I need to change focus for Sunday.  Instead of focusing on my fears and doubts, I need to put my .energy towards belief, courage and confidence.


It's lack of faith that makes people afraid of meeting challenges, and I believe in myself.  ~ Mohammed Ali.

Bust portrait of Muhammad Ali, World Journal Tribune photo by Ira Rosenberg

Mohammed Ali is one of my heroes.  Right from a young age, he looked adversity in the face, stood up to it and said, "Yes I Can!".  Sometimes he said it quietly and sometimes with humour and flair.  He always said it with courage.

On a balmy October afternoon, in Louisville, Kentucky, 12 year old Cassius Clay, as he was then called,  rode his brand new bike to the Columbia Auditorium.  He parked it, went about his business, and, when he returned to ride home, the bike had been stolen.  Enraged, he sought out a policeman in the basement of the auditorium.  The officer happened to be Joe Martin who ran a boxing gym. He encouraged Clay to learn boxing in order to effectively get even with the thief.  If he was going to take him down, he might as well have a leg up on the other guy. Only six weeks later Clay won his first fight. 

I love this true story because Ali stands at the fork in the road and makes the more difficult choice.  At 12 he is able to postpone instant gratification, consider advice an adult gives him and take action.  He does something it has taken me most of my adult life to learn to do. 

Unlike many elite sportsmen, Ali has, throughout his career, acted with dignity and grace.  He has made bold decisions based on well-reasoned principles and he is still making them today. 

Most impressive was his decision, at the peak of his physical fitness, and the height of his boxing career to go to jail for refusing to fight in the Korean war.  He may have been a fighter, but he wasn't a thug.

He is still acting with courage and humour while living with parkinson's disease.  He may no longer be the world champion boxer, but he is living life with courage, one step at a time. 

So, on the eve of my biggest race yet (500 swim, 20k bike, 5k run), I take positive inspiration from one of the few remaining heroes in my adult life.  When on the course I will have faith.

Cheers!

Barb and I talking after I pulled out of the race. 

It's all part of the journey.

The journey is rocky, unpredictable, and I stumbled and fell.  I pulled out of a race Sunday, 16 October.  I wouldn't have conceived of doing that last season.  But, surprisingly, it wasn't a fail.  It was another step in the journey.  All the things I learned Sunday are lessons I needed to learn before Nepean. 

I had swum about 300 meters.  I had begun stopping already.  Each time I rested, I took longer and longer to recover.  A voice inside my head said, "You can't possibly swim that whole way."  I looked at the buoy.  It was so far away.  The voice became emphatic:  You won't be able to make it.  Your body can't cope.  Everyone around you is gone.  The spotter is walking with YOU!  You are dragging the race down.  You better get out of the water. 

Glenn W. approached me on the board and asked if I wanted a rest.  I jumped on the board and asked to go in.  He seemed surprised, but I knew I was defeated.  My body, my mind, my heart had all joined forces to undermine my fighting spirit.  They won this time.

But not for long.

After doing my civic duty by informing officials and my husband that I'd finished for the day, I sat by my bag and went inward.  My body was shaking and tingling.  I lay down on the grass and looked up at the ceiling.  I closed my eyes.  What happened? 

First, I have actually been sick.  I don't know what I've had, but I haven't been 100% since July.  This has really psyched me out. I don't feel powerful. I don't feel like I'm making progress.  I feel foolish, tired and old.  These are all things out of my control and this is usually the kind of reasoning I use to talk myself out of something.  This is the obstacle in my path, my own personal dragon. 

I do races and triathlon because it's something I don't feel I'm capable of doing.  If I was good at it, it wouldn't be the same kind of challenge.  It brings up all my feelings of less than.  And in doing so, it forces me to quell my ego and face the demons.  This is the exhilerating part of finishing a race.  I look the dragon in the face and keep moving.  If I finish, I win. 

Also, I wasn't properly prepared.  I rushed around in the morning without a clear head.  I must prepare it all the night before.  This last minute organising is interfering with my goals. 

Next, I'd forgotten how to race.  I'd forgotten what it felt like and that it was hard.  I'd forgotten that it is always painful.  Nepean is going to be a hard race.  I was thinking that because I was training, I had it in the bag.  No problem.  Walk in the park.  I have such a short memory!

Finally, my confidence is low because of my running injury.  Confidence is a powerful force.  I am only learning how much my own thinking can affect my actions.  I was demoralized because I was coming last.  It turns out I was ahead of David the whole time.  It didn't actually matter in the slightest what place I was coming.  What mattered was what I thought.  Afterwards, someone told me to run my own race.  This is great advice. 

I am currently suffering from a three-pronged undermining condition.  I imagine it to look much like the Devil's pitchfork.  The three issues are boredom, illness, and challenge.  Although challenge usually appears as a friend, it can also morph into this rubber wall of lack of belief.

This week, I'm on holidays, which also means that I have gotten my usual holiday viruses.  You know the drill.  Body lets down, relaxes or, really, is just worn out.  Everyone in the family has some virus that they've brought home from different places.  We are all shuttered together in a rain-induced and damp castle.  We exchange viruses and it takes us most of the holiday to get over them.  It happens every time.

Anyway, also each time i get to the training facility, I am initially tired and bored to the extent that I am continually glancing at the clock to see how much more time we have in the training session.  I am unmotivated.  in addition, my mind keeps telling me that I hate this and i just want to go home and have a simpler (read sedentary) life.  ughhh!  what's happened to my drive?  What's happened to the enjoyment?

Of course, i am getting satisfaction from improving in my training and from completing each session.  but, psychologically, it is very hard work.  There's hardly any fun in it.