breaking in the tri

Every year the alumni from camp come back for a weekend of reminiscing and reveling. Included is the alumni triathalon, a collection of swim, kayak, and run stints. Around a half mile swim, half mile kayak, and 2.6 mile run of fun. Last year I didn't think I was capable of finishing, so at the time I decided that this year I was going to do it. And I did.

Except there was a point in the course where I almost threw up. And then where I almost sat down and stopped. There were moments when I didn't think I could do it. On the back half of the run I couldn't find it to finish. There was to much road, I was to tired, my legs hurt to much, I'd never done anything like this, I wasn't fast enough, I was to fat, a million different things going through my head telling me to stop. What was I doing anyways? Why was I putting myself through this?

About a half mile from the finish I stopped and stopped over, my hands on my knees and tears welling up in my eyes. It wasn't a super hard course. Certainly nothing like what real competitors come across. But I was beat. I'd been had. I'd somehow convinced myself that I was capable when I obviously wasn't. I closed my eyes as tight as I could and took a deep breath. When I opened them again I was staring at my grandpa's dog tag laced into my left shoe. I keep it on my running shoes to remind me to never give up.

Never give up. Even if I came in dead last in the middle of the night I should not give up. I reached down and tapped the tag with my finger, giving the old man a hello but I'm sure he was right there pushing me down the road. I stood up, pushed my shoulders back, and started my way down through camp towards the pier.

I cried when I broke the make-shift toilet paper tape, I cried when I went back to the house to change. I cried when I realized what I'd done. I'd almost given in to that voice in my head, the one that's kept me back, the one that's acted out of fear. But in a horrendous moment of physical weakness I'd mustered what courage I had left in me to ignore that voice and press forward.

Today I'm proud of myself for shutting off that switch and listening to the tiniest glimmer that I could do it. I can see the pride in my eyes when I think about it, know that I may have been at the back, but I am one step closer to shutting up that voice in my head that's been saying 'I can't'.