Endurance

We recently moved into a new old house. My husband and I live like gypsies, dragging the kids from one rental to the next, because I can't seem to make peace with a neighborhood. I abhor the thought of committing to purchasing property. There is far too much attachment attached to that commitment. Renting a house allows me to continue in the romantic (deluded) thought process that we can pull up stakes and leave on a whim- to anywhere, wherever the wind might blow. I just can't let go of the hope for adventure.

I am a free spirit. More and more, I begin to understand what this really means. My spirit longs to be free from the superfluous "stuff" of this world, free from anything from unnecessary drama to excessive belongings. I want to be free from undue expenses and annoyances that accompany all of the junk I simply don't need. I enjoy traveling light. 

The house we just moved into is small, really small, and while I already sort of considered us to be somewhat minimalistic, each of us had to rummage through several personal items and purge even more to fit into these walls. Initially, it felt uncomfortable. But beyond our new humble square footage, we moved into a house that came without certain major appliances. While some might consider a washer and dryer (not included) a luxury, in my mind, they are not excessive. We suddenly found ourselves without a way to wash our clothes, but also without minor appliances, as well...a microwave, to be specific. The refrigerator here doesn't work well, either; the freezer is overly efficient, instantaneously solidifying perishables, while the fridge is finicky on the temperamental temperature it keeps. 

I was just recounting these appliance woes to a friend. I realized that while the fridge is frustrating at times, and the washer/dryer purchase was a nonnegotiable, it's actually not all that difficult learning to live without a microwave. Sure, sometimes I am acutely aware of the fact that I can't quickly defrost some chicken breasts or pop popcorn the conventional way, but it really is not all that alarming to be without a microwave. Mostly, I find I have to be better organized. If I plan a week's menu ahead of time, I know I will have to pull some cluck out of the overzealous freezer the night before I want to grill it. We learn to adapt and live without certain comforts. 

How do we define "comfortable"?

In the same way, this lead me to think about the discomfort of "endurance athletes". I fall into this category, I fear. While I mostly detest labels and more so, ones that seem to boast bragging rights to anything, I admit to working out excessively. I guess this means I have some level of endurance. As endurance junkies, we train ourselves to do just that: endure and endure and endure. We spin our legs for endless miles in the saddle, wear out countless pairs of running shoes, pounding pavement in conditions not meant for human consumption, and swim lap after brain-numbing lap in a pool warm enough to grow microorganisms in the Florida heat. 

It's nuts, right? 

Yet, something in us tells us to just keep on keeping on. We push through gale-fore winds on fragile wheels for the sake of saying we have logged hundreds of miles, because that is what "the schedule" dictates. We batter ourselves in ridiculous ocean conditions, choking on our weight in salt water, wincing at jellyfish battle wounds on vulnerable exposed skin (hearsay, hearsay...just saying). We run our feet raw, blistering away what clearly is meant to be part of our toes--why else would that skin be there? (Maybe less is more when it comes to epidermis, too?)

As endurance idiots, we are taught to persevere, even in the absolute worst circumstances. I once rode a century through the mountains of Solvang, California. As if the elevation were not bad enough, we had to contend with rain, sleet, and snow that endless, miserable, frigid day. I never removed even one of the seven layers of clothing in which I was armored. I knew I would make it to the finish....eventually, and I did, victorious for the soggy finish. As athletes, we are told that our bodies can handle it, that it's just a matter of putting our minds in the right frame and our feet will surely follow. 

I think I have learned to ignore the inconvenience of pain often times. I dismiss it. The body's most basic way of communicating is to wave the red flag of agony, but I almost relish the suffering, sick as that sounds. I have trained both my body and mind to overcome discomfort and settle into hours of what now resembles "normal" in an act of moving forward. I know how to put my head down and go the distance, no matter how ugly it gets, and I have seen ugly, friends. I cannot help but feel if I can just push a little harder, hold on a little longer, run a little further, maybe there is hope...

Perhaps there is a place for sacrifice, perseverance, and enduring for the sake of accomplishment, but how do we recognize, then, when to call it? Just when do we hang it up? When does endurance become unhealthy? Is it when we start suffering overuse injuries? Perhaps it's too much when our bodies begin breaking down? Are we cooked when we can't sleep anymore, waking restless in the middle of the night? Are we overtrained when we are so exhausted, we become cranky and irritable at even minor requests of others? 

Are these the warning signs of over-enduring in other areas of our lives, too? 

I have applied this act of endurance across the board in my life. Grin and bear it. Continue. Grind it out. It's what I do. Maybe because there is a feeling of accomplishment attached to it, maybe because the uncomfortable has become comfortable, but I almost don't know how to be any other way. Is this adaptation or stupidity? Am I settling for less than what is truly comfortable, what I want and deserve? Do I want that microwave or not? Do I demand the fridge repair guy come out for the fourth time or is it time to simply insist on new unit? 

I think I would like to think of this most recent move as a social experiment. I am finding that, more and more, the less I own, the happier I truly am. It's liberating, if sometimes inconvenient. Perhaps I have lived far too comfortably in some ways for far too long with every modern convenience at my disposal. Maybe I am more comfortable being inconvenienced from time to time because it challenges me. Maybe this is the appeal of endurance sports, as well. Maybe I am just a masochist.  

Everyone's "heathy" is different, of course. What I tolerate may be less than what you endure comfortably. My idea of comfortable may be wimpy compared to yours. You may think I am some kind of hero for reheating food in a saucepan, regardless of how many miles I ran this morning. It's all relative and highly personal, I suppose. And let me say that I certainly don't judge anyone for keeping a microwave; living without one just gives me an excuse to log extra miles when I lace up my Nikes and run to the grocery store for some already-popped corn. That's convenient for my training.  

What about you? Are you living with a compromised refrigerator? Does an absent washer/dryer duo create widespread panic in your heart? Or do you find you are no longer missing an appliance you were once certain you could not live without? Do you, as I have been known to do, simply run additional miles to endure the other discomforts?