Every day around noon, I go for a run.
There’s this stretch at the very end of that route that I always forget about until I hit the bottom of it.
It’s the road that runs from our mailbox up to our house.
Short. Steep. Mean.
Most days it’s no big deal. I am in decent shape, I finish the run, I take the hill.
But this time was different.
I was coming off vacation. A couple weeks off my normal routine. It was hotter than usual. I felt slow, heavy, and a little embarrassed at how quickly my lungs were tapping out.
By the time I reached the bottom of that hill, every part of me was screaming the same thing:
“Just walk it. No one will know. You deserve the break.”
And then I heard a different voice in my head.
My own.
The one my kids know very well.
The Part Of Us That Always Wants The Easy Way
When I run with my kids, that little hill has become part of our family ritual.
They see it coming and you can feel the dread.
The complaints start. The bargaining. The “my legs hurt” and “can we just walk this part.”
So I say what parents say.
“Keep going.”
“You can do hard things.”
“How do I know? Because you have done it before. I have seen you do it.”
On this particular day, standing there at the bottom of the hill, that exact speech came back to haunt me.
It is funny how loud your own words sound when you realize you are about to break them.
I wish I could tell you I felt inspired in that moment. I did not. I felt tired. A little out of shape. Mildly annoyed at myself for letting my routine slide.
And underneath all of that, there was this very human desire we all know well:
If there is an easier way to get what I want, I will take it.
We do this in every area of life.
At work, we look for the shortcut project or the easier conversation.
With money, we want the quick win instead of the slow, boring path.
In marriage and parenting, we avoid the hard talk and hope time will magically fix it.
Even in faith, we like the parts that comfort us and quietly dodge the parts that stretch us.
The paradox is that the very things we keep trying to walk around are usually the things that actually make us strong.
The Only Way To The Good Stuff Is Through The Hard Stuff
Here is what I know about myself:
If there is a genuinely smarter, healthier, more efficient way to do something important, I am all ears. I am not interested in doing things the hard way just to prove a point.
But most of the time, that is not what is going on.
Most of the time, the thing in front of me is not “unnecessarily hard.” It is just hard.
Like lifting weights. I don’t love it… yet.
I do not wake up excited to feel my muscles shaking on the last rep.
But if I care about long term health, strength, energy, there is no app, hack, or shortcut that can replace actually doing the work. My body needs the resistance. That’s how it grows.
That hill at the end of my run works the same way.
The only way my legs get stronger on that climb is by climbing.
The only way my kids learn they are capable of hard things is by actually doing hard things.
And the only way I live with any integrity as a dad is if I hold myself to the same standard when no one is watching.
So at the bottom of the hill, I had a choice.
Walk it and ignore my own advice.
Or run it and practice what I preach.
I wish I could tell you it felt heroic. It didn’t. It felt miserable. My lungs burned, my legs hated me, my brain was actively filing complaints.
But I ran the hill.
And then something interesting happened.
As soon as I reached the top, the misery faded faster than I expected. What stuck around was the quiet, steady feeling of:
I did it. Even when I did’t want to.
That feeling almost always outweighs the pain it took to get there.
Where Is Your Hill Right Now?
That run left me with a question I am still sitting with:
What other hard things am I trying to avoid right now?
Not in a vague, motivational poster sense. Very specifically.
In my work.
In our family.
In the way I handle money.
In the way I show up at church.
What am I quietly hoping will just take care of itself if I stall long enough?
I don’t have all my own answers yet. I am still working through where I am tempted to walk instead of run.
But I know this much:
You have already done hard things.
You have had tough conversations.
You have made painful decisions.
You have kept going on days when quitting would have been easier.
How do I know?
Because you’re still here.
So what is the “hill” in front of you right now?
The conversation you keep postponing.
The budget you keep avoiding.
The habit you keep promising you will start next week.
The apology. The boundary. The decision.
What comes to mind first is usually the thing that matters most.
Lean Into The Hard
Here is the encouragement I want to leave you with:
You are more capable than your comfort is telling you.
The victory on the other side of hard things is almost always worth more than the pain it takes to get there. The sense of “I did it” sticks with you long after the discomfort fades.
I rarely regret pushing through something difficult once I am standing on the other side.
But I almost always feel a sting when I know I backed off just because it was hard.
So this week, pick one hill.
Name it.
Decide how you are going to move toward it.
Tell someone if you need the accountability.
And when everything in you starts whispering “just walk it,” remember:
You can do hard things.
How do I know?
Because you have done them before.
To thriving,
Zach
