Just like the stars in the night sky, there are infinite perceptions and opinions to be held with every question asked on all aspects of life.
“What does ‘Seek Discomfort’ mean to you?” is the current inquiry imposing a moment of reflection to be had in observing the workings of the inner mechanisms of my body as it attempts to find the right words that would embody a personal response.
The word “discomfort” typically has a negative connotation surrounding it when it floats through the brain of an individual. A person will unconsciously relate it to sitting around a table full of family at a holiday dinner with grandparents that constantly batter you about why you’re still single, or maybe equate it to that awkward period of time where you show up to an event too early by yourself and you must sit idly as you wait for your friends to arrive.
However, what many do not realize is that this is being “uncomfortable” rather than being in a state of “discomfort.” There is a distinct difference between the two of these, with the former being the perceived definition of it that I just elaborated on and the latter representing the actual definition that has a far greater meaning to it than that. This can be anything ranging from a spontaneous trip around the world that you booked 24 hours in advance, to flashing a smile (or exchanging a quick hello from behind your mask nowadays) at a stranger as you pass ways with them on a street.
Flashy feats of adventure (although quite coveted) are not needed to display an act of growth to increase the serotonin levels of your day or impact the lives of others.
…
One of the most impactful memories I carry with me to this day and that has given me a newfound appreciation on the importance of support was the first time I ran the New York City Marathon in 2017. A seasoned veteran of marathons at this point, having run five by that time since the age of 19, I was the readiest I had ever been in terms of preparation and training. I was granted the opportunity to run under NYRR with the NYPD, so I had a profound sense of drive to push me to perform to the best of my ability since I wasn’t just running for myself, but an entire team of individuals that believed in me enough to grace me with this dream of mine that I’ve had since I found out what a marathon was. And on top of that, I was going to be running alongside my cousin as she got to relish in this task for the first time… This setup was kismet, so how much better could it get than this?!
On the day of the race, it was pure jubilation to toe that starting line to ultimately begin our journey that has been months in the making on the upper level of the Verrazano Bridge, with our starting gun going off right after the professionals had whizzed onto the course. It was so magical to witness, and it was unlike any other energy I’ve ever been engulfed by in my life. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face for the first part of the race, verbally ticking off every mile marker as we passed over their time-tracking mats (this activity ceased after the fourth mile since I got the hint to do so from my cousin’s exhausted exasperations). Family, friends, and strangers all melded together as one in the level of support they brought to every inch of the lined streets on this course that seamlessly weaved in and out of the five boroughs.
I was on cloud nine… until mile nine.
A stirring was occurring within my being, something I was just relating to bathroom issues that people who have run long distances before are all too familiar with. The line of Porta-Potties located just beyond the mile marker was equivalent to that of a sanctuary amidst the current state of looming collapse I was in, and I swear I almost shed a tear at the sight of them. However, the pending waterworks did not subside after entering their chambers since no act done from within them was able to relieve the lingering pain I was still being swallowed up by.
What’s wrong with me?
As mentioned before, I was running my fifth marathon, and yes, in the ones that I had previously completed, there’s always been a point where I thought my feet would fall off or that my lungs would emerge from my chest, but I had never experienced pain that couldn’t be resolved with a stick of Vaseline or a measly cup of water.
It was unfair to drag my cousin (who was refusing to abandon me) down into this black hole of solitude that I was getting sucked up into, so the only way to detach her from the leech of pessimism I had become was to simply stop.
Dead in my tracks.
I planted myself on the streets of this concrete jungle with no sign of restitution to be found for the time to come.
After an ample exchange of tumultuous debate and pleading encouragement, I gave my cousin an ultimate reassuring glance that was full of my truest sincerity to wave her off to complete the mission she began almost three hours earlier.
Warily, she nodded her head in agreement, stepped back into her cadence, and disappeared at the end of the street as she tucked herself into the hoard of runners once again.
My family, who had thankfully come to my aid, sat on a street corner with me at Mile 14, holding both my head and my spirits up for me since I couldn’t manage to do it myself anymore. The sweet bliss of the cold concrete on my bottom was the only thing able to soothe me in these moments of despair, and if it wasn’t for two of my sisters literally dragging me to the 59th Street Bridge to get going at Mile 15, I would have kept myself imbedded in defeat to shamelessly accept my first DNF in the history of my athletic career.
Although I was physically moving forward once again, I was mentally detached from the shell of my entity that carelessly wandered down this path I was obstinately on. No amount of textbook solutions found in a running manual or through a Google search were able to revive me from this dwindling state that both my body and my mind were slipping into.
All of this seemed for naught as I remained in this zombie-like state for seven miles, and I couldn’t even envision myself being capable of crossing the finish line, let alone being able to take one more step.
And then I hear a voice cut through the shrouds of jeers and screams akin to the precision of an X-Acto knife on construction paper.
“HEY!”
My head didn’t whip around to it because it sounded familiar, but rather that something within my core knew it was meant to grasp ahold of my attention, and my attention only. An older gentleman was behind the vocals that continued to wield exclamations my way until I locked eyes with him.
“Hey! You’ve got this!”
This simplest form of a sentence was enough to unleash the complexities of the trapped hope I had been harboring since I fell subject to the dreaded “wall.”
I nodded my head in heavy agreement as my legs carried me onward in their continued snail-like manner, and I thought that was the last of the words that would be numbly engrained in my subconscious until he mustered up one final statement that broke me.
“HEY!”
My aching attention brought itself back to his static stance. I felt that I had moved miles but only found myself a few steps ahead of our first encounter from moments before.
“Hey! Start running for me. Please.”
The plea for a strained effort of the slightest sliced through my being like a paper cut.
I had no link to this man in any sense, never even forming his features in my passing thoughts of the faces of strangers out there, but this exchange was all the connection I needed to take this statement as a personal one that I did not have the heart to even think about anything but following through on this request. I was almost emptied at this point, but I refueled myself with the drive to not let this man down. Although grudgingly, I was able to muster up enough strength to drive me forward for the remaining six miles, collapsing into the open arms of my beloved cousin who grasped onto me with such a lulling grip as if to bring my heightened adrenaline back down into my complete reality.
What an act of bravery it must’ve taken for this man to have the courage to speak up to a stranger running through the streets of New York. I could have either lashed out from the depreciating levels of energy and control I was experiencing in the moment of weakness I was consumed by at mile 22, or I could have used this surprising encouragement to give me the extra boost to proceed onward to finish the proudest race I have ever completed in my entire career. I’m glad my body and mindset naturally gravitated towards the latter.
The power of a nameless face.
…
To “Seek Discomfort” encompasses all realms of what life has to offer.
It is rolling with the punches when plans take a wrong turn; it is developing patience in times that have you teetering on the edge of a cliff; it is finding enthrallment in the smallest of entities regardless of their exterior demeanor; it is maintaining optimism in every beautiful happenstance that is thrown your way.
To “Seek Discomfort” and to “live life” are synonymous with one another. These mutually inclusive terms cannot manifest as the purpose behind why your heart pumps each day without having each other as a crutch to fall back on in times of perceived struggle. Everything happens for a reason, and although it may not seem to be a veritable truth during trying times, this speckle of hope in an explanation for its occurrence will reveal itself in due time with diligent trust in the greater divine.