Coach Liz Waterstraat has completed more than 200 triathlons and is a competitive gravel-bike cyclist. She is an occasional Another Mother Runner podcast co-host, including the monthly bonus segment Miles of Books, as well as an avid gardener.
It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon, and the air has a dry crispness signaling a change in seasons. Hands covered in gardening gloves, I am doing as gardeners do in early fall: unearthing the still-alive, yet worn, annual plants from my containers.
My nine-year-old daughter walks by, and asks, “Is today Unplanting Day?”
Unplanting. The natural end to what began in early May: Planting Day. The day when I plant a variety of annuals into my containers with a promise of water and care in exchange for a season of strong performances in bursting blooms and bright colors.
Summer brings blooms and vitality to Liz’s garden
Yet every year, as fall arrives, the blooms are less frequent. Some leaves yellow. Some wilt from fatigue, the duress of long days in the bright summer sun. No amount of water seems to help. For a few days in mid-September, I think I can squeeze out a little extra growth with careful pruning and more care, yet at some point, days shorten, nights cool. Summer ends.
Our bodies are similar. We start fresh early in the year, full of promise. A winter’s worth of planting seeds. Spring arrives, our fitness ready to bloom into finish lines and PRs. With a little bit of watering and work every day, we thrive.
Fall approaches. An old niggle flares. Our shoes get worn out. The thought of yet another sweaty Sunday long run feels more like a “have to” than “get to.” The season wears on. We sense, until we know, it is time for our season to end.
Like my containers, it’s tempting to want to keep blooming. It is hard to let things go. Peak fitness is a beautiful thing. We can’t help but stare at it lovingly, taking pictures to share on our socials, a fitness work of art, I did this.
But we must become unplanted. Because change is not only inevitable but necessary. A life cycle. When the race of the season is done, we need to hang up our racing shoes, loosen our grip on our schedule, and unplant ourselves. Trusting this time away from our most vibrant growth allows us to store the energy required for future growth.
Pruning and cutting back are part of the growth process
Unplanting my garden is never an enjoyable day. It signals my acceptance of a harsh reality: cold, dark days are soon arriving. So I take a moment. I reflect on how each container began. I marvel at how tall the grasses stand or how lush the coleus has grown. And though I fear it’s all a one-time accomplishment in my ability to choose, then nurture the plants to what looks like perfection, I’ve learned how this cycle goes: I fear before I trust; then once I accept, I set myself up for next year’s growth.
Fitness, like flowers, will bloom again when the conditions are right. Like gardening, our peak fitness rests on accepting that timing is everything and trusting that we cannot forever be in a state of growth.
So for now: Unplant. Cut back. Close up. Until it is time again to grow.
This is beautiful, Liz. I love the writing and the sentiment.
Hard to do this in a climate where the sun is always shining…and I have spent WAY too much time this year “starting over”- first from brain surgery to remove a tumor and then from a hip replacement about two weeks ago. I feel “composted” and am ready in a couple weeks to get back on my bike and in the water. But I am also looking forward to some drizzly rainy days in winter…soup making and under 90 degrees!
“I fear before I trust, then once I accept, I set myself up for next year’s growth.”– I love this so much. It truly is a little scary to acknowledge the end of a season and then be willing to look ahead to challenge ourselves with new ways to grow and develop. I appreciate the encouragement to give into the process.