What if we our goals suddenly went away? What would we see when we turned around and examined where we came from, the steps that led not to a finish line of cheering throngs, but rather to an abrupt end of the road, a cliff edge where the only life nearby was scraggly trees?
We're going to veer off a little bit, but stick with me. I'll get back to the point.
Ever since last week's breakwall swim I've been nervous about this week's swim. What bothered me the most during the swim was feeling lost at sea. There I was, pulling and kicking through the water, making what felt like miniscule progress toward a goal I couldn't see. I couldn't even see the swimmer with the balloon tied to her back, let alone the turn-around spot on the breakwall. I remember looking towards some structures toward the west (couldn't tell you what the big blur actually was) and feeling like I was making no progress toward my goal. Of course, despite all this, I completed the task, so yay me. J
But that feeling of not being able to stay with my group was extremely unsettling. Were it not for the guard in the kayak next to me, at best I would have turned around and headed for shore before reaching the breakwall; at worst I would have started crying and treading water till someone came and led me ashore.
What bothered me most after the swim was an apparent overdose of ingested lake water. Let's call it intestinal distress and be done with it. I spent lots of time trying to figure out when in my stroke I was swallowing water so that I could fix that problem today.
Now, I'll get back to the point.
Despite these very large and very real concerns, I gathered my gear, packed my bag, and set my alarm clock last night. This morning I awoke on time, dressed for the swim, and ate a bowl of raisin bran and milk for energy. I acknowledged how scared I was, even hoping for a thunderstorm, but wasn't about to turn my power over to my fear. I was going to swim in the lake again.
And then Fate stepped in, and my car won't start. Instead of standing on the sandy shores with butterflies in my stomach, I'm sitting at the computer, waiting for the mechanic's shop to open so I can get my car towed there.
I worked so hard all week, doing extra arm work in WOW for the pulls through the water; biking hard to ensure strength training with my cardio; pushing myself on the elliptical machine to increase my endurance.
And suddenly the course in front of me isn't there today. Suddenly I'm left asking myself whether the work I did was worth it. Would it have made any difference at all in the lake this morning? I'll never know.
All that I can do is what I've already done this morning: make arrangements for baby-sitting so I can get a big swim in later today and wait for the tow truck. When I think about today's swim, how can I make it most like the lake swim, to continue to prepare for the triathlon (that isn't necessarily guaranteed; it is subject to storms)? I think I may swim in trusty Memorial Pool with my eyes closed. Maybe I'll wear my tri-shorts in the water so I can get used to that as well. I'll try to not swallow pool water.
But what if there was no Lighten Up finish line? What if there was no prescribed weight goal? How would I live my life? What would I eat? Would I go to the gym all these mornings? Who really makes my food choices: my doctor, food shows on tv, the grocery store, magazines, the internet, my taste buds, my muscles? Who makes my body movement decisions: pop culture, perfection-obsessed society, television programming, or me?
Last night my son's fencing instructor, Sara Kass at Cyrano's Place, kept coaching to the students to work like their goal is to make the Olympic team, even if that wouldn't happen till they were 150 years old. The point was that no matter what, they were work to get a little better each time.
Truth to tell, there really is nothing more than the next decision. Tomorrow may be miles long, or it may end abruptly. All I can do is make the best decision for the next bite I take, the next step I take.
~Karin
