Every rep counts — this is the thought that drifts into my mind as I think about the challenges of the day, sitting in a chairlift beside Primrose, my oldest child. Up we go, ascending the ski hill on a crisp but sunny winter day. At the bottom of the slope–too far for me to see now–Aaron stands with a paper cup of coffee in his gloved hands. AJ, our youngest, plays at his feet, using his snowboard as a sled. Sierra, our middle child, clings to his side, torn between her desire to stick to the beginner hill (where, despite this being her third year, she stubbornly refuses to advance) and her reluctance to be there alone.

The day had unfolded much as I expected it would, trying and tiring, based on the moods from earlier that morning. The kids (and myself) had felt a pull to stay home and be cozy, but Wisconsin had received a heavy snowfall on a rather bare winter and we had already invested in the gear, so…if we were going to use it, now was the time–cozy moods aside.

Off we went. And I prepared myself for the effort it would take.

Now, as the day neared its end, I looked over the top of Primrose’s helmet at the bare trees silhouetted against the blue sky. We had been here for hours, and three of the four of us on the slopes had already cried in frustration, myself included. Somewhere, the birds were nestled in hidden cozy nooks, unwilling to fly and flutter in the frigid air.

I think of the birds and other ways of nature, as I do this time of year, reflecting about the activity or lack there of. I look out my kitchen window at the winter winds whipping bare branches and wonder about the dark, quiet cave I would be sleeping in if I were a bear.

February is a time for me when the tension between work and rest knots itself into agitation – when I desire to be a spring peeper frozen under the mud, but am instead a human with a mound of responsibility (opportunity?) that only seems to grow, rather than ebb and flow like the tide. Why are we even doing life like this? I wonder on the grittiest days. And yet, I know—if I had less to manage I would be on my way to start a furniture refurbishing business in my garage, creating more all over again. After all, we all need something to do.

And that’s when the point nudges itself, clear and simple, into my mind as I sit beside Primrose on the chairlift. Even when there are tears and resistance, even when we’d all rather be in pajamas, it all builds towards something. Towards moments that feel lighter; more vibrant.

The cycles continue, and I pay attention, resting deliberately in the spaces I carve out and the ones that emerge unexpectedly. And I keep going, knowing with growing confidence that, not only does every rep count, but the reps count for more when I accept and attend to the day that’s given to me.

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