The last few months have been brutal. Our schedule basically consists of work, remodel the gym, bed, repeat. We spend the majority of every weekend working at the gym. Hours upon hours of painting, building, measuring, dry-walling, hammering, tiling, grouting, and cleaning.
When we finally get home at night, I am so tired I literally don’t have energy to bathe myself.
But, of course, I have to because I’m covered in dust, grime, sweat, and other unidentified building materials.
Yesterday I started grouting the walls in the men’s restroom at 2pm. At 3:30 pm I was still holding the grout float with the end nowhere in sight. I just started crying.
Josh was installing some equipment but I asked him to come help me finish because I just couldn’t. I am physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. It took everything in me to stay there inside that inferno of endless chores.
But thank goodness for Josh. He said, “Linny, this is like the end of a workout. It calls for 5 rounds and you just finished round 4. What do you do?”
For the purpose of the argument and because I was completely grumpy gills, I said “I quit!”. But that is not true.
Ever since running my marathon, I have never been able to give up on anything. The last 6 miles of that race were excruciating:
“Then something happened. I passed the 20 mile sign. At that very moment, everything started to ache. The pain in my hips and feet and legs got instantly worse. Pretty sure they call this “The Wall”. The next 6 miles were the most grueling, difficult, testing time in my entire life. The only time I have ever been more miserable was when I had guillain-barre.
I was in trouble at this point. I had a twinge in my lower back every time my left leg moved forward. It was actually causing numbness down my leg and I got really scared. But it hurt to walk too. So I just decided to run as much as I could to make it end sooner. I think it was more of a shuffle…
I looked over to my right and saw Josh, my sisters, my nephews and my mom. And I broke. I just started crying. I wanted it to be over. I had one more freakin mile to go and I just couldn’t muster the will power. I wanted to run over to my mom and hug her. Yep…I wanted my mommy.”
The memory of the last mile of my marathon is always creeping back up to remind me that things will get hard. I will cry. I will hurt. I will question why I started. I will want to quit.
But I also remember that it was all worth it.