Did “discipline” become a dirty word?

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Discipulus.

So, I was recently chatting with a good girlfriend of mine and she was telling me how she almost got “canceled” in class (she’s studying to be a therapist) for suggesting there might be some positive attributes to self-discipline.

Wait, back up. What?

Since when was “discipline” a dirty word?

Do you think self-discipline is generally a negative thing?

I’ve always viewed discipline to be a tool, one that helps me reach specific goals. Take, for example, running my first half marathon back in 2016. That was a particular finish line I selected because I desired it. No one told me to do it. No one forced it on me. It was purely something I decided to do.

But most people are not in the kind of physical shape that allows them to roll out of bed and run 13.1 miles. It takes training, hundreds of miles on your feet to get to a point where your body can take you from start to finish without coming apart. But because the goal, itself, was discretionary–something I wanted to do–the training leading up to it, the training that would allow me to reach that goal, was also, by its nature, discretionary. I could, at any time, choose not to go for a training run. I could, at any time, choose to skip my speed drills. And, of course, it went without saying that I could, at any time, drop out of the race and ditch the training altogether.

A common misconception that people have of runners, particularly long-distance runners, is that we all love running. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I really don’t like running. When training for a half-marathon, you pretty much have to run four times a week, though, anywhere from 3 to 16 miles, per run. Most mornings, I’d rather stay in bed or go straight into editing videos, developing recipes, taking photographs, or writing newsletters. Truly.

Out of all the thousands of runs I’ve taken over the past decade, I can literally count on both hands the number of times I actually wanted to go on one. In fact, sometimes, I dreaded my runs so much, I would literally have nightmares about them.

So, what do we got here? I signed up for a race that requires me to do something I really don’t want to do at least four times a week, and there’s literally nothing keeping me accountable to that goal, absolutely no one, other than myself, rousting me out of bed and shoving me out onto the road.

Enter: discipline.

Before we talk about how, for me, discipline is merely a tool, nothing more, for achieving goals, let’s unpack the word a bit. “Discipline” comes from the Latin word “discipulus,” which means student. The word is therefore rooted in “learning” or “teaching” or “training.” In today’s parlance, discipline can refer to a wide range of things, including when a parent punishes a child for disobedience; teaching people to adhere to a certain code of rules or behavior; it can also refer to a particular branch of knowledge or study, like music.

“Self-discipline” refers to the ability to adhere to a set of rules or behaviors (because you choose to adopt them), even when no one is there to correct you when you deviate from said rules. Put another way, according to the Oxford Dictionary, “self discipline” is “the ability to pursue what one thinks is right despite ​temptations​ to ​abandon​ it.”

I like this last definition because it’s premised upon choice, something I believe many forget when it comes to discipline: “what one thinks is right…” Certainly, in the case of a parent disciplining her child for disobedience, the word “discipline” is associated with the coerced adoption of external rules, a code of conduct that the child likely had very little role in creating. But at a certain point, when parents are no longer there to enforce the rules and we are left to our own devices as adults, “self-discipline” rears its head and we are tasked with deciding for ourselves what those rules should be.

In the example above, I chose to sign up for a half-marathon. Why? Because I value physical fitness. I value self-confidence. I value mental toughness. I value the incomparable feeling of accomplishment that thrums through my entire body, from head to toe, the second I cross that finish line. Unfortunately, physical fitness, self-confidence, mental toughness, and the high of achievement… Well, they’re not exactly available at the local convenience store. They are hard earned things. Of course they are! Otherwise, they wouldn’t be so very valuable! They cost things–maybe not money, but they cost time, they cost comfort, they cost ease.

And four mornings a week, I stand at the register and the clerk shows me exactly what it will cost me that morning to purchase those things on layaway, those things I value so much: a 3-mile easy run, a 7-mile speed workout, a 15-mile long run. And I have to choose:

Do I want to pay the piper today?

And if I don’t, who am I giving up on?

Discipline, then, becomes a critical tool in getting me to pony up, to choose the woman I want to be when I cross that finish line–a women I don’t quite know yet, a woman who doesn’t feel real yet, a woman who is easily dismissible in the face of fatigue, stress, or a really binge-worthy Netflix documentary. And like any tool–a hammer, a wrench, a screwdriver–it’s one that becomes infinitely easier to use with more and more practice.

Growing up, my father used to force me and my brother to play tennis with him, almost every single week. He would call it “our exercise.” Physical fitness was (and is) a core value to my father and I truly believe it’s one of the reasons he remains in such excellent shape, despite being 8o years old. But, at the time, I hated it. Physical fitness was not a core value of mine. I’d much rather spend that time watching the Smurfs, eating hot dogs, or reading a book.

As I’ve talked about in the past, my father also forced me into weekly tutoring sessions with him, where I’d learn to read and write in Korean, as well as advanced math. Again, I did not value this type of extracurricular scholarship, and, if it were up to me, I would have spent that time playing hide and seek, racing my two-wheeler down Karlov Avenue with the neighborhood kids, or reading a book–in English.

In other words, I did not want to do those things. But my father taught me so much more than how to ace a serve, write “I love you” in Korean, or solve a system of equations. He taught me that sometimes, you have to do things you really don’t want to do; that the going price for that shiny, new bauble in the glass display–character, integrity, self-respect, and even self-love–is a path of great resistance.

In the end, despite how much I hated it (and sometimes hated him for it), I can keep up on the pickleball court with my husband and friends; I share a passion for physical fitness with my father, one that has brought us closer together in ways I could not have ever imagined; I can read and write in my mother’s native tongue, and thus appreciate the power of her poetry, the letters she writes to me when she wants to lend me strength and resolve.

But perhaps more valuable than all of those things is how familiar the tool feels in my hand, how well-worn its handle has grown, how easily my fingers curl around it when it comes time to swing it into action and chisel out the goals I’ve set for myself:

The woman I see far off in the distance, crossing that finish line.

Thoughts On This Week’s Topic?

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This Week’s Recipe Inspo.

Biscoff-Misu!

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This Thursday: Starting a Running Routine.

Photo Credit: Tek Chung (@tekstiles)

Join me on Thursday for a live, interactive chat online about Running. This is the number 1 topic I get asked about—so let’s dive into it together! We’ll cover everything you want to know about starting a running routine, and then some. Plus, I’ll be taking your questions on plant-based cooking, nutrition, training, and more.

This LIVE Q&A will take place ​here​ on The Korean Vegan Kollective.

Non-members, join the discussion (and try my amazing recipe app for two weeks!) by using code TryTKV at checkout.

*Use code TryTKV at checkout.

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Parting Thoughts.

As I was driving back from a breakfast meeting this morning, I spied a couple of runners jogging along the shoulder of Agoura Road. It was already nearly 90° outside, but there was plenty of shade provided by a phalanx of tall trees stretching their arms well past the curb. Seeing them made me think two things: (a) I should check my schedule to see what my run for tomorrow is, and (b) man… I can’t believe that this is my life now.

What do I mean by that?

Well, I mean that I am now someone who can roll out of bed and run a half marathon. If I wanted to.

That I have been that someone, now, for about seven years.

If I were to go back in time to chit-chat with the woman I was ten years ago, told her that in ten years, she’d be able to get out of bed, climb into her workout clothes, tie her laces, and bust out a half-marathon just because she wanted to….?

My former self would snort so hard, she’d probably choke on her coffee.

I hated running back then. The thought of running for even a mile made my skin crawl. I absolutely believed that I could never run more than four miles in a row. I absolutely believed that some people were meant for running and I was not one of them. I absolutely believed that only crazy people run things with the word “marathon” in them–and I was not one of them.

People often say that the hardest step is always the first one. Your body has no template for taking that first step. It has not had an opportunity to learn what it takes, what it feels like, what will result from that first step. But inspiration, motivation, the excitement of trying something new–all of these things can propel you, squash the anxiety and the self-doubt that often attends a “first step.”

But what happens when inspiration, motivation, the “new car smell” inevitably fades?

That’s when discipline can be your best friend. Because, like you, discipline wants to see you succeed. It is as invested in the goals you set for yourself as you are. And unlike its sexier peers, “inspiration” and “motivation,” discipline is loyal, predictable, dependable, consistent.

Now, can discipline turn toxic? Yes. When you start doing things for the exclusive sake of discipline, when self-regulation becomes its own goal at the expense of the very values it was designed to reinforce? Then it’s time to re-evaluate whether lacing up and going for a 7-mile run is really what’s called for.

In that case, maybe the “disciplined” thing to do is untie your shoelaces. Kick the sneakers off, melt into your couch, and take a day off.

Wishing you all the best,
-Joanne

Comments & Questions.