Why I Run Toward Hard Things
That’s not because I enjoy pain or frustration — I don’t. Challenges exhaust me, frustrate me, and sometimes leave me wondering why I put myself through them. But they also help define me. Every time I face something that could break me — whether it’s hate, lies, or negativity — I refuse to give in. I won’t let someone else’s darkness dictate who I am.
It reminds me of a passage from Theodore Roosevelt that Brené Brown often shares, words that have stayed with me:
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles,
or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds;
who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
Those words capture exactly why I run toward hard things. I’d rather be marred by dust, sweat, and blood than sit safely in the stands with the critics.
I was definitely not born tough. Like I’ve shared before, I was a very sick and weak toddler. The doctors didn’t think I would survive childhood. But my parents — especially my dad — taught me that weakness doesn’t get the final say. My father lived tough, and from the ages of 12 to 16, I was right there with him — pushing cattle in Wyoming, studying grizzly bears, and spending over a hundred days each year living in tents deep in prime grizzly country. They knew life wasn’t going to be easy for me, so they raised me to be ready for it.
Through those lessons — and through my own successes and failures — I’ve built the moral backbone that defines who I am today. As Carl Jung said, “I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.” That belief shapes the way I face my past and my weaknesses — I choose who I am.
I started running for two reasons. First, I wanted to connect with my dad. Running has always been his passion — he’s run dozens of marathons and logs hundreds of miles every year. Second, I wanted to take control of the very thing that used to control me: asthma. If running triggered an attack, then I’d become strong at running until asthma didn’t scare me anymore.
Over the years, running has become something more. It’s where I reset. It’s where I think through my dreams, my fears, and my problems. It’s when I find myself praying, asking my Father about my kids and, in some distant way, trying to connect with them spirit to spirit, heart to heart.
Life has taught me that my purpose is never set in stone. It’s always evolving. When I was 19, my purpose was to be the best missionary I could be — to learn the language, to love the people I served. Later, as a husband and father, my purpose shifted to raising my kids, providing for them, and learning from the many mistakes I made as a young, immature man. Today, my purpose is entirely different than it was five years ago, just as it will likely be different five years from now.
Running mirrors that evolution. My purpose for running changes depending on the race ahead. Training for the St. George Marathon meant long, intense miles and strict discipline. Preparing for the Utah Valley Marathon meant focusing on downhill endurance and speed. Ragnar races required a completely different kind of preparation altogether.
But the constant in both life and running is this: I move toward the hard things. Not because they’re easy. Not because I enjoy the struggle. But because they shape me into the man I want to be.
Your Turn
What’s the “hard thing” in your life right now? And are you running toward it — or away from it?
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