I had a nice workout today. After having my trainer kick my butt with some challenging lifts, I spent an hour doing cardio, listening to most recent episode of This American Life. I really enjoy listening to a podcast while on an elliptical. I don’t have to lower my intensity level so I can hold a book, or dedicate my focus to a television show. Instead, I’m able to focus on the exercise, focus on the podcast content, and from time to time, focus on some of the elements in the gym around me.
The elliptical I used today was in perfect view of the Kids Club at my gym. I find it to be a hilarious scene, often times with the biggest, toughest guys in the gym transforming into their “daddy” roles, or a gaggle of kids emerging with an exhausted mom who probably enjoyed her only “me” time of the day. Today, one of the little guys caught my eye.
He couldn’t have been more than one and a half. He was small, wearing those funny baby pants that would be shorts on any normal human being, but fit babies perfectly. He stood at the door. His dad was in the process of checking him out of the club, but seemed to be having a conversation with the babysitters. The little guy wanted out.
Over the course of five minutes, he attempted over and over again to open up the door. He’d stand on his tippy-toes, grab the handle, and bring it down, only to be confused by what to do next. He looked directly at me a few times, apparently in hopes of getting a clue, but I didn’t think assisting in an escape was my best option. After every attempt, he’d look back at his dad–not to get sympathy, but to check if anyone was watching–and then try again. A few times he almost lost his balance, but he never fell down. He just grabbed that handle and released the door, unable to physically push it open.
Halfway through this, the other kids in the room, saw what he was doing. They moved closer to the baby gate, not even attempt to grab its handle. I imagine if they could talk it would sound like that scene from The Waterboy, but they were too young, and so instead they looked at him, eyes filled with hope.
I was surprised by the little guy’s disposition. He never cried, never whined, and never gave up.
Failure.
Tippy-toes, grab handle, release door latch, and…
Failure.
Tippy-toes, grab handle, release door latch, and…
Failure.
Finally, his dad picked up his gym bag, turned around, picked up the little guy with one arm, and carried him out of the gym.
I still had some more time left on the elliptical, providing me a moment to think.
I wonder if we are still really attempting to open up the doors in our life. Sure, there are the easy ones we walk through, but are we really problem solving anymore or pushing ourselves? When was the last time you attempted something in life that required you to get on your tippy-toes, only to fail again? When you did fail, did you turn around and look for sympathy, or did you try again?
I’m not saying I’m perfect at this. To be honest, I think I’ve been waiting for some to open doors for me, but part of me isn’t satisfied with that. Part of me wants to step up and try something tougher.
What about you?