Lessons From The Web (Spider, Man)

Two nights ago I was walking around back to bring the dogs in when I almost walked right into an enormous spider web. It was a magnificent web, strung delicately and perfectly from the branches of a tall bush to the ground. It was probably seven or eight feet tall, tall enough so that the center of the Web, the bullseye, was practically at my own eye level, putting me face to face with the spectacular web's proprietor.

Spider, man!

The spider was right there in the middle, chomping on some smaller insect that had fallen prey to the sticky strands, as intended.  I didn't have my phone to snap a picture, and I didn't think I'd get a good shot anyway given the darkness.  I made a mental note to try and catch a picture of it when I put the dogs out again in the morning.

But in the morning the web was gone.

All that work, the perfect construction, form and function, just for an evening's feast.  As slick and symmetrical as it appeared, the web could not withstand the wind, rain and other vagaries of the night.  Oh well.  So much for getting a picture of the web.

Rinse, repeat.

Then last night, once again I went to retrieve the dogs and lo and behold, there was the web again.  Not quite as big this time, but almost in the exact same place, and once again with my friendly neighborhood spider right smack in the middle.  This time I got the shot.

And then I saw the lesson in the weaving of the webs...

Every day the spider has to create to survive.  He has to do the work to spin his web, and do it well.  Do it as perfectly has he can.  Even though that work may only last the day, it is the most important work he can spend his time doing.  Again, and again, and again.  He's not discouraged when the wind (or a person) ruins his work because he knows he is fully capable of doing it again, and maybe even more perfectly the next time.  He makes every web he creates count.  He has to.

Setting aside any aspirations to become Peter Parker, I'd like to approach my own daily creations more like the spider, putting forth my best each day, for that day...

What do you think?

The Quitting Zone

Every single time I start, I enter the quitting zone. The first steps are the hardest, pounding a signal from my heals to my head… "Stop. Go back.  You'll never make it.  You can do it tomorrow. Next time. Next week. Whenever."  The urge to stop, the desire to quit, the mental trickery demanding that I give up, stop running and start walking, just turn around and go home… these are the self-taunts I must endure for the the first half mile of nearly every run I undertake.  I call that half mile the quitting zone.  As I train myself, slowly and surely, to be able to run farther and faster, I am also training myself to be able to plow through the quitting zone.  In fact, that is the hardest part, learning to defeat the quitting zone.

See Jeff Run. Run Jeff, Run

I never thought I would think of myself as a runner.  I've always struggled with my weight, complained about my knees, found excuses to quit before I even dared to enter the quitting zone. Then, inspired by my oldest son, I started to walk three or four miles regularly… and then began alternating walking and running, increasing the ratio of running until one day I found I was running the whole distance. Then, little by little, the distance I could run increased.  While my confidence has grown along with the distances I run, I still find myself facing the quitting zone, nearly every day.  Intellectually, I know I can make it past that half mile mark. I do it all the time, and then continue going for three, four, five, even seven miles beyond. Still, those first steps… that first half mile… the infamous quitting zone is a bitch every time.

Life's A Bitch Too...

I won't be the first nor the last to use running as a metaphor for other things in life, but it works (and, after all, what's a metaphor?)  The truth is that the quitting zone is everywhere.  It taunts and challenges us at the beginning of every task, goal and opportunity we face.  It is physics.  It is inertia. It is in our human DNA.  The hardest step toward any objective is usually the first step.  Standing still takes less effort than movement.  Reflection and consideration takes less effort (and feels like it holds less risk) than taking action.  We think, therefore we am.  We think, therefore we pause. We wait.  We procrastinate.  (And of course, when I say "we" I really mean "ME."  I pause. I wait.  I procrastinate.)  But maybe I do so a little less now since I have become "a runner."  Maybe I've become a little bit better at pushing through the quitting zones... and not just the one when I run.

How about you?  How do you bust through your quitting zones?


Photo Credit: © yobidaba - Fotolia.com

The First Steps...

via youtube.com

While running this morning I realized that it is during the first few steps that invariably I want to quit. It is during the first minute or two of a run when I question my actions, when I doubt my ability, when I struggle between stopping and continuing. Then, after I push through those (mentally and physically) painful first moments, I hit my stride and know that I am okay and will meet my goal and go the distance.

What's A Meta For?

My experience with running is a metaphor for any goal we may have. The first few steps... diving in and actually STARTING... is often the hardest part. The greatest distance is between 0 and 1. Every run I have to coach and coax myself through those first steps, reminding myself that if I stay committed to the steps, I'll make it all the way to the end. This is true for any goal or objective, personal or professional. You have to take those first steps, and not let them foil you. Once you get past them, there is nothing stopping you from completing the journey.

Still huffing, puffing and schvitzing from my run, I shared some of these thoughts in a short video...

What do you think? Are the first steps the hardest?

Posted via email from Kiss My SASS!