Do Hard Things

I recall many years ago sitting in the back seat of my parent’s car as we travelled to or from someplace, I’ve long forgotten. It was a winter day, but not a normal frosty winter day, this day was more frigid than frosty. It was one of those days when it hurt to inhale, when your fingertips would freeze, and pain would set in within seconds if unprotected. I had already lived through many days like these, days when the tips of your ears and skin on your face turned white and started to burn as frostbite set in. It was days like these that were meant for sitting inside with a warm chocolate drink to sip on while you watched the latest episode of your favorite TV show.

As we drove, we passed a man running on the side of the road. It did not appear that he was running from any danger or running with any indication of urgency. He wore winter attire, including a warm hat and partial face covering, but I could see clearly that the cold consumed him. His breath exited his lungs and shot out of his mouth like smoke as the cold grabbed every drop of moisture and bonded it into a wintery vapor. I could see ice had built up beneath his nose and across his moustache, and a light layer of snow was sprinkled across his shoulders and on top of his hat. In my mind I questioned why? With no emergency, no desperate act driven by survival instinct, no rational reason for him to be there in this moment. Even my much younger self understood people’s dedication to fitness, but could it not wait till tomorrow? Was he not so fortunate to own a treadmill or have a membership to a facility that does? Why intentionally inflict pain and take unnecessary risk for something that had no reward that would come even remotely close to justifying this behavior.

Over the years I continued to see people like this unknown man doing things that made no sense to me. Movies or documentaries about people that attempted to climb mountains, or travelled to the arctic or into a jungle, or pushed themselves beyond what was reasonable to perform a feat like lifting a heavy object or swimming across a large body of water. For those that are I’ll say “lucky” the result is just tearing down their bodies to a point of exhaustion. Eventually they recover. But for the “unlucky” or poorly prepared they very often pay with their lives. And for what? What is so glorious about standing on top of a mountain, or doing something a little faster, or further. Is it worth risking life and limb? For most people, the answer is an easy hell no!

Many years have past since that day in the back seat of my parent’s car. Over those years I have met many people and had many experiences, and I can now say that I’ve come to a point where I understand why it is that people “do hard things” and why we should all strive to do hard things. This all gained a lot of clarity through a local running group where I met a runner named Kelly Doner. Over many kilometers in the trails I would say that Kelly became a friend, and a very influential and inspiring person in my life. Kelly is someone who often “does hard things.” Several years ago, she did a 24-hour race where in a little over 19 hours she ran 120km. This was an incredible accomplishment; few people have ever moved this far in a day under their own power. The following year Kelly was not still basking in the glory of her accomplishment, she was thinking about how she had not run a full 24 hours. As incredible as her accomplishment was, her mind shifted toward what more she could possibly do, and away from all that she had done in the past.

In preparation for a 24-hour run Kelly asked for some volunteers to assist her on what she called a 24 hour “brisk hike”. No running, all hiking, but at a very “brisk pace.” Of course, I volunteered for a shift I believe I was the second or third shift to follow her on a loop of a portion of the Bruce Trail near Blue Mountain. When I met Kelly she had already moved nearly a marathon. I figured she’d probably take a little break, grab some food or something before we headed out, and she did, sort of. She stopped just long enough to take a couple Tylenol because her foot which was already blistered before she started was a little sore, she refilled her water, and then she looked at me and said, “we gotta move, I’m behind schedule.” While I had some comfort in knowing that she was very clear about the no running rule, our pace was only a toe lift away from a run, and the route was far from flat. Up and down hills we went, over rocks, across small streams some that had bridges, and some that did not. As we moved of course, we talked, but on this day I much preferred to listen rather than to speak. Kelly talked about how her foot was a bit sore, but it wasn’t a concern. The physical pain her body would endure was temporary, the emotional pain she would feel if she failed to meet her goals of 24 hours, and 100km would last a lifetime. Physical pain is temporary, emotional pain can be carried for a long time Kelly explained as the sun began to set. You don’t get a chance like this everyday, you need to prepare yourself, you need the support of others, and you need the conditions of your body, mind, and environment to all come into alignment at the right time.

The sun went down, and we continued with head lamps, but our pace did not change. The rocks, the roots, the subtle changes in the trail that could easily trip us or cause us to roll an ankle were now almost invisible, it would take just one misplaced step to bring it all to an end. Kelly talked about how human beings are capable of so much more than they believe possible. As she spoke I thought about my own journey, how running 5km would exhaust me, and now running 10km was almost easy, I’d done 20km multiple times, and I believed that someday for me a marathon was possible. But what Kelly was doing was different. This was just a training exercise to let her body know what it feels like to be awake and moving for 24 hours without rest. Kelly intended to move what would surely be the distance of three marathons in one day without stopping, that’s not even next level, that is beyond what most people would see as possible.

We had added around 18km to the tally by the time Kelly and I made our way back to the meeting point where another hiker would continue with her for another loop then leave her to hike solo for the remainder of the night until more volunteers would find her in the morning. As I drove home, I was extremely tired. I kept thinking to myself Kelly is still hiking. Before I fell asleep, I thought wow, Kelly is still hiking. When I woke up roughly eight hours later, I thought wow, Kelly is still hiking. I personally wouldn’t have even spent the night in the forest alone, the few owls calls I’d heard were enough to freak me out. But she did continue, for twenty-four hours, and one hundred and five kilometers by the time she finished. The reward was normally either pizza or ice cream from Grandma’s Beach Treats, I think on this occasion she had both. Kelly took it easy for a few days and was no worse for the wear, an unbelievable feat to so many people including myself.

Being much closer to this person, and these events than I was as a child passing a stranger while I rode in the back seat of my parents’ car, I can honestly say I now get it. Doing hard things isn’t about bragging rights, or a medal or any prize. In fact, the majority of the time that people do things like what Kelly did hardly anyone is even aware that it’s happening. Many years ago, I would have thought it was about seeing what your body can do physically, but that has truly little to do with it either. I believe doing hard things is all about conquering or at least understanding our own minds. When we do hard things, we change the way we see the world, we change everything about what we believe is possible not just for human beings, but for ourselves. Doing hard things forces us to redefine what is possible in our lives, it teaches us to not fret over the little things, it shows us that the daily challenges of life can all be managed, and it gives us absolute belief in ourselves because we know what we have done, and we cannot deny what our true potential is. Kelly is right, physical pain is temporary, but what lives in our mind can stick with us forever. Doing hard things is not about our body, it’s about our mind, it’s about belief in ourselves, and the unwavering knowledge that we each are incredible, and capable of far more than we think is possible. Please, be safe, be prepared, support, be supported, and most of all, find your own time and place to do hard things, and redefine what is possible in your life.

Written by Tim Weatherall