By five o’clock, I have a list of reasons. It’s hot, I’m tired from work, dinner isn’t started, and after a day away from the kids, sitting down with them sounds a whole lot better than lacing up. Every one of those reasons is true, and that’s exactly what makes them so hard to argue with.
Yesterday I had thirty minutes. Not a good window, not a planned one, just thirty minutes that happened to be open. I got dressed before I could run through the list.
Two and a half miles. That’s all it was, and nobody’s going to be impressed by it. But I came back different than I left, the way I always do, and I’m always glad I got it done.
Over the weekend, Sergio and I were both in a slump. Neither of us had it in us, so instead of waiting around to feel like it, we took the whole crew out to the garage gym, baby included. The kids were excited about the workout. They did box jumps and burpees, or at least something close to it. I got on the resistance bands and they tried to join in, which lasted about four minutes before they discovered the bands made better slingshots.
We got the workout done anyway.
That’s what I keep coming back to lately, and I want you to hear it too. It doesn’t have to be long. Some seasons hand you thirty minutes instead of two hours, and thirty minutes is enough. A short run counts. A garage full of noise and slingshots counts. What matters is that you showed up when it would have been easier not to, because the miles you get in on the days you didn’t feel like it are the ones that add up.
This is the long run.
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