Nevertheless, She Persisted?
This past weekend, I ran a race that has become a bit of a tradition for me.
The first couple of times I attended, I was a spectator of friends who run.
Watching them inspired me to take up running—for much of my life, I’d joked that beyond running to the mailbox in the rain, I didn’t really “run.”
But I enjoyed walking. And swimming. And biking.
So I figured, why not try running?
After all, I like having exercise options (like most people, on any given day it’s always a bit of crap shoot whether I’m going to exercise or not).
When I first tried running, I sucked at it.
I struggled to run (half) a mile.
But I persisted.
Fast forward roughly seven years, and I now regularly run in a 4-mile charity race that takes place each year on the first weekend of August.
This race is in many ways a point of “persistence” point for me, not only because of how I first came to it, but also because it falls right after July, which is, as I’ve mentioned, existentially not my month.
Last year, I spent the week leading up to this particular race doing the following, in no particular order: icing and elevating my knee, bandaging my hand, researching the cosmetic phenomenon known as “concealer,” hoping the black eye would heal quickly, and trying to forget what it feels like to dig little bits of asphalt out of one’s own upper lip.
I’d gone for a run on milled pavement, which, for the record, I will never do again.
You know how in the old Roadrunner cartoons, Wiley E. Coyote runs off a cliff, looks at the camera, and then drops straight to the ground?
Well, believe it or not, that’s not actually a realistic depiction of what happens when you’re running and suddenly neither foot is connecting with solid ground.
To the best of my understanding, what happened to me last year was this: I was running on milled pavement, and because you can’t really see the dips or inclines, my front foot missed the ground at precisely the same time that my back foot was in the air.
This is pure speculation on my part, because all I know is that I was admiring what a beautiful day it was, and what a lovely run I was about to have, when suddenly, I was airborne and flying headlong over the pavement.
Just like Supergirl, if Supergirl were ever suddenly and unexpectedly in flight just long enough to realize she was going to land chin-first on milled asphalt.
I instinctively turned to my (left) side (I’m right-handed), which ended up taking the brunt of the impact (shoulder, knee), except for the fact that I … bounced a bit… so portions of my face skidded against the asphalt as well—specifically, my cheekbone & upper lip.
If you’re wondering what it felt like, imagine suddenly and vigorously running your face along a dusty cheese grater.
By some miracle, I didn’t break my nose, jaw, or any other necessary appendage.
By some other miracle, no one was driving by and saw my surprising and rather spectacular face-plant, so I simply dragged my bloodied and humiliated self home to begin the healing process.
All this to say, I wasn’t sure if I’d be ready to run the charity race in early August last year, but I did.
And this turned out to be a good thing, because quite honestly, after such a bad fall I was psychologically a bit gun-shy about running again.
I told myself I’d “take it easy” on the race, and reassured myself that this would help restore my confidence in running.
And it did, because I could remind myself that 1) it was unlikely I’d fall again like that (right away) and 2) if I did, people would be around to help.
In general, this experience reminded me of what psychologists have to say about “grit.”
Coined by Angela Duckworth, the term “grit” refers to the tendency to persist, despite frustrations or setbacks.
“Grit” has come under quite a bit of criticism and scrutiny in recent years, because it’s not an unequivocal benefit to display “grit” in every circumstance, and because not all situations can be solved by “grittiness.”
For someone who’s experiencing racism or sexism (or any form of discrimination, really) being told, “Well, you hang in there and just keep on trying!” is a not very subtle way of blaming the victim.
If you’re a woman of color and your boss is a racist, sexist pig (for example), all the “grit” in the world isn’t going to get you that promotion.
When “grit” seems to help, however, is when a person might otherwise be inclined to give up too soon.
In my case, I’d say I usually show… medium grit.
And yes, this sounds like I’m a kind of sandpaper, but hear me out.
My tendency to show “grit” is usually couched in an awareness of context.
For example, I’m quite willing to give up on a NY Times Spelling Bee puzzle if I’ve worked on it for a bit and find myself thinking, “This is stupid and I’m not even having fun.”
I’ve also experienced employment situations where “grit” wasn’t going to get me anywhere (although there were those who insisted that it would—I say, watch out for those people. They don’t mean well.)
In the case of my running, though, I knew that if I gave it up, it would simply be because I was afraid of another bad fall.
In short, showing “grit” is not a one-size-fits-all experience: sometimes, it’s better to quit and move on to other things.
When to “grit” and when to “quit”—that is the question.
