September 26, 2020
The endurance athlete is a species known for pushing through physical and mental torture. Rigorous stress is compartmentalized into individual hours, minutes, and seconds. Success arrives by way of breaking down Herculean obstacles into simple tasks of the moment. Focus, consistency, and determination are the cornerstones behind victory. Yet for the truly elite, victory is not material, or egocentric. Victory is the the realization manifested by the mundane everyday work. I have always said it is necessary to take the first small step, and continue pushing in order to reach any goal. It is simple to take on but impossible to master. The momentum that accumulates creates a juggernaut that can knock over just about any wall. This philosophy has served me well over the course of my life, but what happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?
Hello parenthood, hello helpless baby. Meet the immovable object created to test the will and patience of the most elite endurance athlete. While militaristic training regimens might squeeze a few tears from the eyes of strong men, the treacherous creatures known as babies break the strongest into pieces. In a competition of wills, babies have no peers. Beyond any hundred mile race, babies demand your full attention all the time. Navy seals are known to have a drill after days of sleep deprivation; two partners hold oars over each others’ head. If someone falls asleep, a knock on the head is the reward. For these super soldiers the ringing of a bell is a release mechanism that signifies the breaking of one’s spirit. A committed parent does not possess the knowledge of the word sleep and there is no bell to ring. 
The successful athlete, the superior soldier, and a good parent all possess extreme focus. The slightest deviation from attention could have disastrous consequences. As a person who has spent a year and a half of his life running on average thirty miles a day, I can honestly say, the everyday aching of the body, scorching rays of the sun, and agro motorists are butterflies and daisies compared to the bombardment of ear piercing shrieks from a baby. My son Achilles is just shy of having half a year of life under his belt. All my actions up until his birth revolved around promoting fitness and literacy to kids. You would have thought staying in shape over this half year would have come naturally. Baby had other ideas about my schedule. These past five and a half months have been my training camp for baby care. Maintaining a bare minimum, baseline level of fitness allowed me to be more clear headed for the baby, but I could see my six pack slowly disintegrating. The one thing I wanted Achilles to model was my passion for outdoors, and physical activity. Time arrived for me to show my son the joy of being active. Over the course of this past month, the Beast of Burden Jogging stroller has been implemented. Almost every day this week Achilles has logged double digit miles with me, and strength training exercises are executed with the weight of the rapidly growing baby. At forty-five years of age, I am regaining a physique suitable for competition. Ultimately, I am happy that almost every moment of Achilles first months of life were spent together. Surprisingly, the break from all stressors restored a flair and passion for life, fitness, and my craft. Dormant things gather dust and rust, but what is underneath is not lost. Any destination is just a step away. Just choose the direction and start stepping. 
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