One step, and then another

As an athlete in junior high and high school, running was my jam. I didn’t like basketball or volleyball, but I found a place for myself in track, and I learned pretty early on that I didn’t like sprints because they required too much action out of the blocks. My legs neither liked the positioning of being in the blocks nor the strain required to burst out of them.? I found more…pleasure? In the mid-distance runs, the 400 and the 800, but pleasure isn’t exactly the right word to describe what I felt during those runs, either.? Some weird combination of sprint and distance, these races were doable, but not exactly enjoyable.

It wasn’t until high school and an opportunity to try cross country that I found my pace—the long slog.? The 5k meant starting out upright at an easy enough pace to not crash into others and to figure out how I might pull ahead.? The time spent assessing what was going on and who was around me—who might motivate me to pass and who might challenge me—was a good chance to get my legs in the game and get a feel for the terrain.? Assessing the landscape was just as important as staying hydrated, having good shoes and putting in practice runs because this assessment time meant figuring out how and where to run to my strengths.? Going too hard in one stretch without anticipating what might be needed later on could be a killer.? And although I was always a slow plodder, I found that one of my strengths was hills.

I loved hills because of the challenge and because of the way I could feel my hams and quads and glutes all work together to pull me forward. Hills were where I got my runner’s high. Not just because they felt "easy" to me, but also because I could also see others falter, and I knew a hill might be a chance to pull ahead. The mental game is always important, and one has to take their wins where they can.

Last week I was talking with a couple of friends about running, and it occurred to me that as an adult, my outlook on work has always mirrored the feelings I developed as a kid about running.? As someone who will celebrate 14 years in higher education this year, I recognized that I like the pace and cadence and undulation of the school year because it is both sprint and slog, with plenty of hills to keep things interesting.? When I was teaching, at a community college, a four-year liberal arts university, or an online institution, I found that a semester felt like a 5k at the start, but in hindsight was really more of a sprint, and somehow the trickery of time did make this combo mostly enjoyable. And no matter where I’ve been—the type of school or the unique classroom— I’ve found that assessing the landscape was just as important as any of the training or prep I had done before jumping into class.? Today, as someone doing administrative work, a role I’ve been in for just under three years, I've found the mindset of the long haul is one that sustains me. Helping a student 1-1 is a sprint or maybe a 400, but the long-range work of building a program, then adding another, and finding folks to support it, collaborate with and contribute to its strength and success requires the kind of thinking all my long runs so many years (decades?!) ago helped me develop. When I'm at my best (and I'm not always there), I can honor my way of being and know that it's one step, and then another, and then another, slowly over time, that helps me get things done. As a new year and new semester starts and the stretch of 360-some days spreads out before me, I look forward to finding the right pace to see it through.

?What has helped you cultivate your mindset for the road ahead of ?you?