The Reward of Endurance

How Consistent Rhythms Shape Us over Time

We jogged to a spot at the edge of the path and listened to the rhythmic sound of spikes hitting the dirt again and again. It was a perfectly brisk day for a cross country meet and I looked for a familiar face in the long line of runners making their way through the course. About halfway through the pack, I spotted my son Elliot’s tall frame running down a stretch of flattened grass. When he came around the turn and saw us cheering him on, he pumped his fist and smiled.

When we started this final season of his cross country years, the leaves on the trees were bouncy and green. As the season progressed, their tones deepened with the shifting angles of light. Every fall, we’ve experienced the subtle changes as we’ve traveled the state to watch Elliot and his high school team compete. Each course has its unique challenges and natural features, and as I watched the Indiana trees, grass, and wildflowers slowly age and change color from August to November, I traced my thoughts back over the steady transformation in my son.

When he first laced up his running shoes at 8 years old, he was a little boy burning off endless energy. Now at 17, he’s taller than us with a runner’s strength and resilience that have gradually grown over the miles. Cross country has never been his biggest passion. It has been just a small part of his identity. Yet the time and energy he’s invested have shaped him in significant ways.

Back in 6th grade, he mentioned the idea of quitting cross country, but his dad and I weren’t about to let go of the precious hours after school every weekday that helped him burn off all that obnoxious middle school boy energy. I had heard the phrase “a tired dog is a good dog,” about the need for long walks and high-energy playtime for pets. Well, it’s true for kids, too. We found if we just let his complaints pass without much reaction, he’d keep going to practice and showing up for meets, which was good for all of us.

In freshman year, an announcer at a state meet called out the names of some of the top freshman runners over the loud-speaker and said, “These are the ones to watch.” It’s a special thing to see the fastest runners in action, like my friends’ son who won a national title and is now running for a university, or my youngest daughter who has trained with her brother and is now running toward the front of a fast pack of middle school girls. It’s also a special thing to see a kid who isn’t in the spotlight pick up his pace, push himself, and keep logging miles without the accolades.

This sport is an all-play. The slowest runner crosses the same finish line as the fastest. The joy of endurance and progress is for everyone, no matter their place in the lineup. As the announcer finished his analysis and I looked at the mud splattered on my son’s legs from running in the middle of the pack through rain, sleet, and snow that day, I found myself thinking, “Actually, Elliot is my one to watch.”

As a member of the team, he hasn’t had to think much about conditioning in practices or racing at cross country meets. The structure was in place. He simply showed up, participated in the work, and listened for input from his coach or athletic trainer as needed.

James Clear, author of Atomic Habits, wrote in his newsletter last January that it is lifestyles, not goals, that bring long-term results, and it is process that ultimately brings progress. Consistent structure and rhythms can shape us in ways we may not recognize in the moment, even if the practice isn’t something that comes easy for us. When we steadily show up again and again, we are changed over time.

Running is hard. It requires you to endure side cramps or bad weather or deal with things going wrong, like a shoe coming untied mid-race. When you run that kind of distance in 90-degree temperatures with hardly any shade, or up steep hills and through your own self-doubt, or when your teeth are rattling from the cold, or when you have to get up before dawn (and you’re not a morning person), you know that sometimes just enduring a race is cause for celebration.

Nine seasons of structure, cardio, fresh air, and camaraderie have helped Elliot get comfortable with being uncomfortable. When you keep showing up to something so challenging, you build resilience not just in the legs and lungs but in the inner person. Perseverance is a quiet kind of victory, one that doesn’t always come with medals but offers the rewards of physical endurance and mental fortitude.

When you’ve tied and retied your shoes and committed to run whatever your level, whatever the weather, whatever your mood, you begin to trust yourself, your team, and your supporters in a deeper way. And this builds a determination to keep going in other challenges. In addition to running, Elliot’s growing perseverance has shown in the hard work of bringing up his grades and crafting his novel over the past year.

By now, Elliot has run at least 422k in race mode, not including practice. Along with personal records, the focus for him has been to run with friends, find a good cadence, and finish each race. We celebrated at the team banquet in November and watched him open his manila envelope to find a golden chenille varsity letter, cross country patch, and a pin honoring four years of solid commitment.

I’m proud of him, but more than that, I’m happy for him. That thing that felt so ordinary and often tiring has slowly built confidence, energy, and connection. For Elliot, what began nine years ago as a personal commitment to run a race without walking has grown into a confident strength and notable endurance.

Watching my son’s journey reminds me that good growth in my own life comes quietly over time. As I reflect on the rough conditions and spiritual injuries I endured in 2024, and the reality that I work best at a slower, more contemplative pace than most, I want to say again that endurance, whether in running, writing, or life, is reason enough for celebration.

Perseverance is a quiet kind of victory, one that doesn’t always come with medals but that offers the rewards of physical endurance and mental fortitude.

Ultimately the more satisfying results are deeper than finished projects or accolades (though those are worth celebrating, too). Rather than being weighed down by high-pressure goals, we can focus on what will lead to solid results: finding a good rhythm, leaning into teamwork and support, and embracing opportunities to refine our skills and character. The reward of endurance and progress is for all of us, no matter how or where we finish.

As you reflect on the year behind us, what is one pursuit you’ve stayed committed to when the impact wasn’t immediately clear? How have quiet, steady steps shaped you over time? As we step into 2025 and I consider projects that will require a lot of heart, I want to focus on the power of small, consistent practices like daily journaling and drafting, hosting a weekly creativity cohort and co-work session as Spiritual Life Director for Redbud Writers Guild, and continuing to meet with a spiritual director each month. These rhythms may not bring quick results, but they nurture steady strength and lasting joy.