Sometimes a finishing pace is a punishing pace.
(A finishing pace is any pace that allows you to finish. A punishing pace is any pace that leaves you hurting-- regardless of whether you finish.)
When we are new at something we don't know what a finishing pace is. Most of us tend to go at new things one of two ways; hesitantly or full bore. Neither is necessarily wrong or bad, but you have to understand the ramifications, and look at who you are and how you're likely to react. I'm going to use running as an example, but the principles apply to most anything, from running to stamp collecting to pursuing a life of faith to relationships to parenting to your job to [whatever you are dealing with].
If you run too slow, you may simply run out of time. Because you aren't pushing yourself, you may get distracted. Such things keep you from finishing... this time.
If you run too fast, you may run out of energy. You may hurt yourself. Such things keep you from finishing... this time.
But neither these mean that you can't run. Neither them means you aren't a runner. They just mean you don't know what you're doing yet, or you aren't fully prepared. If we focus on the effects, we think we can't run, and we give up. If we focus on the causes (running too fast or slow), we can fix things!
I've just started running and working out after a few months of not being able to between my schedule, allergies, colds, sprains, etc. My times this week have been way off what they were a few months ago. I know what happens if I push too hard-- I hurt myself and then I can't run for a while. But rather than get discouraged, I just push harder until I know from experience I'm doing all I can do right now and still finish my distance for the day. So in this case, my finishing pace (a pace that allows me to finish) is also a punishing pace.
There was a time I would have looked at that and gotten discouraged. "I guess I just can't run. This time is terrible. I'm exhausted. I'm already sore, and I'll feel worse later. I give up."
But now I know better. Instead I say, "Hey! I know I can do better than this, but it's OK for now. I need to keep pushing myself, and that time *will* come back down. I'll eat Ibuprofen, maybe soak in a hot tub, use a muscle relaxer, and keep at it!"
Because I'll keep at it, I'll be sore for a while. But I'll also be in shape soon to finish a 5K. The extra weight I gained back will disappear again, and muscles will redevelop. Simply because I don't give up.
If I focus on being out of shape it can become part of my identity. "I'm Miles. I'm out of shape. I can't run." I come to believe I can't run, that there's no point in trying. And so I collapse into the black hole called Out of Shape. Some people never return.
But if I focus on getting in shape I have the option of saying, "Running is slow and painful, but it will get me back into shape; I'll be faster and feel great again!"
My best approach to running may not be yours, or even mine from yesterday.
When I first started trying to get in shape, I would jog 50 steps, then walk 50. By the end of the mile I was jogging 25 and walking 100. But I didn't give up. After 2-3 weeks I got to where I could jog the whole mile. My time wasn't much better than if I'd walked... but I'd jogged!
The first day that I tried to actually run rather than jog, I pushed too hard and had to walk twice for 15-20 seconds. I was really discouraged until I looked at my time. It was still better than my times when I jogged the whole way!
But as I ran more and got faster, I found that those breaks cost me more time than I gained by my incremental speed up in running. I was better at a consistent, finishing pace. Find what works for you right now, and do that for a while. Re-evaluate every so often, and change things up if you need to.
I learned the next one from riding bicycles and motorcycles, but it applies to running and life in general.
You tend to go where you look.
If you keep your eyes on the trail, you're likely to stay on the trail. It's a good idea to switch back and forth between right in front of you (to avoid obstacles, holes, etc.), your interim or ultimate goal (to keep you focused on the long haul), and side to side (to watch for vehicles, people, animals, or chainsaw wielding maniacs).
If you stare at something off to one side, there's a good chance you'll veer to that side. If you only stare right in front of you, you might miss something important such as an upcoming intersection. Some of your attention needs to be on the goal or you can get discouraged or pick the wrong pace.
You may need to pick interim goals. If you can't see the finish line, or if it seems a long way off, pick a closer goal. When I first started running after years of too much inactivity, I'd inevitably think I was too exhausted to continue well before getting to that day's finish line. So I'd pick a tree or mailbox along the route to run to. As I neared that goal, I'd pick my next goal. If I was doing OK the goals would be a ways off but if I was really tired and winded they might only be 5 to 10 seconds away. Regardless of the distance they kept me going until I ran across the finish line. Ran! I didn't walk or stagger across; I ran across. Sometimes I wanted to fall down and pass out, but I'd made it. And the next time it was a little easier.
Is there something you've wanted to do, but become convinced you can't? Think about it in terms of cause and effect. "I can't ___" isn't the cause, it's the effect. What is the cause? What can you do to change that? Do you really understand the cause? Most of the time we don't; we have believed something that wasn't true.
Until less than two years ago, I was convinced I couldn't play drums or percussion. I saw that as an effect. The cause? Un-coordination. But it turned out the real causes (at least for percussion; I haven't tried a drum set) were several: lack of courage to try, letting others discourage me, and lack of practice. When someone heard me tapping out rhythms on a steamer trunk during a worship party they handed me a drum. I had a blast and everyone there loved the result. I kept at it, and now have played in a variety of settings and groups, and am part of the worship team at my church.
For years I thought I couldn't write fiction longer than short stories. A couple of weeks ago I finished the first draft of a novel. I had confused cause and effect. I didn't think I was capable of writing a novel. The reality was simply that because I never had, I didn't think I could. (This is a really silly reason not to do something, but it's very common.)
What is it you want to do? Quit making excuses; quit confusing cause and effect. Just try it. What have you got to lose? More importantly, what have you got to gain? Go for it.
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