Sometimes giving up is the smart thing to do.

[likely image source]

A few years ago I signed up for a 10k race. It had an entry fee, it was a scenic route, and I had qualified for the first group. I was in best shape. The weather forecast was brilliant.

Two days before the race I got a bad cold. But that wouldn’t deter me. Oh, no, not me. I’m not a quitter. I downed a handful of pills and went nevertheless. I started with a fever, a bad cough, and a banging head.

It didn’t go well. After half a kilometer I developed a chest pain. After one kilometer it really hurt. After two kilometers I was sure I’d die. Next thing I recall is someone handing me a bottle of water after the finish line.

Needless to say, my time wasn’t the best.

But the real problem began afterward. My cold refused to clear out properly. Instead I developed a series of respiratory infections. That chest pain stayed with me for several months. When the winter came, each little virus the kids brought home knocked me down.

I eventually went to see a doctor. She sent me to have a chest X-ray taken on the suspicion of tuberculosis. When the X-ray didn’t reveal anything, she put me on a 2 week regime of antibiotics.

The antibiotics indeed finally cleared out whatever lingering infection I had carried away. It took another month until I felt like myself again.

But this isn’t a story about the misery of aging runners. It’s a story about endurance sport of a different type: academia.

In academia we write Perseverance with capital P. From day one, we are taught that pain is normal, that everyone hurts, and that self-motivation is the highest of virtues. In academia, we are all over-achievers.

This summer, as every summer for the past two decades, I receive notes about who is leaving. Leaving because they didn’t get funding, because they didn’t get another position, or because they’re just no longer willing to sacrifice their life for so little in return.

And this summer, as every summer for the past two decades, I find myself among the ones who made it into the next round, find myself sitting here, wondering if I’m worthy and if I’m in the right place doing the right thing at the right time. Because, let us be honest. We all know that success in academia has one or two elements of luck. Or maybe three. We all know it’s not always fair.

I’m writing this for the ones who have left and the ones who are about to leave. Because I have come within an inch of leaving half a dozen times and I have heard the nasty, nagging voice in the back of my head. “Quitter,” it says and laughs, “Quitter.”

Don’t listen. From the people I know who left academia, few have regrets. And the few with regrets found ways to continue some research along with their new profession. The loss isn’t yours. The loss is one for academia. I understand your decision and I think you choose wisely. Just because everyone you know is on a race to nowhere doesn’t mean going with them makes sense. Sometimes, giving up is the smart thing to do.

A year after my miserable 10k experience, I signed up for a half-marathon. A few kilometers into the race, I tore a muscle.

I don’t get a runner’s high, but running increases my pain tolerance to unhealthy levels. After a few kilometers, you could probably stab me in the back and I wouldn’t notice. I could well have finished that race. But I quit.