Almost 9 years ago, I did my first triathlon. It was an Olympic-distance triathlon which meant I had to swim almost one mile, bike 25 miles and run 6.2 miles. Before I started training, I was a good runner, but I hadn't biked for a decade and my swimming had been limited to short distances in calm waters. The swim portion of this race was to be held in the Hudson River where I'd be racing alongside dozens of other women who would bump and kick me (accidentally, I hope!) so I needed help preparing. Inspired by the firefighters cheering me on at the NYC Marathon a few years earlier, I decided to team up with a local organization which would provide training in exchange for fundraising. After four months of swimming, biking and running all over Manhattan, I was ready and had a terrific race. The hiccup to this story isn't the first time I did the race, but the second time. The next year I did the same triathlon without the help of a coach or even a consistent training schedule.
When I nervously jumped into the water, I did not feel confident and, as I looked down the length of the river, wondered how I would complete the long swim and reach the finish line. I knew I had not spent enough time at the pool training and I hadn't spent any time swimming in open water. When the gun went off, I started swimming, but soon got nervous and looked up. When I looked up, I lost my rhythm and started treading water, too nervous to duck my head into the water and keep going. This was exacerbated by the fact that I had to "sight," that is, look up and make sure I was headed in the the right direction since I didn't have lane lines and pool walls to guide me. Again and again, I swam, sighted, treaded water, panicked and started swimming again. It seemed that everyone in my heat finished and swimmers from other heats started to pass me too. As I swam, I berated myself for my lack of training and for my sense of panic. I also worried about my twin, faithfully watching from the shore, who was surely wondering where I was. I thought about quitting the race, but knew I had to keep going. Finally, I made it, finishing 5 minutes slower that I had the year before. My sister and my friends didn't care that I was slow, they were just happy to see me. The cheered and yelled my name and I realized that it didn't matter how slow I was, but that I was still in the race. I tore off the wetsuit, biked 25 miles, ran a quick 10k and, exhausted, made it to the finish line.
Now, years since the triathlon, finishing that swim has served me in many ways. I've realized that when I don't want to do something that has to get done, I know to push myself to to the start and jump in. I may pause and look around every once in a while, but then I duck my head and keep going. When I'm procrastinating for too long, I remind myself that I can't finish what I don't start. Once I start, the momentum will eventually propel me forward. The relief of completing a distasteful task greatly outweighs the "fun" had in delaying it.
On days that the "momotony" of daily chores--sweeping, washing, laundry, wiping, teaching--gets to be too much. The days where I really want to crawl back into bed and take a 5-day-nap, I remind myself that if I can dive into a moving, rolling river with hundreds of people and successfully swim 1500 meters of it, I can certainly take a breath, duck my head and just keep going. So I do, over and over again.
When I nervously jumped into the water, I did not feel confident and, as I looked down the length of the river, wondered how I would complete the long swim and reach the finish line. I knew I had not spent enough time at the pool training and I hadn't spent any time swimming in open water. When the gun went off, I started swimming, but soon got nervous and looked up. When I looked up, I lost my rhythm and started treading water, too nervous to duck my head into the water and keep going. This was exacerbated by the fact that I had to "sight," that is, look up and make sure I was headed in the the right direction since I didn't have lane lines and pool walls to guide me. Again and again, I swam, sighted, treaded water, panicked and started swimming again. It seemed that everyone in my heat finished and swimmers from other heats started to pass me too. As I swam, I berated myself for my lack of training and for my sense of panic. I also worried about my twin, faithfully watching from the shore, who was surely wondering where I was. I thought about quitting the race, but knew I had to keep going. Finally, I made it, finishing 5 minutes slower that I had the year before. My sister and my friends didn't care that I was slow, they were just happy to see me. The cheered and yelled my name and I realized that it didn't matter how slow I was, but that I was still in the race. I tore off the wetsuit, biked 25 miles, ran a quick 10k and, exhausted, made it to the finish line.
Now, years since the triathlon, finishing that swim has served me in many ways. I've realized that when I don't want to do something that has to get done, I know to push myself to to the start and jump in. I may pause and look around every once in a while, but then I duck my head and keep going. When I'm procrastinating for too long, I remind myself that I can't finish what I don't start. Once I start, the momentum will eventually propel me forward. The relief of completing a distasteful task greatly outweighs the "fun" had in delaying it.
On days that the "momotony" of daily chores--sweeping, washing, laundry, wiping, teaching--gets to be too much. The days where I really want to crawl back into bed and take a 5-day-nap, I remind myself that if I can dive into a moving, rolling river with hundreds of people and successfully swim 1500 meters of it, I can certainly take a breath, duck my head and just keep going. So I do, over and over again.
What are the lessons you've learned from doing sports? What are the mantras you repeat when dreading a project or housework?
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