On Doing Hard Things

There's a particular kind of fear that comes from signing up for something before you're sure you can do it.

That's exactly how I felt when I registered for a running camp in the Yukon this year. I didn't know whether I could handle it, and I didn't know a single other person going — except my husband, who is a good deal faster than me. It terrified me a little. So I did the only thing that ever quiets that kind of fear: I got to work.

The training was hard, but what kept me moving on those mornings was knowing I'd also booked the West Coast Trail for two weeks after the camp. The trail itself didn't frighten me, but stacking it on top of the Yukon changed things: it wasn't enough to simply get through camp. I had to come out the other side ready to turn around and do it all again. That worry did something useful — it pulled me out the door when I didn't want to go.

When the camp finally arrived, something surprising happened. It felt way easier than I'd feared.

I ran 88 kilometres over four days — my biggest week of running, ever. I was proud in a way I hadn't quite expected, and it wasn't really about the distance. It was about all the hard, quiet mornings that had gone into being ready for it. Because I'd prepared so well, the thing that had once terrified me felt not just possible, but good. I got to enjoy it.

That, I think, is the quiet secret of doing hard things. The hard part isn't just the day itself. It's the weeks and months before — the training you do when no one's watching, the preparation that turns something frightening into something you're ready to meet.

So if there's something out there that scares you a little — a race, a goal, a challenge you're not sure you can rise to — I'd gently suggest signing up anyway. Let the fear pull you toward the work. Then show up, one day at a time, and let your preparation carry you the rest of the way.

I'd love to hear what hard thing you're eyeing right now.