeping it secret.

So, while being consistent, growing, heavy lifts, early morning workouts, and the extra mile do produce some sort of “magic”, I would argue that the best magic of all is calling someone like Isaac your friend. We should all have a friend like him in our lives, and I count myself very lucky to be considered one.

Happiest of birthdays, friend.

The post That’s Where ‘The Magic’ Happens first appeared on Sore Not Sorry.

Kinda like childbirth.

Signing Up

Signing up for the race is like looking at those two lines on the pregnancy test. It is hard to decide whether to feel thrilled or terrified, so why not both? ‘What am I getting myself into?‘ you may think. Then you woman up and purchase the ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ pregnancy bible and obsess over every little detail of your little peanut. Or…you just kinda forget about the whole thing for a few weeks and go on with your life as usual, minus things like sushi and alcohol.

Preparation

As the weeks wear on, the flutters of new life surface. Sometimes the training is a kick in the ribs. Sometimes it feels awesome. Other times you are huddled over the porcelain god and praying for the whole experience to be over. ‘This will all be worth it’, you whisper to yourself through sweat and tears and misery.

That final month of pregnancy is the literal worst. Anticipation muddles with anxiety. The due date approaches both with lightning speed and as slow as a snail. Hospital bags are packed, re-packed, and triple checked for necessities. Plans are made with the hopes they will go smoothly.

Race Day Beginning

Then…then you show up to the hospital (or the start line). Plans mostly go out the window. With an “AROO! AROO! AROO!”, a starting gun, a horn, or whistle, everything begins. The first mile or two everything is enjoyable. Look at the purple flowers (don’t they remind you of ‘Winnie the Pooh’?)…see the cute baby goats. By the halfway point, you still feel great. The time is passing fairly quickly and it feels like all the training actually did pay off. Lamaze classes? Check . Breathing just fine.

The Wall. Where is my epidural?

Somewhere after the halfway point, the pain intensifies. You know it has to be almost over but it isn’t over yet. Turning back isn’t an option…so, just keep pushing. The pain mixed with the sweat and the fear and the self doubt has a feedback loop in the back of mind repeating, ‘so why did you think this was a good idea?’ and ‘you sure you got this?‘ among other questionable things. Yet, you are all in. Fully dilated and in the home stretch. The doctor is telling you to push. Screaming obscenities is a real option. One more push just doesn’t seem feasible. Heart rate through the roof. Breathing shallow. Probably malnourished and dehydrated, but no desire to eat or drink. If you took any medications…they have long worn off by now.

But…

You do it. Give that final push. Hear the cry of new life. Something is born both days. A new life–or a new you. Once everything is all over and the dust has settled, there is a sweet relief. A sense of accomplishment. ‘I did that. I DID that.’ Either way, a new person emerges from the suffering. A new person entirely different than the one who began the journey. A better person, a wiser person, a more determined person.

The Aftermath

Just like looking at a new baby erases all memories of the suffering that brought them into the world, time erases all harsh memories of the suffering endured during a race. During the suffering, everyone just wants the event to be over. Doesn’t matter how much anyone trained, it is hard to stay uncomfortable. Mentally and physically. Give it a day or so. Let the soreness subside. On the other side of that, a crazy thing happens.

Magic, sure. There is probably a scientific explanation for what happens to our brains on the other side of discomfort. But while the initial pain and soreness fades, the memories of the euphoric and accomplished feelings at the finish line remain. Those muddy fingers are washed clean, that medal hangs in a proud display, the t-shirt is worn to show the world what you did. That sweet, cuddly baby is paraded around to family and friends, and everyone is in awe of the new life created.

You may have shouted obscenities at your spouse in the heat of the moment during labor. Maybe you questioned your decision making abilities. Did you really mean to get into this? Then labor is finished. The line is crossed.

And the next journey begins.

The post On to the next first appeared on Sore Not Sorry.

Check Ins

In Camp Gladiator we celebrate check ins. Getting up, getting out of bed, getting dressed, remembering hygiene (deodorant is important), and making it to the workout daily makes us feel accomplished. We celebrate check in #1, #50, #100, the same way we celebrate check in #1000+. We celebrate the same way because showing up your first day is just as difficult as showing up on day 1000 (sometimes even more so). Getting started is a struggle. Staying disciplined is a struggle. It is a struggle I choose to engage in, because the alternative (being sedentary, overweight, and unhappy) is also a struggle.

Today is a celebration

Today, I hit 600 check ins. That is 600 hours or 36,000 minutes of choosing to show up for myself.

In the past 36,000 minutes, I’ve made a lot of changes. I’ve met my very best friends, tested my limits, and seen marked improvement in my physical performance. (Well, I would hope so. If I hadn’t seen improvement after 600 hours of effort and sweat, I would huddle in the fetal position crying. ). I may never be the fastest runner. Considering how I feel about running, this is completely okay with me. However, I can keep up reasonably well and most of the time, I can still talk during the workout. Much to the trainers’ chagrin.

How do you celebrate progress?

I enjoy external accountability, so a check in is a highly motivating way to keep track of when I should celebrate. You may not need that type of accountability. Maybe you want to hit a certain weightlifting goal, or mile time, or another metric. Perhaps your progress is how many days you have kept from hitting ‘snooze’.

Whatever your goal, how do you celebrate getting closer to it?

My personal preference for the moment is a celebratory coffee with my friends. (Don’t worry, I’m working my way through The Macro Barista‘s recipes to stay within my macros.)

So…cheers, y’all! Cheers to another day of choosing what is best for us! Cheers to another day of showing up and doing the work to become better. Cheers to one more day we get to wake up before dawn, be eaten alive by mosquitos, breathe the hot, muggy, humid air, and basically run a 5K with weight stations mixed in. I’m ready to wake up and celebrate. How about you?

The post 36,000 Minutes first appeared on Sore Not Sorry.