Bring it, Life!

It is no great surprise that being alone gives you time to think, and being alone ALOT gives you ALOT of time to think.  I think that introspection can bring to the surface, ideas, feelings, pieces of yourself that we never knew existed.  It's also no wonder that many of the triathletes I've met since I began training share a couple basic qualities: intorverted, quiet and thoughtful, like they are busy mulling over one of life's great mysteries.

I think that for some, the daily workout can be an escape.  It is an hour during which we are away from the phone, the inbox, the traffic, life.  The mind relaxes and thoughts become quiet. For me, it seems to be the opposite.  Robert Frost once wrote that "Poetry is like taking life by the throat."  I can think of no better was to describe my relationship with training and racing. When I train, it's like I have my hands around Life's neck.  I lift him up by collar until his feet are dangling just above the ground.  I give him a shake and yell, "BRING IT, LIFE!"  And so my body and mind are flooded with life, so much that I'm overwhelmed.  Maybe that is being young and green and naive -- encountering everythinig for the first time and not knowing how I feel about anything, yet.  It will make your head spin and your heart pound, and take you from desperation and confusion one moment to the top of the world the next.

When I feel like I am spinning in all these thoughts, without answers in sight, I look to other people's writing.  In this sort of loney place and time in my life, it is a weight lifted to know that someone, at sometime, shared these feelings with me.  One recent Sunday morning I found myself rereading "The Road Not Taken."  I was feeling sad and wanted to wallow in my fate as an introverted only child with a penchant for lonely individual sports like marathoning and triathloning.  I went on to read commentary written on Frost's poem and was quickly snapped out of my funk.  Many people, me included, have misinterpretted the meaning behind this poem.  I thought I was reading about an iconclastic selfstarter who sets out, alone, to do what others don't, or won't.  But it turns out that all Frost is saying is: choose this road, choose that one, it really doesn't mtter, you'll end up on SOME path going SOME way, just don't stand there!

Cue the Flood Gates of Thought:

Everything we do, everywhere we find ourselves is because of some previous choice.  Of course there are things that happen that are out of our control.  But even after such an event, don't we still have the ability to CHOOSE how we will react?  Choice is everywhere.  Sometimes it is overwhelming and we can't seem to make a decision to save our lives!  Sometimes we throw our hands up  and leave it to God or Allah or Budah or some universal energy.

I would rather write my own story.  I don't believe that my destiny has already been chosen for me.  So every once in a while, I'll stop for a momenet, take a look around, recognize what path I'm on, take ownership of the fact that my choices, good AND bad, have put me where I am, right here, right now.  I am reminded that I am, we are, truly in control of who and where we are.  There is no good luck or bad luck, no excuses, no blame, only our choices.

I will not apologize for having loving parents and supportive friends, for meeting the right people at the right time and for making choices that have put me where I am today.  I will not apologize for a job that I love so much that it doesn't even feel like work, nor the free time that it gives me to train and race.  I will not apologize for choosing to participate in a sport that keeps me healthy, and motivated, gives me strong legs and a fast metabolism!  I will not let others tell me that I don't "know" life because I've never experienced true hardship, disappointment, sadness, lonliness, love, exhilaration. 

Because the thing is, those are EXACTLY the feelings that I've come to experience through the triathlon.  It's not just splashing around in the water or riding around on a bike.  It's life's spectrum of feelings condensed into a 3, 6, 12 hour event: excitement, fear, dread, relief, happiness, anticipation, uneasiness, passion, bravery, madness, kindness, exhaustion, euphoria.  And just because I am out there alone does not make these feelings any less real. What's more, I haven't just stumbled upon this road, I asked for it, I CHOSE it, and I love it.

From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were; I have not seen

As others saw; I could not bring

My passion from a common spring.

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow; I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone;

And all I loved, I loved alone.

EA Poe

Perfect Place

I think that there are supposed to be moments over the course of our lives when we feel we have found our "perfect place."

There are times while racing and even training when I feel like I am in that perfect place, and anyone who tells me that's just endorphins talking is someone who has yet to find THEIR place.  Triathloning, for me, is more than fun and fulfilling.  It is intoxicating.  Something happens when I am training and racing that lessens my fatigue and replaces exhaustion with euphoria.  I feel unstoppable, like this is what my body was born to do.

After having finished my first Olympic and Half Ironman distances over the last eight weeks, I have discovered that the run is my strongest leg.  No one passes me on the run.  Instead, I spend those miles counting the athletes that I pass.  (I can say this without feeling bad because my swim time is embarrassing and my friends tease me that a guy on a unicycle could average better splits than me on my bike.)  But the run feels almost effortless, like I am floating over the ground, gliding from one mile to the next.  I feel great, so I run faster.  Running faster makes me feel even better, so I run even faster than that.  By the end of my race or training session, I feel great, like I might just burst with happiness.

Now, I realize that these thoughts are not normal, and I know that many people struggle through the run, wishing for the race to be over.  Maybe I was meant to be an endurance athlete, or maybe I am seriously deranged.  Either way, there are times during all the events when I wish those moments would never end.  I would stay in the water, on the bike or on the road forever if I could.  Dirty, sweaty, sometimes covered in gnats or mud or salt, hands sticky with "Carb Boom," tongue stained red with gatorade, feeling my very own muscles propel my body mile after mile, realizing how far my capabilities stretch.  Call me crazy, but that is MY perfect place.

I remember watching the Arizona Ironman in 2005 and thinking how brutal an endeavor.  I wanted the day to be over just for the athletes' sakes.  Now that I have seen the other side, I realize that for most of those athletes, that was probably exactly where they wanted to be at that moment.  They were at home, in their element, floating, and unbeknown to them, inspiring others to find that same "perfection" for themselves.

Since I started training for my Ironman, people have told me that they've been inspired by my efforts.  One friend has started a running regimen, my mom has lost 10 pounds, another friend is taking up multisport racing.  Their commendations are flattering and for me, there is nothing as important as health and fitness, so I am glad they feel inspired to such ends.  But I hope that this piece of writing , this bigger idea, reaches more than just athletes.  Some of us are motivated by far different things than sports and athletics.

As an athlete, and a coach by profession, sometimes I forget that one's "perfect place" may have nothing to do with racing or training.  Maybe it's music, or dance, or writing, or religion that delivers someone to his or her perfect place.  In the end, the source of the flame makes no difference because that spark of inspiration can light someone else's flame just the same.  Like watching the Ironman back in 2005, I had no idea what I was seeing.  But looking back I realize that on that day I was made aware that that level of love for something lives in us all.  It just took me another two years to figure out what my "something" was.

I think that if we are lucky and open and perceptive enough, we will many times find ourselves in the presence of another person's perfect place.  I think that's what happened to me in April of 2005 -- people that I didn't even know, doing something I didn't even understand, sparked something inside of me that changed my life.

Bruises are Beautiful

Last April I flew off my bike, and that was the beginning of the end to my leg modeling career.  Kidding.  Sort of.  Since then, not only my legs, but my whole body has been in a constant state of "beaten up."  The last time I had this many bruises was because a boy had pushed me down on the playground.  When you're 8, that comes with the territory.  When you're 26, you get some funny looks.

I competed in the first triathlon four weeks ago.  An incredible, energizing experience; but the bruises that surfaced over the following days told a different story.  Thrown from a horse? Abusive relationship?  Arms, shins, knees, a huge welt on the inside of my thigh,  I watched my bruises mature from light blue to gross green.  I poked at them, recounted their story.  I was sad to see them fade away.  Bruises are your war wounds, your battle scars.  You earn them and you're proud of them.

A week ago I found myself in the middle of my first serious bike-car altercation.  It was one of those moments when the cosmos collide.  I'll spare you the details, but basically I was thrown from my bike into traffic.  The car coming up behind me slammed on the brakes and swerved in time.  But blue fingernails lead me to believe that the hand I used to break my fall was caught underneath the car's back tire.  The best part of the story is this: on the sleeve of the white long sleeve I was wearing, outlined in dirt were the imprints of three faint letters from the side of the car's tire.  Maybe my arm brushed against her tire as she skidded by.  Who knows how it all unfolded. Who knows how much closer it could have been -- centimeters, millimeters, or maybe that was one of my nine lives.

Sometimes training makes you feel superhuman.  Sometimes it reminds you just how human you are.  You are given nothing and guaranteed nothing.  The rewards you reap are not so much rewards, but a return on the investment of time, energy and risk.  The only guarantee is that we can invest in something, if we choose.  Triathlon, marathon, ballet, soccer, rowing, etc. We athletes are the lucky ones who have discovered that we can choose to do what we love and thus love what we do -- although sometimes painful, sometimes stressful, sometimes risky.

Do I think you need to come face to face with the back tire of a car to appreciate these thoughts?  No.  Actually I would suggest that you don't.  But I do think that the experiences that are out there to be had, the ones that will make up your life story, the ones that in essence will become you -- they will not just come to you.  You have to create them.  That is why the bruises, the cuts and scrapes, the ugly knees are all beautiful.  They show life, movement, risk, choice; they tell our story without us saying a word.  Training and racing has turned up the volume on my senses and reminded be to appreciate life at its most basic level.  I have been reminded to enjoy movement, enjoy a deep breath, see, hear, feel, be present, have a purpose, remember each scar's story, and never forget my helmet.

Remember to Wear Sunscreen

There was a song that was popular the year I graduated high school.  I'm not sure who it was by, but I think it was called "Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen."  Basically it was just a guy with a "could- be-your-dad" voice talking to the beat and giving advice like "respect your elders" and "remember to wear sunscreen."  One of the pearls that he dispels is: Do one thing, everyday, that scares you.  I never whole-heartedly grasped or embraced this idea . . . until I started my triathlon training.  I have been under the impression for far too long that you are supposed to do what you're good at.  Go for the guaranteed "A" instead of risking failure by trying something new and challenging.  In a time and society of specialization, I think we are rarely encouraged to step outside ourselves.  We are surely never encouraged to fail.  So we keep in that safe zone and as Teddy Roosevelt said, we become "timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

In my training I have met individuals who are paralyzed by the fear of failure.  They ride with one toe unclipped, fearful of falling in a "quick-bail" emergency.  They won't alternate their breathing in the pool, fearful they'll inhale water.  They won't push their body to its capacity, fearful of the pain.  They see these scenarios as opportunities to fail.

But what if, like the song advises, we did one thing everyday, that scares us?  Would we ever fail?  Certainly!  We would scrape our knees, choke on pool water, and puke on the side of the track.  But imagine how much better and further along we would be, having embraced those challenges without giving thought to their outcomes!

When people ask me how my training is going I tell them that it has reminded me what it's like to be a student.  It has re-taught me how to learn.  Each time you conquer a skill, a door is opened on yet another even greater challenge.  I learned how to swim in a pool, then force myself into open water.  I teach myself how to change a flat in my garage and the next time find myself on the side of the road, miles from home, daylight fading.  I finally get comfortable with my shoe and pedal system then buy a new bike with new parts and nearly run into a telephone pole when I can't unclip and panic.  The outcome of all these situations?  Success?  Failure?  It doesn't even matter and it's all subjective anyway.  Will you always do things right or well on your first attempt?  No.  But as athletes, what we can't allow ourselves to forget is this: failure is not final.  It is only the opportunity to begin again more wisely.  And isn't that actually one step closer to success?

I coach a girls high school rowing team and one of my biggest challenges is creating an environment where the rowers are not afraid to push themselves to the point of failure.  As athletes, we have to learn to be comfortable, walking that daunting line of pushing too hard and not pushing hard enough.  When you have made the trip to that line, when you are ALREADY there, what is the difference in the outcome of your effort?  If you had not made the trip, if you had not even tried the thing that scared you, THAT would be the failure.

And so, " . . . if I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it.  The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest on my advice has no basis more reliable that my own meandering experience . . ."

Start or Finish?

It's funny how you search for what to write, for that choice moment that brings inspiration or that one experience that opens the floodgates of thought.  This week I waited . . . and waited some more.  Thought about writing about the minivan that almost hit me during my 40 miler, thought about writing on the dichotomy of the totally rested mind and the exhausted body, thought about the fact that my marathoning friends have started calling me the "crazy one." Then during an easy afternoon ride late this week it came to me: the "idea" of the finish line.

As racers we obsess about it, but what is it?  Sort of real, sort of ambiguous, sort of a time and place, sort of just a banner placed at about the right spot, and sometimes it's even our start. But when is your finish actually THE END?  Never.  Never have I crossed the finish line and thought, "I will never do that again.  I'm FINISHED!"  Before I even get to my next start I am already thinking about my next finish.  I think that maybe it is not the finish that is the important piece of this story, but rather the anticipation of the finish and how that drives us forward.  To me, my race finishes have always been a little sweet and a little sad.  The accomplishment closes one door while opening another for new and even greater opportunities.  Yes, THAT is what I will write about.  Now how to put that precisely and eloquently?

Then tonight, in an effort to locate my resume on my "almost out of memory" laptop (an exciting Friday night, but I'm a triathlete now and that's a legitimate excuse, right?), I came across a piece of writing that I haven't even thought about in the two years since I scribbled it down.  I wrote it as I was leaving the USRowing National Development Camp in Madison, WI where I trained during the summer of 2005.  This is what I wrote . . .

"I am sad to leave, but this experience will live very vibrantly in my memory for a long time to come.  This was one of those moments in my life that I took a HUGE risk, that I did something entirely on my own, something that was just for me.  Along the way I thought I had finally gotten this need to test my abilities out of my system.  But now I realize that I have only just opened the door to many new possibilities, opportunities, and challenges.  How does that quote go?  It's something like "having a goal is better that attaining one."  I think that has been an important realization of mine over the course of the summer.  I am the type of person that needs that everyday challenge of a far off goal.  And when that goal is reached, I will look even further down my path and begin again toward something even greater.  And so every end becomes a beginning, and there is never an end that is only sad, and there is never a beginning that is only sweet."

 . . . that about sums it up.

Road to the Ironman

This is my first entry in my "Road to an Iron(wo)man " journal.  The 140.6 mile race is 230 days away, as is my 27th birthday.  What will I do on my 28th birthday to top this one?  I have been training for two months.  July 4th was the first official day of my training program, as well as the first day that I jumped into the 50m pool at masters swim practice and realized that I was literally and figuratively in over my head.  Half way through the hour long practice, Johnny, the eccentric English coach, pulled me aside to give me a few tips, which started with, "Do you have some aversion to putting your face in the water?"  I thought I WAS putting my face in the water, but point taken; swimming would not be my strong leg.

I had also never been a cyclist until this July.  Granted, a friend had donated a ten year old Trek to me last April, which I promptly flew off trying to hop a curb, and earned some serious battle wounds to prove it.  But that has been my only exposure to cycling.  Even my time spent on a bike as a kid was limited.  I remember my dad building a "hydroplane" out of a 2x4 which we attached with a rope to the back of my pink bike.  I would ride through puddles and gutters and the hydroplane with lego-man driver would follow behind.  But that about covers all my biking experiences from childhood to the present.  Extensive, I know.

So . . . cycling . . . I did some research with other cyclists on the likelihood of falling while clipped in.  What I have learned is this: there are two types of cyclists.  Those that HAVE fallen and those that WILL fall.  I am still part of the "will fall" group.  And although I am feeling much more comfortable with the whole set up and being physically attached to my bike, which under some circumstances makes me feel like a human bullet, I know it will happen.  Someday I will fall and it won't even make for a good story because it will happen at a stop light when I am not even moving.  I will simply loose my balance and topple over into one big pile of bike and spandex.  Cool.

Two months into training and I can't even count how many times my ego has been bruised.  Yet I remain eager to keep trying.  Because how else do you learn but by trying, doing it wrong, feeling stupid, trying again, doing it wrong, feeling LESS stupid, etc.?  Generally, I like to do what I'm good at, and once I find something that I excel at I stick with it.  It's fun and comfortable and a good ego boost.  But now I find myself here, totally vulnerable, totally humbled, back to being a student with so much to learn that I can't even fathom all that I have YET to learn.  But how satisfying and rewarding to conquer something new -- to clip in on the first try, to cruise at 23 miles an hour, to breathe on the left side without sinking, to beat one of the boys during our 16 x 200m track workout, to run on the treadmill and know that I am not there out of obligation to my gym membership, but rather, because I have a greater purpose.  I am training to become an Ironman. 

I believe it is not only the phenomenal effort on that day that makes one an Ironman, but instead, the small battles that we fight and win everyday that we train.  As in anything, there is a bit of tearing down that must take place before the building up occurs -- in many capacities -- physical, mental, emotional.  But undoubtedly, the rebuilding always follows.  As long as we continue to push and challenge ourselves, this cycle remains endless and our capabilities limitless.

I think triathletes must walk around with a feeling that they have discovered the ultimate training secret, a secret that propels their superhuman bodies through wind and weather and over many miles.  They HAVE discovered the ultimate training secret -- and that secret is that those forces lie within all of us.