If your running partner was Epictetus he would have responded to you thus:
"Your life is separated into what you can control and what you cannot. The cold and snow is not in your control. But how you feel about the cold and snow is in your control--whether it was painful or whether it demoralized you, this you decide."
But I found it joyful, you say.
"Yes. That too is in your control."
Were you not a former slave who spent many years being mistreated, humiliated and sometimes tortured? you ask Epictetus.
"Yes. I was. All that was beyond my control."
I am sorry to hear that.
"Pity is useless."
You pause a moment to think about that. Then you say: Let's finish this run, brother.
There was no pause; the running partner said twice "this is difficult, this is the most difficult run I have ever been on; this sucks" and so I did not relent.
That was a very, very difficult run. I can tell you that I'm not a slouch runner (although I can be), and that run was very, very hard. I had raced the day before, but that maybe wasn't it. Chrome was running on ice and snow without effort. The man danced on the pedals of his soul over the frozen water. There were ruts and crevasses and horrific structures of ice and snow to impede one's way. But Chrome apparently was immune to the the tortuous path. I could barely keep pace, following his shoes, which the devil put on earth to weaken my broken legs. I made it, though, and only whiskey could put mer right.
If your running partner was Epictetus he would have responded to you thus:
ReplyDelete"Your life is separated into what you can control and what you cannot. The cold and snow is not in your control. But how you feel about the cold and snow is in your control--whether it was painful or whether it demoralized you, this you decide."
But I found it joyful, you say.
"Yes. That too is in your control."
Were you not a former slave who spent many years being mistreated, humiliated and sometimes tortured? you ask Epictetus.
"Yes. I was. All that was beyond my control."
I am sorry to hear that.
"Pity is useless."
You pause a moment to think about that. Then you say: Let's finish this run, brother.
"Yes. Let's do that."
There was no pause; the running partner said twice "this is difficult, this is the most difficult run I have ever been on; this sucks" and so I did not relent.
ReplyDeleteThere was no pause.
I can't recall a day in which the seven miles has ever been the same.
ReplyDeleteThat was a very, very difficult run. I can tell you that I'm not a slouch runner (although I can be), and that run was very, very hard. I had raced the day before, but that maybe wasn't it. Chrome was running on ice and snow without effort. The man danced on the pedals of his soul over the frozen water. There were ruts and crevasses and horrific structures of ice and snow to impede one's way. But Chrome apparently was immune to the the tortuous path. I could barely keep pace, following his shoes, which the devil put on earth to weaken my broken legs. I made it, though, and only whiskey could put mer right.
ReplyDeleteMany days and months later, this night came up in a conversation. It was described as satan's freeze.
ReplyDelete