Peaks and Valleys

Life is pain.

Don't let anybody tell you otherwise. But life is also joy.

Periods of pain, interspersed with periods of joy: that's all we have.

But, if we do it right, this crazy scheme works somehow.

Some folks think that the key is to maximize the joy and minimize the pain.

I'm not so certain that's the answer. Sounds too much like alcohol or drugs to me. Dulling the pain isn't a long-term strategy.  Nor is trying to avoid all pain.

Instead, do something that will pay off for you, again and again: go straight into the pain and come out the other side.

Like 50 Power Cleans at 135lb or 95lb, for time.

It's never going to be joyous. It will hurt. But you can get through it. You will get through it. The pain will end. And then you'll feel joy.

It's like your father's funeral.

Pain. With moments of joy, when you remember the good times. But you can get through it. You will get through it. The pain will end.

Or the end of a relationship. Pain. Maybe joy too. Some kind of closure. You'll get through it.

See, it's not the ratio that matters. It's the peaks and the valleys.

Ever ride a mountain bike higher than you ever dreamed possible?

The climbing seems to take forever, your heart pounds and your lungs sear and the pain sweeps over you like the air itself, threatening to suffocate the very spirit inside of you. And then, just when you're certain that you are the dumbest person alive for taking this ride ... you get to the top. The view is worth it, but even more astounding is what you learned about yourself on the climb, about how much pain you really could take, about what you really could do when you had to. The ride down then is sweet – that's the joy – but you really don't learn as much on the ride down, you just experience and react and enjoy, although you can crash too if you don't take the right line, or you get too scared and tense up.

But the climb? The 50 power cleans? The hard workout on a 90-degree day with a weight vest? A whole lot of pain that you willingly put yourself through. And you willed yourself out the other side of it, too. Good.

Now we're growing a person: you.