When Pushing Through Isn’t the Point

Exploring the Softer Side of Discipline and Learning the Limits of Your Edge.

I didn’t do nearly as well as I expected on my run earlier this week, and I’m quite proud of myself for it. When we talk about growth, we tend to focus on tangible progress. Did I run faster than last week? Did I get more done than I used to? Did I handle something better this time around? Am I any closer to the thing I’ve been working toward? Progress usually gets framed as doing more, pushing harder, and getting better. But there is another side to growth that I don’t think we talk about nearly enough: knowing when to slow down.

Let’s rewind real quick. A few weeks ago, I started going to a new run club, and within minutes I was sold. The scenery was beautiful, the energy was good, and everyone I met was welcoming. There was, however, one unexpected factor I had not prepared for: the hills almost took me out. Nobody told me about no dang hills when I signed up for this. Still, I had been training, my stamina was building, and somehow I pulled through. By the second half of the run, I even found myself settling into a rhythm. I finished strong, sprinted toward the end, and left feeling incredible.

So naturally, I spent the next week preparing for those hills. I added incline running at the gym, made sure not to overtrain, and showed up for my next run ready to go. Then I found out we weren’t even doing the hilly route. Apparently, we had accidentally done the advanced route the week before, and this time we were taking a flatter, more shaded path. Perfect, I thought. I definitely have this. This is going to be a breeze.

It was not a breeze. 

Within the first stretch, I was already out of breath and fighting for my life. I kept telling myself that the beginning is always the hardest part. Just keep going. You’ll settle into a rhythm soon. But unfortunately for me and these knees, soon never came. About ten minutes in, my body was already telling me very clearly that this was not going to be my day. My brain, however, had other plans. While part of me wanted to turn around and make a beeline straight to my car, another part of me refused to even entertain the idea of slowing down. I had a harder run the week before. I had trained. I had prepared. Surely, I should be able to do this.

Then I looked at my watch. My heart rate was above 200. Okay, walk-run intervals it is. But something interesting happened. When I finally gave myself permission to slow down in what I had initially considered a little moment of defeat, I could feel this sense of pride starting to build within me. Now that I could actually breathe like a normal human being again, I had enough space to reflect. And as I walked along the path, I started putting the pieces together. I hadn’t eaten in more than twelve hours and was probably a little dehydrated too. This group met in the morning, unlike the evening runs I had been used to, and I had skipped breakfast because I was worried about getting cramps from working out on a full stomach. I’d also been low on sleep throughout the week. In slowing down, I realized that this wasn’t a question of whether I was mentally tough enough. My body simply did not have what it needed. I eventually understood that growth, in this moment, was not going to look like pushing through. Instead, discipline, strength and progress took the form of slowing down.

This is a part of growth that gets lost sometimes. We often talk about pushing ourselves beyond our comfort zones, being disciplined, staying consistent, and refusing to quit. And I believe in all of that. There are moments when the thing standing between us and what we want really is discomfort, fear, or the temptation to give up too soon. Learning to tolerate that discomfort is part of growth. But so is learning to tell the difference between discomfort that can be pushed through and a limit that deserves to be respected. Sometimes discipline asks us to push harder, and sometimes it asks us to ease up.

There is a balance to just about everything we do, a kind of yin and yang. Two seemingly opposite things can both be true and necessary at the same time. Growth requires effort, but it also requires restraint. As I spend the year exploring more of what I’m capable of, I’m learning to find the balance between those two things: stretching myself beyond what feels comfortable while also honouring the moments when I’ve reached the edge of what I can reasonably give. Last week, I was proud of myself for trying, but I was even prouder that the drill sergeant in my head eventually made room for the softer side of discipline we so often overlook. And next week, I’ll be back, ready to push myself again. And if the moment calls for it, ready to slow down too.