Last night I, being overly ambitious, decided to start my 2 month “from not to hot” journey! That’s right – the fear of failure was (and continues to be) greater than the fear of pain… or in my case the gut wrenching lung-bursting wheezing exhaustion that can only be achieved from running.
Let me tell you a story.
A few months ago I decided I would participate in a Sprint-Triathlon. Swim/Bike/Run. Being somewhat experienced in the running aspect of the event, I went into the competition with no training in the other two fields. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually swam, and I hadn’t biked in over 10 years. Over-Confident, I made the decision to “wing-it”. It wasn’t until I was standing in line, getting ready to jump into the pool that I felt completely and utterly unprepared. I looked back deep to the Summer Olympics to conjure up a form of Michael Phelps… but it was futile. As I got closer to the front of the line I began to panic, and I did the only thing I could think of – I did a cannonball to start the race. Not my proudest moment, but the fear of failure overpowered the fear of pain and in this case, possible death.
I began swimming – or what I like to think swimming looks like- I was flailing my arms and head back and forth, kicking vigorously. I completed the first lap, then the second. By the time I got to the third (out of 8) my body began to give out. My swimming technique had evolved and I was now trying to ride the wake of the swimmers that were passing by. Occasionally I would bump into them, and grab their ankles for an extra boost. I started floating on my back as I worked the lane-rails along the pool. Like a pinball I would bump from side to side. Lap 4. Lap 5. When I’d get to each side I’d stop, pray, try to catch my breath and then start again. I didn’t know if swimming had a “mercy” rule where the refs would determine that if someone was unfit for the pool, they’d ask them to be removed, but with each stop on the side I felt as though it was my last. Maybe they felt sorry for me, maybe they didn’t want to get wet… but I kept going. Lap 6. I could now see my family closer, I could hear their cheering, though it sounded more like prayers to God that I wouldn’t die. Lap 7. Home stretch. My kids were there. My wife was there. My sister, and nephews were there. What was supposed to be a 8 min swim had passed 20. I was no longer swimming, but pulling myself along the side. I rolled out of the pool. Exhausted. Shaking. I had completed the death swim.
I went on to finish the sprint. I came in close to last for my age group. I felt bad. I felt ashamed. I felt as though that by having not practiced and nearly drowned, I had failed. I didn’t want my family to have seen me like that. Dishonor. But hey, I got a medal – so that’s cool.
And so I started running again last night – because the fear of failure is greater than the fear of certain unrelenting pain. I will not give up on this race. Though I have less than 2 months, I will prepare and I will finish what I started. I will succeed!
