Discomfort Grants Wishes

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“Discomfort grants wishes, but you have to tell it what you want every single day.”

I find it hard lately to expand on the short reflections I write about ultra running, discomfort, fatigue, and adventure. The words are so simple and direct, but wide open to personal meditation, that I want to leave them as they are.

In years past, I wanted to tell followers of Wicked Trail—you readers of this blog—what I thought. Now I want to tell you what I think about.

It’s a change I’m glad for.

Short, simple, punctual words.

Words that are as broad as a lifetime, but as specific as mile 75 of 100 (the sun has been set for some time; my knees and hip flexors and big toes hurt; I’m tired and nauseous…).

Perhaps these short musings (of which Wicked Trail’s Instagram followers must one day tire) are born of my modern, shortening attention span. Maybe they’re a little lazy of me. Maybe they’re just as simple as ultra running: each short poem a single step on my own journey toward enlightenment via fatigue and discomfort.

And fatigue and discomfort are noble guides, worthy friends.

Discomfort is special to me.

It has a lot of talents.

It lacks nothing but comfort.

I train jiu jitsu and today, as a higher belt held me in an uncomfortable position, he acknowledged my calm breathing and lack of panic. “Good,” he said. “It’s just discomfort.”

(If only he knew I was wearing this shirt under my gi).

The word discomfort is simple and profound, like ultra running. There’re thousands of hours of wisdom just in the first letter, and woe to the man or woman who goes farther than that. That person is bound to have a bad time.

But aren’t we all bound to have a bad time?

Tied, chained, and captive to distress and anxiety, the toils of mortality.

But escape—freedom—lies in the dark cave in which you are a prisoner. You see, in that cave there is a dusty genie’s lamp. It’s tucked away in a corner, few people think to even look for it.

But if you find it and give it a little rub, Discomfort will spring forth!

And what does discomfort look like? Ghastly? Monstrous?

What does it say?

Discomfort does speak, after all.

Haven’t you heard it, while training and on race day?

“What do you want?”

That’s exactly what it says: “What do you want?”

Discomfort grants wishes, but you must tell it what you want every single day.

But discomfort is not easily beheld.

Every single day you must look for that lamp and tell discomfort what you want. It’s a reflection worth more than every motivational speech on YouTube and every self-help book in Barnes and Noble (even David Goggins’ latest book).

You can shout your desires from every rooftop, plaster them all over social media, you can tell your friends and family…but none of those ears can turn your ambitions to reality.

No shooting star, penny tossed in a fountain, or blown dandelion will make your wishes come true.

You need to find discomfort and—in the smallest moments of fatigue and pain—tell it what you want.

“I want to be free from _____________.”

“I want to be great at ______________.”

“I want to inspire __________________.”

“I want to ________________________.”

“I want…”

You know what discomfort—that premonition pouring from our little dusty lamp—will say?

Think about it…

I don’t want to give away all my thoughts.

Maybe it’s my modern attention span. Maybe it’s laziness. Maybe I’m still thinking about it, another step on my own journey.

Discomfort
grants wishes
but you have to tell it
what you want
Every
single
day.