It was a huge day for our middle school runners last Friday as they decided to pit their wills against the mountain in “King and Queen of the Hill!” It always amazes me just how equally physically demanding and exceptionally fun this ritual is for everyone (I’m sure a small fraction of runners might see this demanding/fun ratio more as a 60/40 or 70/30 🙂 ). The ritual consists of getting around ‘the Killer,’ an ever-intimidating hill on our school’s trail system, as many times as you can in 35 minutes … while carrying an egg (not hard boiled … that’s right). The eggs help the runners stay loose and not tighten their upper bodies, whether they are running, walking, or clawing their way up the hill.
Kings and Queens (the people who push themselves around ‘the Killer’ the most times) get rewarded like the royalty they are … with Family Size Reese’s and Kit Kats (we also have princes and princesses … their reward: slightly smaller with normal size of the same). Every runner also gets a jolly rancher for each lap they can finish … as long as they don’t break their eggs.
I’m standing at the high point of the hill taking high fives and yelling encouragement at my runners! Mid-way through the practice one of my girls (we’ll call her Liz), who had previously been pushing herself up the hill like a champ, came by me with a look on her face as if she was either hurt (which I do need to check in on) or just ‘mentally done’ after this lap.
Me – Are you hurt?
Liz – No, I’m tired and sore, and I can’t do any more laps.
Me – What’s going on?
She wipes her face and gives me a bit of a grimace.
Liz – I just told you.
Me – Look, if you’re done, I get it, but if you’re not hurt –
The anger is gone. Just tears and fatigue.
Liz – I’m angry I’m not getting any faster.
I wave her over to talk to me for a second (also to give her a breather without her picking up on it) while high fiving a bunch of my other ‘animals’ making their way up past me.
Me – This is not about speed, it’s about making it around the hill as many times as you can… It’s about your will. Help me high five the other runners, keep talking.
Liz – I’m not getting any faster in the races and –
I cut her off on purpose, and turn to look each of the runners in the eyes as they shuffle-more-than-run up past me.
Me – Stop allowing them to hurt you.
She glares up at me.
Liz – What?
Her upset-ness has just been amplified by her confusion. She stands up at the top of ‘the Killer’ with me, half waiting for me to explain, half taking the chance to breathe, while other runners trudge up, slap my hand, turn, then slogging back down the hill in fatigued, zombie-like states.
Me – Your thoughts. You’re thinking about your races right now and it’s hurting what you are doing right now! How about you think about the fact that you have already done … ?
I don’t know what she’s done… I look at her expectantly.
Liz – Six.
Me – Six laps around the hardest part of our trails! That’s 1.8 miles, and 900 feet of elevation, and you have –
I look at my watch.
Me – Only 14 minutes left on the hill… That’s what you are doing, and THAT is what you have done already! Can you do more?!
She looks like she’s pondering it… I quickly do the math to keep her in it.
Me – 2 more is 2.4 miles and 1,200 feet of ‘hard up’! That is something you can focus on right now, that’s something you can do!
She smiles big, gives my hand a big slap, and trudges down the mountain. I don’t risk overdoing it, and move into encouraging and high fiving the next tough runner coming up the hill towards me. I see Liz not once but three more times, and let her know her mileage and elevation each time she drags her body up to see me. But she’s not dragging any more. She’s not running it either (let’s not get crazy). What I mean is, Liz feels different. Not just to me, but to herself, and it’s obvious by the way she is swinging her arms, chin up, coming up towards me like a conquering hero.
Are her muscles ready to give, and is her fatigue worse than it was three laps ago? Probably. But the subtle difference is obvious to me. She has stopped coming after herself, and more than that, she’s chosen to back herself… You can see that her little leg-pistons are fueled by the confident reminders she is giving herself of what she has already done. She struts up and nails me with a final big high five of her hand … the one with her egg in it.
