That pain of those jump ropes felt never ending. The tightness in my legs. The heaviness of each step. The re-learning of the movements required to keep a steady pace and not continually mess up. It all felt like too much. It got a bit frustrating too. Made me want to just go running instead and not have to think about all this coordination of movements. I didn’t stop though. Not until I heard that buzzer that told me I reached my marker. Now it’s done. How I’ll feel tomorrow is not for me to think about but for the me of tomorrow to get through. Just like the me of today found a way to get through this even though he didn’t think he could initially.
That buzzer was like the finish line of a race I didn’t think I could complete. Every second leading up to it felt like an eternity, but each second also brought me closer to proving something to myself. I wasn’t running away from the discomfort, I was running toward it—welcoming it, in a way, because it meant I was growing. The tightness in my legs, the heaviness in my chest, they were reminders that I’m alive and moving forward.
Now that it’s done, there’s a moment of silence. That space between the struggle and the recovery. It’s calm, but it’s also a challenge of its own—letting go of the effort, trusting that tomorrow will handle itself. Tomorrow’s soreness will be a testament to today’s grind. That’s how this works: one day pushes the next, one effort makes the next easier, and soon it becomes less about the difficulty and more about the rhythm.
I didn’t let myself quit, and that’s what matters. I know tomorrow won’t be easier, but I also know I’ll be stronger. I’m not chasing perfection. I’m just showing up and doing what needs to be done, again and again, until the buzzer goes off.
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