We are barely over the last snow drift at the end of our long, gravel lane before I start murmuring all of the things I need to do before next week. I list each task, one by one, as she listens patiently. I want to make her understand that I have reasons to be miserable.

She is sympathetic.

I’ve caught glimpses of them on the ice, on the benches, holding medals high. Gold. Silver. Bronze. Athletes practice to make perfect.

I’ve been practicing too: forming my complaints, building my stress, and performing my unhappiness. The problem of practice is that it also makes imperfect.

What if we viewed each moment as training ground? Actions in this moment shape our reactions in the next one. One day, at the end of the race, we want to win the prize. We have the perfect Coach.