What is grit?  This term is thrown around a lot these days.  There is even a book called Grit – The Power of Passion and Perseverence by Angela Duckworth.  According to Merriam-Webster, grit can be defined as “1a: sand or gravel; b: a hard sharp granule; 2: any of several sandstones; 3a: the structure of a stone that adapts it to grinding; b: the size of abrasive particles usually expressed as their mesh; 4: firmness of mind or spirit; underlying courage in the face of hardship or danger.” Synonyms include backbone, constancy, fiber, fortitude, guts, spunk. Angela Duckworth notes from studying high achievers, “It was this combination of passion and perseverance that made [them] special. In a word, they had grit.” (Duckworth, 2016). She further notes that “[o]ur potential is one thing. What we do with it is quite another” implying grit is a choice.

Related to endurance and resilience, grit is a form of determination and a lesson I’ve learned and cultivated through running.  I have also learned about grit through situations I’ve faced in life and have had the opportunity to bring these learnings to the run where I find further clarity.  Grit, to me, is that moment in the marathon, the “bonk” as I called it in the first blog post of this series, when I go through the mental battle and then decide to dig deep and choose to commit to the finish line. I use the term, “decide” because I do think grit is a decision, a choice, whether conscious or not, to give it your all, to dig a little deeper than you thought you could and see something through.  Grit takes wisdom – not every battle is meant to be fought and not every battle can be won, even with additional determination. There’s a decision to be made if the application of grit is appropriate or worthwhile in any given situation. Experiences of overcoming and employing grit help provide this insight I call wisdom.

This moment of “deciding”, of choosing to dig deep and apply grit, happens during every marathon for me. Though as I have accumulated a number of experiences now, the decision to get gritty comes easier, as if the grit has accumulated.  I have learned not to give up. As a general rule of thumb, I generally apply a little grit first before turning to the wisdom of experience and intuition.  As a runner, I have endured stress fractures, muscle tears, and even a stroke, and have returned to the run, better able to overcome.  Having children, running marathons, overcoming brain surgeries all taught me to not only overcome, but also to trust in the strength of my body and mind, and to trust my gut.  I would say that it was grit that got me through and I could also say that getting through these experiences helped to build my grit. 

The marathon that stands out for me as a true test of my grit, that “passion and perseverance” Duckworth calls out in her book (2016), was the Boston Marathon, also mentioned in my Lessons of the Run: Resilience piece.  Six weeks before Boston, 2018, I had a stroke that caused temporary numbness in my left hand and arm, the left side of my face, and also hampered my speech. Truthfully, I didn’t think much of it. I was confident, without a doubt, I would be fine, I would overcome.  The first question to my doctors was “can I still run the Boston Marathon?”  Immediately, my relentless determination set in and undoubtedly aided my recovery. My previous brain surgeries and hospitalizations, migraines, and my marathon training gave me the grit – that experience of overcoming, combined with the passion, the determination, the courage, and the strength – to pursue the completion of the Boston Marathon. 

When it came to employing grit to cross the finish line, it wasn’t just the stroke or the 26.2 miles or the infamous Heartbreak Hill I had to overcome that day. There was the weather that day – the icy rain and driving winds. I felt more like I was wearing a wet suit, or that a wet suit may have been a better choice for the conditions!  I distinctly remember my Apple watch I’d been using to track my pace and encourage myself died at mile 13. I remember the conversation I had in my head, the longing to quit the race and then the louder voice that replied, “Hell no!  You’ve worked too hard, you’ve come too far, this may not be your best time, but you WILL finish this marathon. You can do this!  You’ve got this!”  I still had 13 miles to go when I had this conversation with myself; 13 long, cold, miserable miles!  Grit is what I would say kicked in and empowered me to cross the finish line that day; experience reminded me I could run the distance, determination and passion reminded me that quitting wasn’t an option.

“We do hard things!” is a mantra we’ve adopted in our family from Angela Duckworth’s book (2016).  Learning to overcome, building perseverance, finding your passion and voice – these are how grit is built.  I remember my Aunt Norma once saying, “The more you do, the more you can do,” and in this context this again rings true.  Grit is built and earned through experience, and the more “hard things” you do, the greater the “hard things” you can do and overcome.  To perseverance and passion, I would add courage.  May you have the courage to choose to overcome, build you grit, and do many great and hard things!

What hard things do you want to achieve?  What is standing in your way?  What are your fears?  Where do you hit a wall, or as I call it, where’s the “bonk” occurring?  How might you face it differently next time to achieve something new? What will allow you to dig deep and collect experiences of overcoming to achieve the grittiness you need to accomplish and fulfill your dreams? What is one thing, one challenge you’re facing right now, that might benefit if you decided to employ grit, dig a little deeper and give just a little more?

This is the final installment of the Lessons of the Run series, and a perfect segue to my next series, Four Letter Words. 

Or is this an Opportunity to Regain our Humanness?

            Almost twenty years ago, when the Twin Towers were taken down by commercial airplanes commandeered by terrorists, there was a common enemy quickly identified that united us as a nation. We were brought together by a common drive to ensure “Never Again”, never again will we allow an attack to happen on U.S. soil.  We did not walk away unscathed, however.  As Brené Brown found in her research and has given voice to, we moved forward, but we were changed; we became a generation of fear, a generation driven by scarcity.  Our naivete had been lost.

            As someone who is an extrovert, I have suffered from the isolation forced upon us by COVID.  I have noticed recently how people avert their eyes (all we now see of each other’s masked faces) as they walk by and don’t even make eye contact.  In this time, as we mark 1 year since COVID began to change our world and became a global pandemic, I find myself questioning whether or not we are losing our humanity.  There is no common enemy to unite us in this battle with a virus, an invisible adversary.  Rather, we are divided and isolated in our fight to stop the spread of this detrimental virus.  We are laden with fear, the air is thick with it, even if we don’t feel fear ourselves at an individual level.  This is not just a national dilemma, but rather one that has had global implications.

I have seen friendly neighbors avoid us “like the plague.”  I have seen judgments passed and hurtful comments spat about for either wearing a mask or not wearing a mask. Division, resentment, frustration have grown in the space of our isolation.  I have seen people walk out of the way to avoid me and others.  It is as if we are each a potential and deadly weapon in the spread of this unseen disease.  We can’t even, won’t even, look at each other.  I suppose in many ways, we are indeed each a potential carrier of illness and harm. And yet in our isolation and in our humanity, we are each longing to be seen, understood, heard, at least I know I am.

            I have observed lately, people on the brink, on the edge, if you will.  Not only do I feel the fear of this virus and the weariness as the isolation goes on, I have felt the anxiety of unexpected responses.  A common “Hello! How are you?” may unleash relief and joy at being acknowledged, or may unleash judgment, or even rage and anger built up over the months and months of loneliness, stress, and fear.   I have found I rarely know what I will get back if I make eye contact or dare to say hello. 

Likewise, I have seen and sensed and heard the fear when people dare to acknowledge and see me.  They are also likely wondering if I am on the edge and which way I will fall if somehow provoked.  I was recently at the gym for a swim – cue the judgment and my need to justify how I was being safe – and had also given birth 7 weeks prior.  This was my maiden post-partum swim, so to speak.  I had diligently made appointments to swim three to four times a week during my pregnancy, from the time when our gym’s pool reopened by appointment until two days before my daughter was born.  Yes, I had a pregnancy and a baby during COVID – that is another topic for exploration. 

The same lifeguard had been on duty, also a mother, and had always waved from the other end of the pool to acknowledge my presence.  Now and then, she even shouted a word of encouragement and had dared to ask when I was due.  Upon my return to the pool, she briskly walked over in her mask, maintaining some distance, and said “I was so excited to see your name on the schedule!  How are you?  How is your baby? Did you have a girl or a boy?  Can I see a picture?”  Then “Gosh, is that okay?  I’m so sorry, I hope this is okay.”  Her fear of judgment nearly consumed her joy and I wanted to hug her to reassure her not only was it okay for her to ask about me and my baby, and to ask to see a picture, it was the greatest gift I’d received in months!  I was so grateful to be seen and acknowledged, to be asked after, I felt tears spring up in my eyes!

Last week, I ventured out to the mall which was desolate.  I entered a store and was so grateful the woman working was friendly and asked about my baby in tow.  We chatted and discussed the current COVID-environment.  She mentioned she had been afraid I would be put off by her friendliness.  Just the week before, a woman had been in and when the saleswoman had leaned in and asked her to speak up so that she could help, the customer went fleeing and called corporate to report the “inappropriate behavior.”  The kind saleswoman said it was the first time in 15 years of working retail, a complaint had been filed against her with corporate, a complaint for simply trying to be helpful.

I am concerned by the levels of tension and fear that may or may not be obvious at first glance, bubbling beneath the surface. I worry about all the people hanging on by a thread. These days, I often worry we are losing our ability to connect as human beings in this mess, as if this virus is the final straw that will break us, not of our need for social connection, but of our ability to fulfill this social need.  What I see is a desperate human need for connection and the longer we go without, the less empathy we have, the less ability we have to meet our needs for connection.  This makes me think of going without food and water for too long. Either you lose your appetite, or you gorge yourself only to vomit it all up.  People are starving and many can only see their own needs. We’ve been without connection for so long now; we no longer even know how to respond when it is offered, or we’re so hungry for it, we’re senselessly clawing and clamoring to get our own needs met we fail to see the needs of others. 

Of course, some may say people are showing kindness and empathy when they walk to the other side of the street as me and my kids and baby pass by.  Perhaps they aren’t thinking of me and my brood as possible infectors but rather are going out of their way to keep us safe.  Perhaps. Some may also say empathy and connection are happening more in the workplace as work has been fully integrated with the home, and the kids popping in, once an exception, is now more normal. Perhaps.  We are indeed finding new ways to try to connect and I have been encouraged by the creativity people have exhibited in finding ways to gather online. While online gatherings and phone calls certainly help, do they really fulfill us in a sustainable way? As we slowly begin to interact with others again, I can’t help but observe, perhaps we will all need to be re-socialized.  The social skills we learned as children we will need to learn again.  Perhaps it was time for a tune-up in our social abilities anyway.  I certainly hope we can come back kinder, more accepting, and more empathetic.

What do you think?  How are your levels of empathy holding up? Are your needs for social connection being met or are you hungry for connection? How are you doing, really?  How are you feeling, truly? What is your degree of internal fear?  What is your level of tolerance for the external environment of fear? Is our collective fear bringing us together or driving us apart? Are we losing our ability to socialize and fulfill this human need for connection?  Have we been starved of human connection too long? Are we losing our empathy and our ability to see, truly see, one another and have patience and grace with each other?