Yes, I can!

This title is more an ode to The Little Engine That Could than an Obama-ism, but both "I think I can, I think I can!" and "Yes, we can" have their roots in a concept that's been on my mind a lot today: determination.

It's one of those things they never tell you you're going to need in elementary school (with the exception of The Little Engine That Could), when everyone is making lists of good qualities, or learning how to say them in an introductory foreign language class. Nice, kind, intelligent or smart and pretty usually make the list, but determined rarely shows up, and it isn't until you're in college, or maybe even later, that you realize its worth as a character trait.

It's a trait that tends to involve a lot of its friends in whatever it does: endurance, for athletes, teachers trying to make a difference in their students' lives or people trying to hold together a relationship that's hit a rough patch; tunnel vision, for the executive whose mind is set on a particular promotion or bonus or the student focused on surviving a hellacious final exam period; efficiency, for the single parent intent on giving their child the best life possible or a professional with more piles of paperwork on their desk than hours in the workweek.

For me, there's a fine line between determination and stubbornness (whose friend crankiness often tags along), and it can be hard to tell the difference - although determination usually seems to be accompanied by a feeling of certainty about the outcome that stubbornness lacks.

Being stubborn can get you in trouble, whereas being determined usually doesn't. Case in point: on a family vacation to British Columbia when I was nine or ten, my brother bought some sort of apple-flavored soda that I decided was the best thing ever invented, an opinion based mostly on the fact that he and my sister-in-law liked it, and anything they did - like drinking apple soda - I wanted to do, too. My dad told me I could have a Diet Coke instead. "I don't want no stinkin' Coke!" was my response (I have to mention that I never said things like this and it appalled me the moment it was out of my mouth, but the first week of that vacation was without my mom, so I had an extraordinary amount of sugar and caffeine in my system after six or seven days of Canadian pastry-laden meals, snacks and coffee breaks with my dad). Needless to say, I definitely didn't get an apple soda. And that unfortunate statement gets tossed back at me anytime I'm being stubborn with my family.

Contrast that with this year: in March, never having run more than 6.2 miles at a time, I decided I wanted to try to run the 33rd annual Marine Corps Marathon. I worked out a schedule and started training, telling myself I'd just see how it went. After a month of training, I was intent on crossing that finish line. There were times I got through purely on stubbornness, like the first 14-mile run I did in July when I greatly underestimated how much water I'd need and was foolishly optimistic about the fueling capabilities of a 90 calorie Special K bar. I was not going to walk or slow down no matter how exhausted and thirsty I was, goshdarnit, no way. But the experience as a whole demanded determination much more than stubbornness. And pounding toward the 20th mile on October 26th, I didn't feel stubborn, I felt determined - to do my best and to use everything my training had taught me about myself to achieve this major accomplishment.

I felt determined when I started a new job in August 2007 - I didn't know much of anything about direct marketing, but I was determined to learn, both quickly and well. And determination was my best friend when I took the two-day final exam for my French major - being stubborn about French poetry and Renaissance literature wouldn't have gotten me anything but a headache, but determination got me a degree.

I was thinking about all of this this morning as I was pulling air into my lungs and pushing it out, ignoring the stitch in my side and the knots in my shoulder while concentrating on not slipping on the ice coating large portions of the road and trying to tune out the crankiness circling in my head: I hate running at 6,600 feet. I hate running in 30 degree weather. I hate the cold. Why haven't I bought a half-zip with wicking fabric to run in yet? Why the hell am I breathing so hard after three miles? I hate running at 6,600 feet...

My mom was right next to me, keeping up with the pace I'd set even though it was almost two minutes faster per mile than her usual. When we run together, she regularly protests afterward that I'm trying to run her into the ground, but she almost always keeps up, and never fails to keep going. It's that kind of determination that's so different from the childish stubbornness I tended to rely on growing up. And it's that kind of determination that gets things done.

I think - hope - I've made a lot of progress toward relying much more on determination than stubbornness in the last few years. And I'm pretty sure that just thinking about it means I am, as well as being one of those "Oh, I'm really an adult now, aren't I?" moments that alternately make me smile and scare me half to death. I'm sure I'll still have my stubborn moments, some of which may involve stamping my foot, but I'm kind of looking forward to the adult alternative of determination, and finding out just what it can help me accomplish.