Resistance is a marathon.
Whether you are resisting opening that third box of girl scout cookies, resisting wanting to walk during your run, resisting wanting to quit, resisting stress and peer pressure, or even resisting social microaggressions and outright oppression, resistance is a marathon. It's easy to burn out, to flicker into a sort of fatigue that resembles apathy but is more like a feeling of being completely overwhelmed by insurmountable odds, gasping for that last bit of air under an angry wave. Burnout. Hollowness. Blinders to everything but putting one foot in front of the next.
Resistance is mental gymnastics. It's knowing how to pace yourself. Knowing how to take setbacks in stride and still work to move forward. It's accepting cheat days and bad runs and disappointments and still getting up the next day and saying, "I'm going to try again."
Resistance is seeing the big picture, knowing the course, planning your personal battles to win your own war, to achieve those goals. Resistance is that painful, drudging persistence that is not glamorous, not glorious, not exhilarating. Resistance is mile eight of thirteen when you feel like you're going to die and that finish line is so far away, but so is the start line and you feel like you're lost, you feel like if you stop no one will notice, it doesn't matter anyways - but you still find that last ember inside you that whispers, "Keep going. Keep going." It never says "You're almost there," because it knows that would be a lie - you have to keep fighting for that finish line. It's the spark for the cheesy montage of inspirational scenes set to an uplifting track with voiceovers like, "Dig deep," "Keep going," "It's the journey, not the destination," and all sorts of motivation poster-worthy phrases.
Resistance is the flame of eternal optimism - believing you can do it, believing you can push through, believing it will get better, whether it's another five miles or twenty miles or four years.
Resistance is the marathon of eternal optimism.