Microdosing Resilience

Some mornings I wake up and go for a run. Other mornings, I read or meal prep. On commuting mornings, I watch the clock as I shower and eat my cereal and pack my lunch. Each day, the routine varies slightly. But the first thing I do, after brushing my teeth and washing my face, is set a two minute timer.

Five years ago, a colleague maybe three decades my senior talked about doing daily planks. It came up enough times and he spoke about it with such reverence that finally, one day, I decided to stop what I was doing and plank. I’ve been a distance runner my whole life and while my upper body strength is definitely a weak point, when I spun away from my desk, I felt confident and self-assured. I assumed position on my forearms and with all the hubris in the world, thought about how, “it’s just a plank.” 

It turns out it had been a while since I’d done a plank. At thirty seconds I could feel pricks of sweat on my shoulder blades. At 1 minute, I was shaking.

When the timer went off, I collapsed onto the carpet gasping for air and sufficiently humbled. 

I told my coworker. He told me to do it again tomorrow. And, because I am a creature of habit, I did. 

Every morning since August 10, 2021—whether I’m commuting to work or getting ready to run 18 miles or planning to have a cozy morning with tea and pancakes—has started with a 2 minute forearm plank. 

I’ve planked in my childhood bedroom and three New York City apartments. In hotels in Kenya and Kazakhstan and Bhutan. With my best friend the morning of her wedding. With unsuspecting friends who also think “it’s just a plank.” I’ve planked balanced on one foot while nursing an injury in the other. Planked through food poisoning and covid and the flu. I’ve planked with a dog licking my face thinking it’s a game and with my college friends while listening to ABBA. 

And while it’s fun to build a Seussian “Oh the Place You’ll Plank..” out of it, there’s something more important this tradition has taught me. 

I start my day with something manageably hard. I can plank for longer than two minutes now. (And in fact, on every anniversary, I do a burn out plank just to see how long I can make it.) But two minutes has remained the perfect duration for a morning challenge. With sleep lingering in my eyes, I can start a timer and I can turn on my brain and my muscles at the same time. 

Inevitably, some days are harder than others. And when I have a tough day and I feel myself start to shake with many seconds to go, I think back on the nearly 2,000 planks I’ve done and I remind myself that I can do hard things. And that hard things are worth doing. 

In almost every plank, I hit a moment of, “oh my gosh, am I done yet?” And every day, I have to push that out of my brain. Every day, I have to tell myself that I am strong and that I can do this and that I’m almost there. 

I’ve spent five years microdosing resilience. Five years of—within the first ten minutes of being away—proving to myself that I can overcome a challenge. Five years of doing the hard thing first.

Maybe it’s not a plank for you. Maybe it’s a phone call. A habit shift. A lifestyle change. Break it down to two minutes. What discomfort can you sit in for two minutes? What discomfort can you teach yourself to push through? 

A couple years ago, I was doing a tough speed workout at the track. As I rounded the corner, I momentarily felt a moment of doubt. I can’t do this. 

And before I realized what my inner monologue was saying, it relayed a return message something like this: You already thought that once this morning with your plank and you did that. You can do this too. 

Every day in some small way, I prove to myself that I can. 

And in proving it to myself in the small stuff, I build my confidence for the big stuff. 

The real magic? That happens in the plank and the parade and everything in between. This week, we invite you to join us for two minutes. Let’s just see what it can be.