Tiny is Just Part of the Journey

"Tiny" is a term I started using years ago when I watched how my boys acted when they were feeling nervous, overwhelmed or scared. When they are tiny, their normally loud voices are so soft I can barely hear them talking, their boisterous personalities shift, and they almost visibly shrink in size. They hide behind my husband or me. They cling to us. They become "tiny" in every sense. Being tiny happens for different reasons- for one of my boys, it is on the first day of school/camp/really any social situation. For another boy, it is when he has to have a difficult conversation, like saying he's sorry or sorting out a conflict with a friend. For the other boy, it is when he has to go somewhere on his own, without mom or dad or brothers. Every time I see this in my boys, my heart melts a little and I soften, because I know what being tiny feels like (don't we all?).

Being tiny is hard, especially when you can't hide behind your mom and dad or cling to someone. But being tiny also means you're doing something hard, something that challenges you to step outside of the familiar, to step into the unknown. I have felt tiny many times over the past seven weeks while I trained for the mile race (yes, the one that is less than a week away. Gulp). I have felt tiny literally every time I look at the crossfit Workout of the Day (WOD) on the board at the Confluence. Like when the workout involved power cleans, and I wanted to turn around and go back to bed. Or when I thought there was no way I'd be able to flip upside down and attempt a hand stand push-up, in front of everyone at the gym none the less. I especially felt tiny when I went to a mini-track meet in Burlington a couple weeks ago. Sprint 100 meters in a race, in front of a group of spectators? I haven't felt that tiny in a long time.

Yet despite feeling tiny, I stuck to my training plan. I met friends at the track and pushed through hard workouts. I didn't turn around and head back out the door when I was overwhelmed at The Confluence. I stayed at that track meet and not only sprinted my heart out for the 100 meters, I also did an 800 meter and 400 meter race. I can't say it was pretty (especially the 100 meter race), but I did it.

This is how I wanted to look racing the 100 meters:

This is how I actually looked:

I have to admit, I'm feeling nervous about the race coming up this Friday. Maybe even a little tiny. What if I don't run as fast as I hope, what if I don't see the time I hope for on the clock at the end? Then I am reminded of the words Tyler, one of the instructors at the Confluence, wrote on his Facebook page a couple months ago:


"Life is a journey. Not a destination. A goal is merely a point on the roadmap of life. Roadblocks that send you backwards or sideways or upside-downways are reminders that progress is not a linear march or a process that is inflicted on you in the name of improvement. Progress is a dance. One in which you participate, learn, and enjoy yourself. Sometimes you find that your original goal isn't that important when you finally arrive. Aspire to do great things, and enjoy the detours - they are the journey."

And what a journey this past several weeks has been. I have not only experienced the joy (and pain) of running full speed around a track, I have also been reminded of how awesome crossfit is - the way it can feel purposeful and like play at the same time, and the way it takes me from feeling tiny to feeling totally freaking badass-strong all within a single hour. I am going to step up to the line on Friday for the mile race and give it everything I have. After all, I have worked really hard to get there. But whatever happens, I have been dancing along this training and have enjoyed the detours, I showed up despite feeling tiny, I learned more about myself, and I experienced progress in the non-linear sense. Bring on the mile race, I'm ready.