North Star Writers Group

Here in the later months of my current pregnancy, I’ve noticed that this seemingly small accomplishment has become quite difficult. By the time I get near the top, I’m breathing heavily, feeling the intense need to rub my ankles and wishing I had a giant glass of ice-cold water waiting for me at the top.

In other words, exactly how I felt after running a marathon seven years ago. Before pregnancy, I’d have thought a flight of stairs and a marathon had very little in common. I was wrong. Now that I’ve seen the error of my ways, I can also see lots of things in life I used to see as “flights of stairs” instead should be looked upon as “marathons.”

For example – launching a new product.

If you’ve ever been through this process, you start out thinking, “Hey – I can see the top from here, how hard can it be to get there?” Idea. Research. Decision. Collaboration. Promotion. Distribution. Of course it’s more complicated than that, but is it, say, as complicated as NASA launching a Space Shuttle? Some would have you believe so. But usually, it’s more like the introduction of a simple, new breath mint.

It should be easier. It shouldn’t take years. But so many people think that a colored stripe on a package is as important as an O-ring. Until I couldn’t climb stairs anymore, I wished they’d put things in perspective. Now I get it. That product is the closest thing some people have to a baby growing inside them. Each action has to be considered. Reconsidered. They’re only doing what’s best for their baby.

I also have friends who think getting ready to go somewhere is a marathon.

They start preparations approximately two hours early. Usually with a shower. That is the only part of the process that I’m thankful they pay close attention to. After that, it’s a sea of “negotiables” to me, which I typically blow off.

But when I dropped my son off at day care last week, a six-year-old girl said to me, “You forgot to blow-dry your hair,” closely followed by, “Why are you wearing bowling shoes today?” She reminded me that I should at least treat my fashion sense, and my cosmetics, as I would a 5K. It doesn’t have to be a marathon, but a little training couldn’t hurt. Besides, I’m terrible at sprinting. Thus the wet hair. Thus the chapped lips. My husband looks adorable with bed-head. I, on the other hand, scare six-year-olds. Time for a new perspective on my morning routine.

There are also meetings and social events I used to wish were flights of stairs.

At my company, we’ve tried many, many tactics to solve the problem of excessive meetings. Once, a 45-minute edict came down from management. All meetings to last only 45 minutes. Wow! That extra 15 minutes of my hours seemed like such a gift at the time. It lasted two weeks.

There was also the “no meetings on Fridays” idea. That lasted one day. Yep. It was the Friday after Thanksgiving, and I could hardly believe we didn’t have any meetings. Of course, we were closed, but that hasn’t stopped us before.

So, where I used to have the desire to race through meetings, wrap them up and move on, I now know better. Just like in marathons, you have the injured folks. They have leg cramps, blisters or dehydration. In meetings, you also have the injured. Those who can’t go back to their departments without answers, lest they be stoned. Those whose lack of risk-taking ability means that every detail, every nook and cranny must be cleaned.

They deserve the medical attention they need, and I guess sometimes you can’t do that in 45 minutes.

As for the social events, I used to only attend those that felt great. That were casual. Where people didn’t care if you had an extra glass of wine, or that you spilled it on their carpet while falling down their stairs. Don’t get me wrong. Those kinds of gatherings are still my preference, especially on a Saturday night (when I’m not pregnant).

But I’ve also learned that there is an orchestral beauty to things like the company Christmas party. Or a non-profit fundraiser. That it’s fun to slow down, and just like I enjoyed the sights of Chicago’s Chinatown during the marathon, it’s rather nice to watch people be on their best behavior. To check out what their husbands and wives look like, and imagine them in slippers, watching a movie after tucking the kids in.

I guess the very best marathon of all was not the one I ran. It was the one that ended in the birth of my first son. It lasted 17 hours, and I can’t wait to run it again.

But first, I have a little while longer to appreciate how hard it is just to get to the top of the stairs.

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This is Column # CD054. Request permission to publish here.