“A Thinly-Veiled Metaphor”

I like to race in triathlons.  I completely suck at it.  I am barely average.  It’s the worst torture I have ever endured.  But, I absolutely love it.

There is a point in the swim where your arms start to ache and you can’t control your heart rate.  You lose the rhythm of the stroke and you can’t touch the bottom.  You are getting pummeled by the waves.  You are getting elbowed and kicked by the other swimmers and the tiniest bit of panic starts to well up inside you.  You get scared.  You wonder if you are strong enough to get through it.  You wonder if you’ve made a big mistake.  Then you realize you have no choice. You accept that this is your race.  No one is coming to save you.  You stop and tread water for a minute.  You turn on your back and float and say a quick prayer since you’re looking up anyway.

And you put your damn face back in the water and swim like hell for the beach.  Eventually, you feel sand beneath your feet.  You stumble out of the water and try to look like you have it all together and didn’t just almost drown.  And, you are changed.

There is a point on the bike where the wind shifts and stiffens right in your face and you swear it’s laughing at you.  You have to work three times as hard to go half as fast.  Your legs scream and you wonder if you can even stay upright, let alone finish the ride.  You make a deal with yourself.  You allow yourself to coast until the next telephone pole.  Then you put your head down and get back to pedaling.  And, you are changed.

There is a point in the run where your body just rebels.  Everything starts to hurt and you start to doubt just about every decision you’ve made in life.  You tell yourself to just keep moving forward.  You give yourself permission to walk a few hundred feet.  But demand of yourself that you just keep moving, stumbling, falling forward.

That’s when it happens.

The finish line is never as amazing as you think it will be.  Sure, there are a few people cheering for you.  Yes, if you’re lucky, your family is there to hug you.  But it all fades very quickly and you go home.  Nobody really cares where you finished.  Nobody remembers your time.  You just go home.

And you are changed.

You are stronger.  You are more confident.  You are harder.  You are prouder.

Then you look back and can’t believe how much fun the race was.