Yesterday I flicked back through all my past blog posts. It was nice to be able to see what I did two years ago, many of the things I had forgotten about. Like the amount of running I used to do. Compared to what I’ve been doing in recent months it was quite a bit. Consecutive days of 8km or 10km runs were normal. Now, well, I can’t remember the last time I had consecutive days where I ran more than a few kilometres at a time.
Why is that?
I was more motivated. More ambitious. I had more time, more energy. Maybe. I needed focus. Running gave me focus and made me feel good about myself. Now I seem to measure my success with how much I train. It’s kind of taking the fun and simple pleasure out of the equation. I set goals that I want to achieve and I jeopardize myself by not taking the necessary steps to move closer to the desired outcome.
I love reading other people’s running and triathlon experiences. I enjoy learning about their sporting achievements. It’s fascinating to see the extraordinary feats of ordinary people. It’s often that in the ordinary we find the extraordinary.
It’s the mothers who managed to fit in training while taking care of their growing families. The men and women who have persevered and overcome obstacles that would stop most people from taking a step forward. The athletes who put their passion first and make sacrifices along the way.
It means that I have no excuses. The obstacles I face are petty. They are my own. I have no right to complain about bad weather or not having enough time in the day to train. There’s plenty of time. I don’t yet have children to feed and clothe and nurture. I only have to work one job to make sure I have enough. I have a partner and family who are supportive of my goals. I have my health and I have the ability to run, swim and cycle. I can do anything and be anyone I want.
It all comes down to choice. Two years ago I chose to make training a priority. I ran to feel good, I ran to stay in shape, I ran so the numbers on the scale would not increase. I ran because running was what I did. It was a part of who I was. That has not changed. I sometimes think about how I would feel if I had to stop running for one reason or another, or stop being active in general. I’m not sure I could handle it mentally.
Running, cycling, and swimming are things that I do. Activities that bring me a significant amount of satisfaction. Although my circle of friends don’t always understand my ambitions or my training or why I’d forgo a few hours sleep on a weekend morning just so I could train; I know that there are thousands, if not millions, others around the world who have similar passions to mine. I might not know them in my own backyard but they keep me motivated when I stumble into their online world.
I may not be doing the extraordinary, but what I am doing is what’s important to me. I don’t have to measure my success with each step I take. I should just be able to jump, have a leap of faith and not always worry about where I land. Yes, I will continue chasing PB’s. I will have good days and bad ones, there will be joyful days and ones that bring me back down to earth. I will be grateful and I will complain. I will push myself and I will have moments where the only thing I want is a glass of good wine and some chocolate.
And you know, that’s all ok.
