I turn twenty-six this year in July. I’ll have to pay for my health insurance. I’m not in my early twenties anymore. And when I stand in front of the mirror in the morning, I see the horror of my changing body. My metabolism has always been strong, but something happened around twenty-four where I started to actually see the consequences of the years after college where exercise was an afterthought and beer had a brick in my personal food pyramid.
This realization has forced me to become something I’m not very good at being: a self-disciplined person. In college, I found self-discipline easily enough with syllabi and grades and the somewhat competitive drive to succeed. Once my life was my responsibility and balance wasn’t found in papers and planning, I have had to find my way back to self-discipline. So I bought a cute pair of black Nike’s, one of those fancy running fanny packs, and an entry in an upcoming 5K. On the first warm day of spring in 2015, I ran.
Heart pounding, I choked for air and heaved myself those first few miles down side roads in my city. I sent Snapchat photos of my beet-red face to my friends with captions like “training for my 5K” to make myself feel better after struggling to make it a couple miles. I needed to prove to myself and my friends that this was the start of a process, the beginning of my fitness journey. That fall, I ran my first ever 5K, which I never imagined doing.
Around that same time, a friend who was an editor for The Republic in Columbus, Indiana gave me some freelance work to help me build a writing portfolio. I realized that writing, much like running, takes practice and upkeep. And as I began writing again—for the first time since college—I saw how my skills had also packed on a few pounds. I was rusty, weighed down. But I practiced; I tried. Not every article I wrote turned out the way I wanted. Life gets in the way of good intentions.
A 5K is by no means the most impressive feat of physical aptitude, but I finished. I held myself accountable to a reasonable expectation, and I followed through. With writing, there’s more rejection than acceptance. In the musical Dear Evan Hansen, the title character sings “We start with stars in our eyes / We start believing that we belong / But every sun doesn’t rise / And no one tells you where you went wrong.” This is the reality we live as writers. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve failed. I’ve faced rejection countless times. But my growth came when I picked myself up, found the discipline we all possess, and continued the race.
Nick Rassi lives in downtown Indianapolis with his boyfriend, Nic, their two cats, Eevee and Marlie, and their best friend Lauren Sawyer. He is currently the manager of Silver in the City in Carmel, one of the Indianapolis area's top rated local shops. Eventually, he would like to run a 10K.