Motivation: Being a beginner again

I wonder why it is that we all want to be experts at everything. Sure, there’s a comfort in knowing what you’re doing. When you’ve done something a million times, you know what to expect, what to anticipate. But, isn’t the discomfort of trying something new just as nice in a different sort of way?

I was thinking about this question this past weekend as I watched a whole group of people take their first steps toward becoming marathon runners. Many of them were nervous. Most of them are probably now sore and in pain. But almost of all them had smiles on their faces as they finished their run. It seems to me that there is a joy in doing something for the first time that we lose after awhile and I saw this joy spread across the faces of these runners as they came trotting, limping, even walking in to the end of the run. Tired smiles, but smiles all the same.

On Sunday, two of my good friends and I headed out to a wooded lake not far outside of Portland. One of my two friends and I have been planning to run an ultra-distance trail run next month at the lake – a muddy 31 mile excursion that’s been on our minds for the past couple of weeks. We decided that maybe we should head out there and give the trail a try. Our plan was to do one lap, with the race next month being two laps. I figured, “heck, if we can run one lap, we can probably run two next month.”

Here’s the thing. Karl, Nicole and I are not trail runners. None of us have specialized in running on trails. We’re all experienced, fast, marathon runners of similar abilities, but we have not done the trail thing before.

As we made our way out to the lake, I realized that we were all sounding like beginners ourselves. The conversation went from “how fast do you think we can run this?” to “I wonder how bad the mud will be?” to “I hope these new trail shoes are going to work.” We were filled with the types of question that you ask when you’re doing something for the first time.

When we got to the lake, it took us a few minutes to get ready, and then a few more minutes to find the trail. And then we were off. I started out in the lead setting the pace for the group and things went about as well as can be expected . . .for about 4 minutes. Then we hit the first big patch of mud and something unexpected happened. After my initial “WHOA!” as I slipped and slid through the mud, what came next were yelps of laughter as we sputtered along. We all nearly came crashing to the ground several times in the next 50 yards, yet the expressions on our faces were those of the unfettered joy of experiencing something for the first time.

That first mile took us almost 13 minutes to cover, which is more than double what it would take us on the road, but we loved all 13 of those minutes.

The whole odyssey around the lake took an exhausting two and half hours to run, hop, jump, wade and forage through and we were completely battered, bruised and mangled by the end. I could barely walk that night.

But, here’s something that I noticed on that run. I lost count of the number of times that one of us yelled “this is so much fun!” To hear experienced runners exclaiming that they’re having a great time is something I don’t hear often.

A Nobel prize winning economist once said that it takes 10 years to become an expert at something. Perhaps as we become experts in our fields, we pay a price for that expertise. Sure, we develop precision and we lose the discomfort of the unknown. But we give up the sheer joy of experiencing something new. We may gain the foresight to know what’s going to happen, but we set aside the fun of not knowing what to expect.

So to all of my new runners out there starting this new season, I say this: you’re only a beginner for a short time. Enjoy the soreness and the confusion. Enjoy the mysteries of what’s to come. Relish in these things as being a part of the absolute joy of being a beginner at something again.