Choose What’s Hard
I’m trying my best, but I’m not a fan of the fall. Pumpkin farms and apple picking, okay, sure, they’re fine. But I spend the entire season grieving the loss of summer and bracing for the awfulness of winter.
Because winter is dreary. And you have to wear exactly 5,000 layers to stay warm. And the sun feels like it walked out for cigarettes, and it’s never coming back. And my kids last no more than two minutes outside before they want to come back in. And I don’t blame them because I don’t want to be out there either. So maybe autumn is just like the Sunday Blues of the seasons because I can feel the real dread of winter is coming.
Get Up
Now that these late October mornings are cold and dark, I have to muster up some next-level willpower to put my feet on the floor at 5 AM and start making moves toward the gym, and I say that as a person who LOVES the gym.
Before I got married, I used to do back-to-back classes because I love working out with people. I love the way it makes me feel.
But getting to those classes on cold mornings when I could literally keep sleeping for TWO MORE HOURS(!!!!!) before the kids wake up…is hard. But I’ve noticed that my almost-40-year-old body needs to go to the gym in a way my 20-year-old body did not. It turns out, my feet, my back, and my hips don’t creak and ache when I’m working out with some semblance of regularity. And I’m generally happier too, so for the sake of my friends, family, and any human that ever interacts with me, I need to go to the gym.
I’m not sure what they call moms who had geriatric pregnancies, but whatever it is, that’s me. I’ve never experienced what it’s like to be young and fresh in my twenties with babies on both hips, laughing my way through playtime and nap time and snack time with a little extra pep in my step. Okay, maybe even young moms never experience all of that. Being a mom is hard at any age.
I’m just saying that when I stand up after playing Magnatiles and monster trucks on the floor, my ankle pops, my knee creaks, and a little groan slips from my lips before I can stop myself. My brand of motherhood only knows the tired ways of a mid-to-late-thirties’ body.
Do What’s Hard
Working out during the winter months reminds me that sometimes you just have to do what’s hard. There’s no hack. There’s no work-around. There’s no shortcut. You just have to do the thing.
And honestly, most times both options feel hard. You have to choose which hard thing leads to the life you want. Waking up at 5 AM to go to the gym is hard but so is living with low-level, chronic pain.
Having an uncomfortable conversation is hard. But so is sweeping things under the rug and living with the discomfort of a strained relationship.
Devouring an entire bowl of ice cream which will give me crippling stomach pain is hard. But so is avoiding God’s greatest dessert known to mankind for the rest of my life.
When it comes down to it, the best things in life require hard work. And I have to choose which hard things will bring about the kind of life I want to live and the kind of life I want my kids to experience.
Left to my own devices, I would probably skip the gym, eat the ice cream, and avoid any and all uncomfortable conversations.
But if it’s going to be hard either way, I want to choose what helps me live a life that’s meaningful and life-giving, one that will make my kids better humans, and one that will make my marriage and family thrive.
So I will bundle up and put on thousands of layers and go to the gym because I want to live that kind of life. And I can do hard things. Maybe you can join me, and we can all do hard things together.
