Strength

It wasn't my fault. I was cheated.

When I came back to baseball after missing my 7th grade year as a result of a late sign-up, I experienced a miraculous transformation in my game. I went from being a kid who barely played and never contributed to an all-star catcher and a major part of the best team in the league. What happened? I don't know.

The next year I moved up to High School and joined the Frosh-Soph team. I went right back to riding the pine. This time, though, it wasn't for lack of ability. I was slotted as the backup catcher to the best player on our team. Chris Nelson, one of the few sophmores on the team, was also a catcher. For the first few weeks of the season I warmed the bench and practiced my seed cracking skills.

Then my chance came.

The catcher on the Junior Varsity team got injured and Chris was called up. Into the 8 hole on Coach Z's lineup card went my name. And I did alright. I was never a great hitter, but I was solid defensively. Then the varsity head coach pulled me aside after a game.

During the game, a runner at first got too far off the base after a pitch. I gave him a pump fake. He froze maybe twenty feet off of first base. I had a choice. I could throw it to second base which would prevent him from advancing, but also allow him to safely return to first. Or I could throw it to first, a more risky move. There's a better chance of getting the runner out, but also a better chance the runner takes off and beats the first baseman's throw to second.

None of this went through my mind.

I don't know why I threw to first and took the risky option, but I did. And we got the runner out. After the game, Coach Ruth came up to me and affirmed my decision and the guts I had to go after the runner. As a fourteen year old, I probably did a Beavis and Butthead, "Wow."

I felt good and played with more confidence and guts the rest of the year. I became a better hitter and a better catcher. The following year Coach Ruth took a job at another school and we got a new coach. As for me, I moved up to Junior Varsity, started every game, hit better, and helped my team win league.

The next year I moved up to Varsity. I assumed I was going to start since I had two good years under my belt. I was a solid defensive catcher and an average hitter.

I guess I was too average, because the new head coach decided to move our best hitter to the catcher's position. I busted my butt in preseason and tried to win the job from him. At the end, the coach went with the (much) better hitter.

From that point on, I started maybe a dozen games over the next two years. I made excuses, embraced injuries, and took to my role on the bench. I complained about the coach and pretty much inspired JT's "cry me a river."

I quit. That's the truth.

Sure, I could hang out at the local bar and convince my drinking buddies of how good I could have been if it wasn't for some (fill in the blank) coach. I could pass it off as not being my fault, how I was slighted. Frankly, I could probably convince some people that was true.

At the end of the day, I quit. I chose to sulk and not to fight. I chose to go to the pity party over going to work. I chose the easy way.

I run frequently. And I hate it.

It's probably less than 10% of the time when I go running that I'm excited about it. I get no more than 30 feet from my house and I begin a 20 second debate on whether I should turn back. "This is hard." "I think I'm cramping up." "I'm missing Wheel of Fortune." I make excuses for why I shouldn't endure the pain of the next hour. Most of the time I don't cave. Most of the time I run.

And that's why I do it. Running, for me, is more than a physical experience. It trains in me the ability to say no....to myself.

I say yes far too often. I say yes to to eating rediculous amounts of candy during Christmas and Easter. I say yes to avoiding the difficult conversation that should happen with another person. I say yes to to putting down the book and pulling up ESPN on my computer. I say yes to stopping at 8 reps when the workout calls for 10. I say yes to all sorts of temptations.

Basically, I say yes to the easy choice; to the choice that presents the least bit of resistance and discomfort.

When I was trekking in Nepal last month my friend told me that I was a strong hiker. After days of prideful giddiness over the comment, I began to reflect on what strength really is. What does it mean to really be strong?

Does it mean bench pressing 200 pounds?

Does it mean withstanding the urge to cry when Rose lets go of Jack's hand in Titanic?

How about beating testicular cancer, winning the Tour de France seven times, and leaving your family in the process? Is that strong? (sorry - tangent rant)

For some people, that stuff is easy. It comes natural. It's not difficult for Arnold Schwarzenager to lift a couple hundred pounds. Heck, he could probably do it if he had never touched weights before.

My conclusion, strength is the ability to endure discomfort.

Trekking comes easy to me. It's natural. I think my body was built for it. I have abnormally strong legs (though I never really work them out) and I have the lung capacity of an olympic rower. For some reason, I was built that way. So hiking long uphill distances at elevation isn't as hard for me as it would be for someone who might naturally have weak legs and poor lung capacity. Am I strong for being good at the things that come easy to me?

Real strength comes when we face those things that are hard and painful for us. Overcoming those things should not be easy. If you want to run a marathon and you've never run more than a neighborhood block, the road ahead of you will be tough. If you want to better manage your finances even though you have a Starbucks and Nordstrom habit, it's not going to be easy. If you want to be a better boyfriend/girlfriend even though you have made bad or selfish decisions in the past, it's not going to all of a sudden become easy. The finish line won't get closer. Nordstroms won't magically disappear. The perfect girlfriend won't all of a sudden make you into the perfect boyfriend. You have to work at it.

This new year, go to work. Overcome yourself. Avoid comfort and tackle the things that cause you discomfort. Don't make excuses. Don't look for ways out. Don't fool yourself thinking you can grow without discomfort. You can do it. It won't be easy, but you'll be stronger for it.