They prepped you for the “bun run” on your NCAA visit by taking you in the van up and over the mountain pass, pointing glibly towards the rock at the top of the curvy, mountain road where coach would sit with his stop watch and saying, “That’s where you finish.” The van then proceeded down the very long, very steep hill that was to be the ending of a very long-hot-hard run—a run that year over year determined who was worthy to make the varsity travelling team and who was not. This van ride was intended to inspire and show you what was coming. Just the initial ride itself could weed out those who weren’t ready. It was both intimidating and challenging—collegiate sport in all its glory—and I. was. ready.
Except I totally wasn’t. I was an 800 meter runner from Missouri and not in any shape to compete on a 12 mile course through the Sonoran Desert. I watched the backs of so many runners up that final ascent for so many seasons. If ever I thought I was something, that run taught me how to work for more. It wasn’t until the fall of my senior year that I completed it with success, pushing up the last quarter mile with strength and surety. I remember coming to a stop after making eye contact with my coach and realizing I was not tired, that my body was finally ready to compete at the level I was training for. It took four years, nine if you count my pre-college training. I pocketed that moment for a later date—no time to think too hard about it that day. But I knew it would come in handy down the road and sure enough, when the realization that my best laid plans for producing book nerds and super star writers because I was an English major and these were my progeny lost space to research on dyslexia and how to teach spelling to right brained kids, I had a pocket full of sunshine and memories waiting for me.
I knew that I didn’t want my kids coasting through because I only gave them what was easy. But, I also knew they legitimately weren’t ready for what I was seeing in the curriculum spreadsheets on my computer and that I wasn’t prepared to build my own curriculum. So, I fell back on just putting in the work. Day in and day out, we read the books. Very imperfectly because reading big books is hard and my kids max out at a much faster rate than the booklists allow. Also, I do not love reading out loud so I max out faster than the booklists allow. But we kept on reading, page after page, together, apart, on audio, with c-pens. We narrated from the beginning and we didn’t shy away from books that were challenging and had bigger vocabulary than we were ready for or bigger plots than we could easily comprehend. We just kept putting in the work, like hill workouts or track repeats. We showed up and we did the thing. Again and again and again. Not because we loved it but because it was right and good.
Was it hard? Yup, totally. But did it reap a whole bunch of unbelievable rewards? Yes.
It is easier to read less. And sometimes it is necessary. It is easier to do less, and sometimes it is necessary. But not always. When it is hard but doable, we choose to do it hard. We have a saying in our house that “Williams can do hard things.” Because the thing I learned from the “bun run” is that the hill never gets smaller but if you’re willing to put in the work, you can get stronger and the hard things become more doable. Reaping the rewards of hard work is not the same thing as coasting but it sure does feel easy.
Cara Williams 2023