No one feels sorry for you

By: Uncle Bernie

 One particular wrestling season in high school I was having trouble making weight and finishing close matches. On a crispy winter Sunday morning (my only day off) my father told me,“Get your running shoes on…we’re going for a workout.” And that’s not something you say ‘no’ to our dad about. He drove us to a nearby mountain that is so dang steep that it’s tricky to even get to the top in a motor vehicle. And this is a paved road. If it’s snowing, forget it. I saw where this was going…
“Get out. See you at the top,” he said.
I was kind of chuckling to myself as I closed the door, blowing into my cold hands. The idea of running up the mountain -without stopping- was actually kind of hysterical.
Little did I know, my dad had been practicing and successfully doing it for months. So, it was far from impossible. And he was the only one that knew.
2,000 feet to the top. I shrugged my shoulders, hit a couple quick squats, and began. I started out with a light jog because it immediately hit me with a 15% incline. Then it got steeper. So, I picked it up and started running. It got even steeper. I responded with a “how about we just get this suffering over with ASAP” pace. Then it got so steep that I could reach out and touch the road in front of me. But I finally saw the top and finished with an all-out sprint. To be honest…I crushed it. My dad’s there at the top grinning in his truck.
“Nice. Get in!” he said as he rolled his window back up. 
I was exhilarated as we drove back down. Hyperventilating not with exhaustion, but the feeling I just did the impossible. I couldn’t stop chatting. I was finally warm, I was relieved, and I was thumping my chest. I was proud, and too proud…
“Get out. Do it again.”
WHAT!!!!
Plummeting out of my euphoria, I looked around and noticed we were at the bottom of the mountain right where we started this party. This man really wanted me to do that sh*t again. Alright…dang. A deep sigh, another shoulder shrug, and a “Ah hell, let’s see what we can do.”
To be honest I struggled a lot more internally on the second round. But I made it just as fast as the first time. The trade off was: I struggled to stand, breathe, or even exist as a human at that point. I had just done the impossible twice. 
“Helluva job. Very proud of you,” Dad said from his comfortable truck.
I was supine on the ground and listening to my new heart arrhythmia. But I was beaming ear to ear at his words and I gave him at thumbs up towards sky. 
“Ok. Good. See you at home!” Window went up. Truck drove off.
WHAT!!!!
You see, I used to feel sorry for myself. A lot. Everything was unfair and life was out to get me. Every time I had the chance to make an excuse, I did.
At that very moment when my father provided me with an actual mountain of tough love, I had a choice. And to be honest, I was too tired to feel bad for myself. The cycle was finally broken. And if you know what runners know, going downhill destroys the muscles even more than uphill. I got off the ground and ran the few miles home. It didn’t happen overnight, but a new mindset was instilled that day. My father drove me to a metaphorical and literal crossroads of life. With minimal words, he served me an important life lesson. And to be fair, I needed it. 
The point is- for the most part, nobody feels bad for you. So why should you? Find your mountain and run over it.

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