On Doing Hard Things

10 Jul, 2025

I've never been known for my coordination, balance, or cardiovascular enthusiasm. In team sports, I was invariably the last one picked – probably only because "not picking" wasn't an option. Physical exertion was not among my natural strengths.

So naturally, last summer, I climbed into a boat that was both longer than my room (thanks KRH) and about as wide as myself, and tried to make it move in a straight line.

The first few sessions went about how you’d expect. I capsized enough that I began to question whether the boat was meant to be sat in at all, or if it was just a delivery mechanism for putting people into water efficiently. I spent more time in the water than I did on the boat.

But something about it stuck. Maybe it was the scenery. The glassy water at MacRitchie at 7am looks like a mirror. There is a strange satisfaction found in failing in increasingly specific ways.

Progress in kayaking doesn’t feel like progress. You just fall in slightly less. Your stroke gets marginally quieter. The boat wobbles less when you breathe. Eventually, you start noticing things like water texture, wind direction, and the turtles on the banks. It’s less a sport than a slow, immersive calibration of self to environment.

At some point, I moved from the training boats to the “almost” racing boats. I was still behind most of the team, but less behind than before. I was nowhere near the pace of the middle school children who went there after school. My team captain encouraged me in the way good leaders do: not by pretending I was better than I was, but by acting like improvement was inevitable if I kept showing up. That assumption helped.

Less than a year in, I was told I’d made varsity. A few months after that, I competed in my first inter-tertiary race. I did not win. I did not flip. Both outcomes were equally surprising.

Kayaking taught me to be okay with repeatedly looking dumb in public.

There are worse ways to start your day than sitting on still water in a boat that doesn’t want you there, trying to move forward anyway. Turns out that’s a decent metaphor for most things.

It’s easy to over-index on success stories. But I think there’s a quiet dignity in the almost-stories too.