It's not the destination, it's the journey

In 2005, in a coffee shop I frequented on my way to work, I saw a flier for Team in Training .  I had seen them in places all over town, but for some reason, this time, I picked one up and stuck it in my purse as I edged out the door in my pre-coffee haze. 

I was 26, wandering around aimlessly without much motivation, was in a dead-end (receptionist) job, and partying a little too much for someone four years removed from college.  I wasn't in great shape, I maybe ran a couple of miles a couple of times a week and maybe jumped on the elliptical every now and then.  The gym was definitely on the winning end of my membership package.  But when I was in college, desperately trying to fight the freshman 15, struggling with self-image, and running 3 miles a day religiously, I had always been intrigued with the idea of one day doing a triathlon.  So I pulled it out of my purse later that day and read it.

Five years later and I'm still swimming, biking, and running.  Without knowing it, I think I began my triathlon journey to (re)find myself.  But the person I found was stronger, so so so much stronger than I ever knew.  Triathlon has become the norm for me, although often to my social life's detriment; it can be an incredibly selfish sport--you hear all the time about "ironman widows" who have lost their partners to ironman training.  Even if you're not sacrificing time with loved ones, spending that much time doing something that in the long run doesn't benefit others is a rather selfish endeavor.  So I try to do charity rides, fundraisers, and coaching for Team in Training (it's amazing how things can come full circle), and I hope to one day start a training program with inner-city kids.  Through all this, I don't know if I'll ever be able to articulate all the things that triathlon and everything and everyone associated with it has given back to me.

Successes are great; setting a new PR or racing a new (longer) distance is an amazing feeling.  But, I've learned as much, or more, in my failures.  When you're fifty miles into a century ride and realize you haven't taken enough calories or water in, you have no choice but to struggle through and claw your way home.  Talking myself down from the brink of tears on multiple occasions, getting back on the bike, and finishing has taught me that I can do things my brain tells me I can't.  5:00 am swims on four hours of sleep, scorching hot runs and rides, racing under-trained, racing over-trained, have all taught me how to be smarter next time, and more importantly to remember that it's not always about shaving five minutes off your race time.  Sometimes it's the simple fact that this is something we choose to do, a choice that most people across the globe, for many reasons, don't have.

Watching the sun rise over a lake, the morning of a race, is the most centering, calming experience I've ever had; this feeling alone might be enough to keep me coming back, but I know there is so much more.  I'm sure one day my priorities will shift and I'll step back from racing, but what an amazing ride it's been, and will continue to be, and I'm so thankful that I had the choice and made it.