Parenting is not a marathon

I've been training for a sprint distance triathlon with my sister—my first one. For those who don't know, a triathlon involves swimming, then biking, then running, with quick transitions between each stage where you frantically change gear and mindset before diving into something completely different.

People say parenting is a marathon, but I'm realizing it's more of a triathlon, if that triathlon had 12 stages, they didn't tell you which one was coming next, and it went on for the rest of your life.

In a marathon, you hit your running pace, your groove, and the challenge is to maintain it. It's hard, but it's all the same. It's endurance. This is not like parenting.

Kids change. Needs change. Nobody tells you what's coming next. The parenting books can hint at it, but they can't tell you how your specific, wonderful, unpredictable child will embody the particular challenges of that stage, or what they will need.

It's not a challenge of finding your groove and sticking with it.

It's more like you finally hit your swimming groove, and it's hard, but you got it now, and you're moving along. And then your kid is like, "Okay, now bike!"

But you're still in your wetsuit and you don't know where your bike is. Maybe you planned ahead and set up a transition area, but your specific child turns out to need a different kind of pedals. You have to pivot, and meanwhile time is passing, and your child needs you biking, but you're all wet and you're wearing a swim cap instead of a helmet.

But you do it. You get it together and you get on the bike, and you ride, and you hit your groove.

And then your kid says, "Okay, now run."

And you have to pivot again, because the bike and helmet are now the wrong tools, and time is still passing.

And honestly, it's just a short run. Anyone looking at it, any parenting or running expert, would say, "Oh, you've run this distance many times, you know what to do."

But you don't, because your legs are used to cycling and you're sopping wet and exhausted. So now you're also mad at yourself for not being able to run as fast or as well as they say you need to. And time is passing, and the old lady in the grocery store is saying things like, "Just treasure every moment," and the coaches are reminding you to stay hydrated for self care and live in the moment, but all you can think is "I AM TRYING!" and "What next?!"

Sometimes they don't even tell you what stage is next, so you're just trying different things and hoping to find your groove. Sometimes, the experts are telling you it's time to bike, but your kid is standing there holding a towel and floaties, and you don't know if you can trust your gut and dive back in.

Maybe you thought you'd mastered the bedtime routine (your swimming stroke is strong!). Then your child starts running out of their room at midnight or decides they hate their pajamas with every fiber of their being. Suddenly you're fumbling around in transition, trying to figure out what tools you need now.

Or maybe you finally figured out how to support your child through their anxiety at school (you're cruising on the bike!), and then their teacher changes, or they starting shrieking in music. Time to throw on your running shoes and figure out something completely new.

And if your child has a disability or behaviour challenges? Sometimes you're all geared up and ready to run, but your kid needs you to roller skate. Or cartwheel. The “experts” are still shouting instructions for the standard triathlon, but your child is asking for something that's not even in the rulebook, and you have to figure out how to support them in a sport nobody prepared you for. 

Here's the thing: transitions in a real triathlon are timed, but nobody expects you to be as fast in transition as you are in the race itself. You're supposed to feel awkward and a little panicked for a minute. The goal isn't to be perfect—it's to get yourself set up for the next stage as best you can.

Parenting transitions deserve the same grace. When your toddler suddenly becomes a preschooler with Big Feelings, when your needy child becomes a distant teenager grunting “I know, Mom!”—those transitions are supposed to feel clunky. You're not supposed to know exactly what you're doing right away.

The pivots ARE the parenting. It's not about setting up a system that works for every kid, every phase, all life long. It's about getting comfortable with the fact that you'll be learning new skills and adapting to new challenges for as long as you're a parent.

This is why looking at what's hard for your specific child right now, and figuring out ways to support them that fit works better than following someone else's system. What helps now might not help in six months, not because it failed—it’s just the next transition. The good news is each time, you'll know a little more about what works for you and your child. Each transition will feel a little less foreign.

Most of all, please remember: you're not supposed to be good at every stage immediately. You're not supposed to maintain the same pace through every phase. The fact that you're willing to keep learning, keep adapting, keep showing up for your child even when you're sopping wet and wearing the wrong shoes? That's not failing. That's good parenting. 

The goal isn't to never feel awkward in transition. The goal is to trust that you'll figure out what comes next, one stage at a time.

Want to do this parenting triathlon with a team? Come to a Huddle. Or grab a 1:1 session, and get your personalized coach.