I don’t like wearing my glasses when I run. But I also can’t see without them, and I’ve never been able to get contact lenses into my eyes—so it is what it is, a necessary evil.

In winter, it’s even more horrible. And right now, it’s the middle of winter here in South Africa. My glasses fog up in the cold morning air, especially when running track. It’s a constant dance of wiping, adjusting, and squinting through the mist. I keep joking, “Can’t see with them, can’t see without them,” or “I’m going to run into a goalpost soon,” just to keep the annoyance light. But it is an annoyance. One of those problems I can’t fix, but I manage as best I can.

Certain other things in my life feel the same.

Three of my biggest “foggy glasses” are perfectionism, impostor syndrome, and not celebrating my successes before rushing off to chase the next goal. I know they’re there. I know they cloud my thinking. Sometimes I manage okay, like a dry summer morning when my lenses stay clear. Other times, like a fogged-up winter run, they slow me down and frustrate me. And no matter how often I wipe them clean, they come back.

And unlike my more tangible running goals, I can’t tick these off a list and solve them once and for all. I can aim for a distance goal and chip away at it week by week. I can train at a specific pace and give it my all. Those things make sense to me. But what do I do about the softer goals? The ones that whisper, You’re not good enough, or This isn’t worth celebrating, or You don’t belong?

Do I acknowledge them and move on?
Do I stop in my tracks and wipe the lenses every time I notice them?
Do I scold myself for fogging up again?

I don’t know. But maybe the answer is the same as what I do with my glasses: I notice. I manage. I do the best I can in that moment.

What do you do about the foggy glasses in your life?