In December, Jaquetta and I watched the 2009 Ironman World Championship on television. The competition calls for participants to complete a 2.4-mile swim in the ocean, a 112-mile bike, and a 26.2 mile run – consecutively. We were both captivated by the tremendous perseverance and mettle that these men and women displayed. Within each competitor in the 1,800-person field resided a distinct and remarkable story. There was Chrissie Wellington, the three-time women’s winner who set a women’s overall course record with a time of 8:54:02. There was Elizabeth Thompson who finished with a comparatively unremarkable time of 15:34:12, until you consider that two years prior to the race she suffered a stroke and had to learn to walk again. Then, there was Richard Decker, the last official finisher. He crossed the finish line 48 seconds before the 17-hour mark, at which time the race closes. Finishing after that time means that your time does not count; it’s not even recorded.
One-hundred and twenty-six competitors either dropped out or were disqualified for not finishing an event within the allotted time (2:20:00 for the swim; 10:30:00 total for the swim and bike; 17:00:00 total for the race). Non-finishers included Kyle Garlett, a cancer and heart transplant survivor. He missed the swim cutoff by seven seconds. Adhering strictly to the rules, officials would not allow him to continue, despite him having competed for over 10.5 hours. Another non-finisher was the 2003 Men's 70-74 Age Group Champion, Edwin Wolgram. At age 76, he had finished 8 prior races. Perhaps, most compelling was the story of Rudy Garcia-Tolson. Due to a birth defect, he had his legs removed when he was five-years-old. This was his first Ironman, and he completed the swim, but the bike challenged him severely. With prosthetic legs, he pedaled using only his glute muscles. He was forced to drop out after missing the bike cutoff by five minutes.
Numerous are stories of heroes who overcome adversity in order to accomplish extraordinary feats. Not so pervasive are stories in which heroes fail to cross the finish line; they fail to complete, let alone win the race. Maybe we don’t find such stories as inspirational or admirable. After all, we emulate winners, not starters. However, I offer that the two are often related, if not synonymous.
Rudy (mentioned two paragraphs ago) is a winner because he crossed the start line, because he wholeheartedly faced his disability. Each of us has disability, whether it is fear of failure, fear of scrutiny, obesity, too much pride, smoking, too much humility, indolence, introversion – any attitude, behavior, or condition that prevents us from maximizing our true potential. Again, we all have disabilities, yet a smaller number of us possesses the self-awareness to recognize them, and even fewer will engage them with unbridled resiliency, regardless of the likelihood of the success of our efforts. Instead of competing, we chose not to enter the race.
This is my last entry prior to the marathon on Sunday. I ask you: What is your disability? See you at the start line.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Mirror
The mirror provides us with a different point of view, another perspective. Theoretically, the mirror allows us to see ourselves as others see us. Mirrors are also designed to distort images. At amusement parks or museums, most of us have posed in front of mirrors that have made us look wide or skinny, short or tall, and crooked or humped. Many people believe that the department stores mirrors are designed so that you look slim, which makes you more apt to buy that outfit that looks good on you (only in the store). Likewise, I have heard anecdotes that the mirrors in the gym make you look skinny, so that you keep coming back. Or, maybe it’s that they make you look portly, so that you keep coming back. I guess it depends on whom you ask. Either way, the idea is that the mirror can be fashioned to alter reality, in order to affect your emotions, and subsequently, your behavior – whether that behavior be a laugh in the hall of mirrors, a purchase at Dillard’s, or a membership renewal at Gold’s Gym.
These days, I spend a great deal of time in the mirror, though it is not because I am vain. (At least, I hope that’s not the reason. Somebody check me on that and let me know you think that I’m wrong). As in most gyms, the walls at my gym are completely covered with mirrors. Lately, the cold weather has driven me indoors, thus I spend a lot of time on the treadmill and in front of the mirror. This has been beneficial, in that it allows me to check my running form: my gait, the amount of bounce in my stride, my arm swing, and many other factors that affect the efficiency with which I run. Again, I am not a natural runner, and my form is neither pretty nor graceful. I am the dude that makes you put your ipod on blast, in effort to drown out the pounding sound that I make. I am that dude that gets off the treadmill, and people wonder if I’ve broken it. Don’t laugh though, I’m working on it, and I am getting better. At least, that is what the mirror tells me.
One day last week, as I was cooling down on the treadmill, the mirror gave me some other good news. It told me how great a person I was. It complimented me on my altruism for putting myself through so much pain, in order to raise money for a charity. It remarked that I was a better person than are most people because I was improving upon my physical fitness, while most people slumbered. I am almost certain that the mirror patted me on my back for being a motivating factor in others’ lives. The mirror said that I was good – really good. In fact, in the span of about three minutes, the mirror replayed for me a lifetime of accomplishments. Smug, I left the gym and headed home.
While driving, I found a new mirror. Or, I should say more appropriately, God cast me onto another mirror, this one quite dissimilar from the first one. This one was spiritual, rather than simply mental or physical. Fading were the images of self-glory, self-pride and self-righteousness. In fact, dying was any image of self. I pulled into a parking lot to get a better look. The more I thought of God’s contribution to my success, the less distorted became the image in the mirror: there was less me and more God. I found myself again revisiting my accomplishments over the years. I saw reality. I saw God as the impetus behind my triumphs, the concealer of my limitations, and the magnifier of my not-so-stellar abilities.
In the first mirror, I saw me, and I liked what I saw. In the second mirror, I saw God within, around and before me, and I loved what I saw.
On various occasions, I have seen a different me when I have looked into the mirror. I have seen the pleasant and the repulsive, depending upon my mood, my stage or status in life, or others’ opinions of me. As I said at the onset of this post, the mirror can cause us to see ourselves as others see us, whether that casts us in a positive or negative light. Indeed, I agree that the mirror has the propensity to distort reality. Reality is that within each of us lies the picture of perfection.
When the image in your mirror is pleasing, do not forget the source of that delight. When the image in your mirror is unpleasant, take a second look, focusing on God. I believe that you will love what you see.
These days, I spend a great deal of time in the mirror, though it is not because I am vain. (At least, I hope that’s not the reason. Somebody check me on that and let me know you think that I’m wrong). As in most gyms, the walls at my gym are completely covered with mirrors. Lately, the cold weather has driven me indoors, thus I spend a lot of time on the treadmill and in front of the mirror. This has been beneficial, in that it allows me to check my running form: my gait, the amount of bounce in my stride, my arm swing, and many other factors that affect the efficiency with which I run. Again, I am not a natural runner, and my form is neither pretty nor graceful. I am the dude that makes you put your ipod on blast, in effort to drown out the pounding sound that I make. I am that dude that gets off the treadmill, and people wonder if I’ve broken it. Don’t laugh though, I’m working on it, and I am getting better. At least, that is what the mirror tells me.
One day last week, as I was cooling down on the treadmill, the mirror gave me some other good news. It told me how great a person I was. It complimented me on my altruism for putting myself through so much pain, in order to raise money for a charity. It remarked that I was a better person than are most people because I was improving upon my physical fitness, while most people slumbered. I am almost certain that the mirror patted me on my back for being a motivating factor in others’ lives. The mirror said that I was good – really good. In fact, in the span of about three minutes, the mirror replayed for me a lifetime of accomplishments. Smug, I left the gym and headed home.
While driving, I found a new mirror. Or, I should say more appropriately, God cast me onto another mirror, this one quite dissimilar from the first one. This one was spiritual, rather than simply mental or physical. Fading were the images of self-glory, self-pride and self-righteousness. In fact, dying was any image of self. I pulled into a parking lot to get a better look. The more I thought of God’s contribution to my success, the less distorted became the image in the mirror: there was less me and more God. I found myself again revisiting my accomplishments over the years. I saw reality. I saw God as the impetus behind my triumphs, the concealer of my limitations, and the magnifier of my not-so-stellar abilities.
In the first mirror, I saw me, and I liked what I saw. In the second mirror, I saw God within, around and before me, and I loved what I saw.
On various occasions, I have seen a different me when I have looked into the mirror. I have seen the pleasant and the repulsive, depending upon my mood, my stage or status in life, or others’ opinions of me. As I said at the onset of this post, the mirror can cause us to see ourselves as others see us, whether that casts us in a positive or negative light. Indeed, I agree that the mirror has the propensity to distort reality. Reality is that within each of us lies the picture of perfection.
When the image in your mirror is pleasing, do not forget the source of that delight. When the image in your mirror is unpleasant, take a second look, focusing on God. I believe that you will love what you see.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Sight Replaced by Vision
This morning, I was scheduled to run 7 miles. I did not finish. At about mile 2, my shin splints started bothering me, so I slowed down. I have had chronic shin splints for about 15 years, so I have learned to bear the pain or just block it out. The idea is to keep going. So, I did that. At about mile 4, I could feel the pain from my plantar fasciitis began to flare. I have had this heel injury for about two years, but it had recently gotten better. Hence, I felt prepared to train for this marathon. In the past and on several occasions, this injury caused me to fall to my knees upon taking my first steps in the morning. The pain was that bad. This morning, the thought of reliving those days caused me to negotiate with myself, and I decided to stop at 6 miles.
After the run, I did not feel bad about cutting corners. After all, I have stuck with my training plan extremely well.
Then, I went to breakfast, and ESPN was airing a story about a 12-year-old young man who battled cancer 9 times to save his sight. He won the first 8 bouts but lost the ninth. Don’t feel sorry for him though. Through losing his sight, he has gained vision – an attainment that has eluded many of us adults.
Tomorrow, I am scheduled to run 4 miles. I will do 5. Not because I will want to, but conversely, because I will NOT want to.
Do more and do better – my new mantra
If you want to see what it is to have sight replaced by vision, learn from this young man: http://espn.go.com/video/clip?id=4695418. (Please excuse the 15-second advertisement).
After the run, I did not feel bad about cutting corners. After all, I have stuck with my training plan extremely well.
Then, I went to breakfast, and ESPN was airing a story about a 12-year-old young man who battled cancer 9 times to save his sight. He won the first 8 bouts but lost the ninth. Don’t feel sorry for him though. Through losing his sight, he has gained vision – an attainment that has eluded many of us adults.
Tomorrow, I am scheduled to run 4 miles. I will do 5. Not because I will want to, but conversely, because I will NOT want to.
Do more and do better – my new mantra
If you want to see what it is to have sight replaced by vision, learn from this young man: http://espn.go.com/video/clip?id=4695418. (Please excuse the 15-second advertisement).
Friday, November 20, 2009
Process vs. Outcome
Many times, we focus too intently on the outcome, rather than process. We have our eyes so set on the destination that we can not see the sights along the road upon which we travel to get to our journey’s end. As children, we desperately want to be adults, not appreciating the advantageousness of our minimal responsibilities during youth. During courtship, we dream about the wedding, not fully appreciating or solidifying the foundation that we are building with our companion. As students, we long for graduation, discounting the education we receive, not only from the classroom but from our peers and personal perseverance.
We live in a world of instant gratification, so we seek that which is quickly obtainable and supposedly satisfying. However, if we look at the most endeared of our attainments, the story and the true reward tend to lie in the voyage, not in the destination. It’s not only that you got “it” (whatever “it” might be); it’s HOW you got it. For one woman, the destination is high school principle. The journey is overcoming dyslexia. For one man, the destination is fatherhood. The journey is growing up in foster care.
As I have trained for this marathon, I have begun to consider the process more so than the outcome which originally caught my eye: finishing a marathon. I could stagger across the finish line without having run another mile between now and February, and I would receive – in some peoples’ minds – the same outcome that I would receive if I finished the training and the marathon. However, I am not focused on the Mercedes medallion that participants receive for finishing the race (though I heard that the medallion is kinda tight). Rather than focus on the medal, I am centered on the mettle – the determination it will take to run 485 training miles through pain, dismal weather, sickness, and fatigue. I am determined to be an inspiration and optimistic that the reflections that I document herein will positively affect but one person.
I am going to enjoy crossing the finish line: the outcome. In the meantime, I am going to appreciate the journey: the process.
We live in a world of instant gratification, so we seek that which is quickly obtainable and supposedly satisfying. However, if we look at the most endeared of our attainments, the story and the true reward tend to lie in the voyage, not in the destination. It’s not only that you got “it” (whatever “it” might be); it’s HOW you got it. For one woman, the destination is high school principle. The journey is overcoming dyslexia. For one man, the destination is fatherhood. The journey is growing up in foster care.
As I have trained for this marathon, I have begun to consider the process more so than the outcome which originally caught my eye: finishing a marathon. I could stagger across the finish line without having run another mile between now and February, and I would receive – in some peoples’ minds – the same outcome that I would receive if I finished the training and the marathon. However, I am not focused on the Mercedes medallion that participants receive for finishing the race (though I heard that the medallion is kinda tight). Rather than focus on the medal, I am centered on the mettle – the determination it will take to run 485 training miles through pain, dismal weather, sickness, and fatigue. I am determined to be an inspiration and optimistic that the reflections that I document herein will positively affect but one person.
I am going to enjoy crossing the finish line: the outcome. In the meantime, I am going to appreciate the journey: the process.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Intro
I began training for the Mercedes Marathon on September 29. Thus far, I have run 127 miles, each of them solo. Running alone has given me a great deal of time to reflect. I document some of these moments of reflection in this blog.
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