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“I don’t live off that hope (expletive)! I wish the water was cold!” – David Goggins.

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It’s fascinating how a walk to my father’s car became a catalyst for running.

Dad had asked me a few days prior if I wanted to go to the local waterpark with him that weekend. The waterpark had installed new rides, the weather report said it would be hot, and it would be an opportunity for father-and-son time.

I couldn’t refuse the offer.

Our family tradition at this waterpark has always been the cheap route: “Don’t buy a storage locker. Put your stuff underneath an empty lounge chair instead.”

But as we arrived, Dad hesitated about hiding his credit card in our duffel bag.

“Maybe you can run it back to the car after I purchase the tickets,” he said. “I don’t want something to happen to it.”

The waterpark has expanded its territory over the years, and it has become a hassle to find parking close to the entrance. It took ten minutes for Dad and I to walk from the new parking lot to go through bag check and finally purchase our tickets at the booth. That’s ten minutes we could have spent swimming in the wave pool—time that could have been spent making memories.

“Alright, here’s the card,” he said. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

And now, it would take me another 20 minutes to walk to and from the car again. I was fed up when I approached it. The sun’s rays were persuasive, beaming down on me. I yearned to be in the shade—to be submerged in water.

Necessity is the mother of invention. She propelled me to run.

The last time I ran was six years ago in high school on the outdoor track. My momentum has staggered since, but every passing step invigorated me more.

“C’mon, soldier!” I shouted. “On your feet! Let’s move! Hut, two, three, four! Hut, two, three, four!”

I was having so much fun talking to myself like Sergeant Hartman that I was about to outrun Dad when I reached the front gate.

“Slow down,” he said. “No need to rush.”

It was too late for that. I had tapped into a raw part of myself, a reservoir of determination and resilience that had never been discovered before.

“Why hadn’t I started doing this years ago?!” I asked myself. “Why, this is wonderful!”

I made up my mind at that moment. I would get up early the following morning and run a mile in my neighborhood.

It’s very unusual for me to wake up at 5 a.m. on my days off. That was my first hurdle. Letting go of my soft pillow. Yet, I got up and got dressed quietly. The passion was alive and willing.

The second hurdle was Mom. My mother has what I call “woman’s doubt.” It’s a term I use to describe how women can plant doubts in a man’s mind to test his boundaries and see if he can stand up for himself. At the time, I didn’t realize this was her intention. I didn’t want her to know what I was up to. I figured this was a great way to avoid irksome scamps of doubts. As I exited my bedroom, unbeknownst to me, she was working on a craft in our living room for the preschool she works at. I was surprised to see her as she was seeing me in my gym outfit at such an early hour.

“My goodness,” she said right on cue. “You’re up early. Where are you heading off to?”

“I’m working out.”

“Oh, you’re going to the gym?”

“Yeah,” I said.

I had her fooled.

“Well, be careful,” she said. “And drive safely.”

But, dammit. I was being a people pleaser. And I lied. I had to be accountable. I had to embrace the real me.

“Actually, I’m not going to the gym,” I replied. “I’m going to be running in the neighborhood.”

It was as if I initiated DEFCON 2.

“What?!” she exclaimed. “This early?! Can’t you wait until 6 a.m.? There’ll be more daylight then.”

Usually, I would have agreed with her. I could wait the extra few minutes. But, no. I wanted to run when I wanted to run.

I chuckled.

“No, I’m going to go.”

“Oh, jeez. Just be safe. Remember that bear sighting this week. Be careful—.”

I shut the door and turned on my stopwatch. It was time to run.

This whole scene looked new to me. It was nearly pitch black outside, with a smidge of sunlight unfolding from the east. I’m tired. I’m barraged with Mom’s doubts. And I’m running down my street.

“How do I get myself into these scenarios?” I asked myself.

That question became very prominent as I approached Concord Road—the third hurdle—only a road down from mine. It’s a steep incline that leads to the top of one of the development’s hills. I surmised a plan: get to the farthest mailbox as humanly possible and make that my future marker to pass on the next run.

Easier said than done. I was out of breath, panting. My heartbeat throbbed. My thoughts raced. I felt like I was having a heart attack. The doubts crept in like snakes.

“Maybe Mom was right,” they hissed. “Maybe a bear is roaming these streets. Maybe you shouldn’t have done this at all. You should be sleeping on your nice warm pillow.”

Those mental hurdles were piling up more than I realized. The physical exhaustion didn’t help.

And yet, I smiled.

I realized these snakes were never going to go away. I had to face them head-on. I had to face the temporary pain and discomfort to embrace this new side of me and run. And every snake required a one-on-one confrontation.

I couldn’t face them all at once. So, I stopped running periodically, took deep breaths, and then jogged.

“How are you going to get up this hill?” a snake hissed.

“I will handle it,” I said.

“How?” it demanded.

“By being grounded to the present,” I said.

Focusing on the sound of my breath, I tuned into my body. I could fight each doubt by reminding myself they were just thoughts and that I could handle them one by one. And the more I ran around my neighborhood, the more I proved to myself that I could achieve what I wanted.

I was full of clarity and felt accomplished.

“But you just stopped for another break,” said another snake slithering in from the void. “How could you ever run this entire neighborhood?”

“By satisfying my needs,” I said. “My needs are important. And they deserve to be respected.”

“That’s right, soldier!” the drill sergeant shouted. “Stay on the path! OOORAH!!!”

It took me about 35 minutes on the first day to circle the entire neighborhood, running and walking. But the next day was 34, and the following was 31. Now, I can run the neighborhood in opposite directions at the same pace without walking. And Mom has been inspired by my choices.

Every step led me to a milestone of achievement—running has become my weekend routine.

And yes, I still have fun talking to myself like a soldier. But I always look back to that day when I was out of breath halfway up Concord Road, wanting to quit.

David Goggins, you’re right. I wish Dad told me to return the credit card to the car. I wish I felt like sleeping that morning. I wish Mom gave me women’s doubt. It was temporary pain that molded a boy into a soldier who yearns for steeper challenges.

It’s all about tuning the snakes’ voices out and being persuaded by your own.

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“When the ending is unknown, and the distance is unknown, that’s when you know who the (expletive) you are! Stay hard! – David Goggins.

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