Encouraging Each Other to Do Difficult Things

The other morning while I was running with our dog Quinn, we met a man ambling along with a huge roly-poly overweight dog. There they were on the track just ahead of us. Instantly, I came to a halt and grabbed Quinn’s collar. The man took hold of his dog and tried to stop too. But he couldn’t. His dog was determined to greet Quinn nose to nose. It edged closer and closer to us despite the man’s efforts to pull it back.

“He’s friendly,” reassured the man. But Quinn isn’t, I thought. Our shar-pei / Great Dane is wary of anyone outside her family circle. She doesn’t like people touching her or dogs putting their noses in her face. So I had to do something before the gap between us disappeared. I thrust myself between the overeager dog and Quinn and then we ran. Fast!

Later, I told Gemma-Rose about our doggy encounter and how inconvenient it is that other people and their dogs are using OUR bush tracks at OUR time of day.

“Maybe it’ll only be a short term inconvenience,” I said. Over the past eight years, while we’ve been running through the bush early each morning, we’ve seen a lot of people come and go. Usually, everyone is enthusiastic about exercising for a few days and then they give up and we never see them again.

So perhaps the man will soon get fed up of being dragged along the bush tracks by his enthusiastic dog. This would be good for us. However, it might be sad for the dog. And his owner.  They look like they could do with some exercise. They might even enjoy it.

I remember when I started running. It was hard work. I wanted to give up too. But I didn’t. Actually, I couldn’t. I could tell you more, but perhaps it would be easier to share a story that I wrote on the day that I returned from my very first run.

It is late afternoon on Christmas Day. I am feeling drowsy. I think about closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep. But Andy comes in and asks, “Do you want to go for a walk?”

A walk or a nap? I sigh. I should go for a walk.

“Okay,” I answer, pulling myself out of the chair.

I grab some shorts and a t-shirt and my running shoes.

“I was thinking of a stroll, not a hard walk,” says Andy. “No need to change clothes.”

“We might as well make it a good walk,” I answer. Andy shrugs his shoulders and goes looking for his own exercise gear.

We head down the road to the playing fields and then turn onto a track through the bush.

“Shall we run along the downhill and flat stretches and walk the rest?” I suggest.

“Run? You want to run?” Andy raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, run.”

I suddenly have an urge to run, run like the wind, my hair streaming out behind me. I want to put my body into top gear and feel it come alive. But can I still run?

I used to be a runner. Many years ago, Andy and I ran kilometre after kilometre every evening after work. I remember rhythmically pounding along the footpaths, my feet flying, my arms pumping, thinking I could run forever. It was a wonderful, exhilarating feeling.

I want to recapture that feeling. I long to fly along that endless bush track between the gum trees and never stop.

And so I run.

Along the flat track, I jog and then down the steep slope. I pick up my feet to avoid the loose stones as I leap from boulder to boulder. Soon I am gasping for breath and my mouth is dry so I slow to a walk. I am sensible. I could run forever but the further we go, the longer it will take to climb back up the hill. And we are expected home in time for tea.

So we stop and turn around and head back up the track, the sun in our faces. Soon I am hot and sweaty. The run down was easy compared with the hard climb back up.

A while later, I drag my tired legs through the back door and then head towards the shower. A couple of minutes later, I’m standing under a pounding stream of reviving hot water. I’m feeling better. Actually, I feel wonderful because there’s a delicious thought running around my head: I can run! My whole body moved through the air at a faster than normal pace and I am still in one piece. It wasn’t a very fast run. I didn’t run for very long. But I ran.

I wonder: could I become a runner again? Should I join Andy, Imogen and Charlotte when they go for their daily runs around the playing fields?

The next morning, I hear Imogen outside our bedroom door. “Dad! It’s six o’clock. Time for a run!”

I roll out of bed. Andy opens his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Running… with you.”

Usually, I decline all of Andy’s running invitations. I ignore him as he gets out of bed. He disappears out the door, while I snuggle back down under the quilt. But not today.

Five minutes later, Andy and I head out the back door with Imogen and Charlotte. The air is cool and moist and refreshing. We walk to the playing fields at the end of our road. No one is awake except the kookaburras and a wallaby that hops off into the bush at our approach. When we get to the park, we drop our water bottles and sweatshirts onto the grass at the edge of the field. Andy does a few stretches. Everyone is ready to run.

“You can just jog at first, Mum. You can slowly work up to a proper run,” encourages Charlotte.

“I intend to walk at first and slowly work up to a jog,” I shout back as my middle daughter sails past me.

I stride to the end of the first side of the field. I am warmed up. This is it. It’s time to become a runner. I intend to run at least as far as the next corner. I step up the pace. I lift my heavy feet off the spongy grass and I try to breathe rhythmically. I glance ahead. The corner looks a long way off. I start to gulp for air and I can feel my heart beating fast. I think: Is this good for me? What if I collapse? Will the others carry me home? The kookaburras are laughing. Are they laughing at me? I reach the corner and slow down to a walk.

I walk, then run, then walk some more. I get lapped by the girls. I run again. My legs hurt. There’s a pain in my chest. I forget about the beautiful fresh morning, the kookaburras laughing, and the bush all around us. All I can hear is my heart beating. All I can feel is my sore legs. I can see nothing except the next corner of the field.

Half an hour later, I am plodding home. Andy and the girls are a long way ahead of me. They are eager for hot showers and breakfast. Eventually, I reach our house. I pull off my damp grass-covered shoes and crawl through the back door. “Tea! I need a cup of tea,” I gasp pitifully to Andy. I head for the bedroom where I collapse, blood pounding painfully in my ears.

While I’m lying on the bed waiting to die, I remember something: becoming a runner involves a lot of work. That I-can-run-forever feeling doesn’t just happen. It takes time and a lot of pain. I decide that running is a silly idea. I’ve been there and done that. I don’t need to do it again. I’m too old. Instead of going back in time, I am going to slide gracefully forward into an inactive old age.

Eventually, I realise I’m in no immediate danger of dying so I roll off the bed and head to the kitchen. Sophie and Gemma-Rose are eating breakfast. They have heard all about my morning’s adventures.

“You went running? Wow!” Their eyes open wide. They are very impressed.

Suddenly I feel good. I am no longer an ordinary mum. Instead, I’m an adventurous mum. I’m a mother who’s brave enough to run. I can do difficult things.

“Can we come running with you tomorrow?” the younger girls ask.

“If you’re up early,” I answer. They smile.

Tomorrow morning there will be six of us heading down to the playing fields. We will go running together. I know I will have to work hard. My legs are going to hurt. I will be breathless. Perhaps I’ll get a pain in my chest. The blood might pound again in my ears. Can I do it? Of course, I can. I have to. In my children’s eyes, I am amazing. Because of them, and their words of encouragement, I am going to become a runner.

And that is is the story of how I become a runner for the second time.

So I ran. My girls were impressed. (It didn’t matter to them that I didn’t run far and later, collapsed on the bed.) They wanted to follow my example and run too.

For years, we all ran together. (Gemma-Rose and I still run and sometimes the other girls do too.) We enjoyed doing something challenging with one another. We encouraged each other to run further and faster. And then one day, Sophie and Gemma-Rose decided to run in a race. And then in a second one. And a third…

If my younger girls hadn’t encouraged me to keep running, and I’d given up, would they have become runners? Would they have discovered the thrill of flying along with the wind in their hair? Would they have experienced the satisfaction and joy that come from working hard at doing something that’s challenging?

This is what I learnt from my running adventure:

• Encouragement helps us to do difficult things.
• It helps our kids do difficult things too.
• Our kids watch everything we do. They follow our example.
• Working hard at something is satisfying. It also results in joy.
• Doing things, even difficult things, with our kids is fun. It strengthens our family’s bonds.

Photos

I took these photos last year after Gemma-Rose finished a 10 K race. It was a much warmer day than expected. One of Gemma-Rose’s feet went numb halfway through the race. But she kept running. She wouldn’t give up. We stood on the sidelines and encouraged her along. As you can see, Gemma-Rose was suffering a bit by the time she came over the finish line. But Imogen and Sophie were there to look after her. And she ran a good time. The pain was worth it.

Soon Gemma-Rose was feeling better.

“Do you think you’ll run in this race again next year?” I asked.

Without hesitating, my youngest daughter said, “Oh yes!”

More encouragement stories

Did you know that there’s a section about encouragement in my unschooling book, Curious Unschoolers? And there’s a story in my book Radical Unschool Love about how I ran in a race, hoping to impress, and ended up doing a spectacular splat!

So I’m wondering

Have you ever achieved something difficult because of your kids’ encouragement?

Or perhaps you have encouraged them?

Does your family like running? Or perhaps you enjoy doing something else challenging together?

And is there something you used to enjoy doing that you’d like to do again?

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