Renouncement of will.

I was running on the treadmill in my in-laws' basement and hating it. When was the last time I mentioned that I hate running? A while, then. Okay. I hate running. It starts off all right, but about seven minutes into the running part I start wondering if I will be able to finish all thirty minutes. How can I possibly make myself keep going for 23 more? Because I hate running. I still hate it after eight minutes, and nine minutes, and at ten minutes there is this sort of sinking feeling that ten minutes later I am going to hate it even more than I do right now. Surely I will get fed up and quit. "You know you almost never do quit," I tell myself, but with twenty minutes to go it is always tough to believe that.

So when I had four minutes left, my five-year-old daughter came wandering down and asked, "Can you talk to me now, Mama?"

Jockeying for position as "first thought that came into my mind," one of these:

- "Drat, I'm almost done. Better hold her off for just a couple more minutes or I won't finish my whole workout."

- "Thank goodness, an excuse to quit early."

In truth, I don't remember which thought came first. I am not sure it matters. There was a split-second crisis.

As per the Montfortian consecration that I have been writing about in fits and starts, one of the spiritual exercises for this week is "renouncement of will." No explanation is offered beyond that. I assumed it means to find things that you want to do and don't do them, or do things you don't like to do. Some kind of mortification. Skip dessert. Or maybe if you're hyper vigilant and fearful about gaining weight, you are supposed to have dessert, so that you can feel miserable about it for hours later. Or maybe you are supposed to eat desserts you don't like.

In the moment on the treadmill, my crazy brain, which rationalizes faster than I can keep up with it, said: "Stop now! Your daughter is asking you to quit your planned workout! It is an opportunity to renounce your own will!"

And then it helpfully added: "Don't stop! You know you really want to stop! Therefore, to keep going is to renounce your own will! See how much you hate what you're doing? Offer it up for a few more minutes!"

Thankfully it did not consider the possibility of running for more than four minutes just to spite both of us.

Here is what I told her, in between gasps: "I can't talk to you now, but i will in four minutes.". She waited patiently, I gave her updates every thirty seconds, and then when the clock ticked down I hit the down arrow and puffed, "Okay, now I can talk to you." I decided not to worry about it and to laugh at myself instead.

I think exercise (and food) decisions are not really areas where I am, shall we say, competent to make judgments about spiritual matters. I am not well in the head about this. If I get all stressed about renouncing my own will there, I'll go nuts. Which will should I renounce? The short-term desire to get off the damn treadmill and go pop open an ice-cold Coke instead? Or the will to stick it out and to walk away knowing I can still hang in there for thirty effing minutes three times a week?

I just need to stop worrying about this. It is kind of like how I decided to quit giving up anything food-related whatsoever for Lent (besides the obligatory fasting and abstinence). I am not well enough to make rational decisions.

I need to take a closer reading of Montfort's advice about renouncing your will. I think he means something more than simple mortification, i.e., "doing what you don't feel like doing.". I think when the "will" is invoked he must be talking about obedience to the will of another, because then you cannot get all worked up about the competing versions of the self. Renouncement of will then becomes a docile and accepting obedience to legitimate authorities. The superior, the supervisor, the elders, the law; sometimes, too, the wail of the waking child, or the seemingly unreasonable request of the husband. Even for those of us outside the convent or school, long grown up and supposedly autonomous, there are a surprising number of opportunities for renouncing your will. Sobering, I think, to come to grips with this: it isn't fully renounced if I grumble about it, or seek validation through a vent on Facebook.

Worrying about whether eating a cupcake or running for three more minutes is or isn't a renouncement of my will? I am thinking this is not much more than me trying to be distracted from the real problem. Perhaps willfully.

Comments

[Barbara C.]

"I think when the "will" is invoked he must be talking about obedience to the will of another"....I think that says it all. What you were describing earlier just sounded so pointless...kind of like how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.

I obviously haven't read what you have had, but it seems like the "renouncement of will" should have a purpose...like giving up something you enjoy in order to serve someone else (for instance, letting go of free time to play an extra game with the kids or do something hubby likes to do).

[bearing]

"what you were describing earlier sounded so pointless".

Definitely this describes a lot of what goes on in my head. It takes a while sometimes for me to recognize it as such.

[Jennifer]

I think you make an excellent point here about the confusion between "the will" and "self control" or "will power". Staying on the treadmill or going to that extra exercise class or forgoing that brownie or the third glass of vino is self control.

[bearing]

Thank you, Jennifer. I was pretty sure I had a point, but you did a better job than I of concisely figuring out what it was.