Ink Aria

Stamina

Renee Gehman

On my mark, get set, GO.

This is an article on stamina. The situational irony is that I myself am experiencing possible stamina insufficiencies. Stamina could help me write a solid, 750-word-article in one great, disciplined, and timely effort, but circumstances have rendered me incapable of such sustained longevity, and I write this article not as a peak performer, but as a struggler.

Let me catch my breath . . .

Okay.

I like the idea of stamina. It’s a strong word, packing a punch in the first syllable, unlike the less-impressive “endurance.” Stamina is stronger than endurance. You may endure your mother-in-law at a holiday dinner, but you aren’t really showing signs of stamina until she has moved into your house and your endurance has continued. (I can say this, because I don’t have a mother-in-law; I’ve just heard enough rumors to deem this a helpful illustration for the masses.)

Stamina is the ability to knuckle down, buckle down, and to stay knuckled and buckled down for an exceptional length of time. Stamina scoffs in the face of the quick-fix, and it scorns the instant and the easy.

Water break. (I kid you not; I really am pausing to hydrate.)

A teacher transitioning from a classroom of three-year-olds to a classroom of eleventh graders should know a thing or two about stamina. Waning stamina in three-year-olds is often successfully remedied with a nap. This is not as helpful a plan of action for an eleventh grader who, upon being asked for a one-paragraph written response, woefully moans from across the room, “You’re killing me! I’m going to have carpel tunnel syndrome!” In eleventh grade, stamina must frequently be encouraged: I assure you I am not killing you. I am quite confident that you can write one paragraph without even getting writer’s cramp, let alone carpel tunnel syndrome!

Stretch break. (Still not kidding.)

Personal stamina for this transitioning teacher becomes an issue, too. Challenges to face include those common to any transition—learning new tasks and skills, navigating a new environment, meeting new people, developing a new routine, and other assorted newnesses. Adaptation to these newnesses, sometimes stressful, sometimes exciting, and often a combination of both, requires a great deal of stamina. Particularly where “navigating a new environment” is concerned, at least in a place where hallways and stairs abound.

Bathroom break. (Which is less of a break until navigating a new environment is mastered.)

Back in December, when I was young and carefree and hadn’t gotten my first two grey hairs yet, I was comfortably settled into a routine, confident in my stamina, and I signed up for a half marathon. I had run one in 2005, so I looked forward to this renewed challenge and promptly printed out a training schedule for the “Intermediate” half-marathoner, an upgrade from the “Novice” program.

Now the race is a week away, and, having felt it necessary to focus my stamina on other, non-athletic aspects of my life, I have run a grand total of five miles in the past three weeks. Is it worth it to go at all, I have asked myself, as I will obviously be lacking the stamina necessary for running a dignified race?

Break for . . . for continuity’s sake?

The apostle Paul spoke, on more than one occasion, of running races, and I see two assertions in what he said: first, run to win; second, don’t run in vain. I hesitate to make this potentially apples-to-oranges comparison, but I do want to pause a moment on this concept of running a race in vain.

I certainly can’t win this half marathon. I won’t be able to run the entire 13.1 miles without walking breaks or breaks to stretch out a side stitch. But at least I will be knuckling down and buckling down just by committing to making an effort. And I suppose the race is made more “in vain” when it is abandoned entirely than when it is attempted with all the stamina one can muster.

Stamina implies strength, yes. But I suspect you don’t have to appear or feel strong to have it. After all, doesn’t it take more strength to press on when you’re feeling ill-equipped, unprepared, or otherwise lacking in the capacity to run a good race?

In the face of the slings and arrows of life, the trials and tribulations, and any other related clichés that apply, you do what you can. Run your race when you can, walk it when you need to, pause if you must. But see it through, whatever “it” may be—career transitions, troubling economic times, relationship woes, 13.1 miles . . .

Or 750 words.

—Renee Gehman, Souderton, Pennsylvania, is assistant editor of DreamSeeker Magazine. It took all her stamina to complete this column.