Day 1: Why I'm doing this

So here I am, having committed (finally!) to doing a triathlon. It's what's known as a "sprint" triathlon, and I'm thinking that means it's shorter, and maybe less intense than a traditional one.

Ten years ago I could have seen myself doing this much more easily than I can now. I was about 20 pounds thinner - not even close to thin, by any means, but I was also biking 14 miles three to five days a week as a commute to and from work. On most days I made the seven-mile trip to work in 30-45 minutes; while not ideal, I nonetheless beat some carbound co-workers who had the same distance to travel.

I was proud of the fact that I could make this daily commute on a bike, without much fuss or fatigue...until I started making the number on the scale the measure by which I achieved success or failure. That number never changed, from the time I started biking in the early spring to the time I stopped in October. That stubborn number - and the change from a mountain bike that I loved to a racing bike that I didn't even like very much (the mountain bike had been stolen) - discouraged me so much that I just stopped biking completely.

This wasn't the first time - or the last - that I'd fallen in love with doing something physical for the sheer enjoyment and passion of it. In high school I would have rather died than admitted I actually started enjoying running in my Junior year. In years previous I had done maneuvers on the parallel bars that would have me in awe now. In my late teens and early 20's I used to go dancing for hours, non-stop.

But for some odd reason, I never felt I could admit that I liked being physical, and that I was strong. Perhaps because I'd been born into a very cerebral family, with skills that typically ranged in the academic, and frequently, artistic or musical realm, I felt that I needed to limit my pursuits to those areas. Maybe it was my lack of coordination and skill in the team-based sports, with their focus on rules and competition, that put me off from participating in any of them.

Maybe it was a combination of many things, but whatever it was, I felt like my secret fascination with the endurance sports, such as marathons, was something dirty that I had to hide. I'd read a book about a girl who'd miraculously recovered from being hit by a car, and eventually worked her way up to being able to run a marathon. I've long since forgotten the name of the book, but I remember very well how I felt reading it. It sparked my imagination, and intrigued me: how could a person do something so incredibly difficult? What was it about competing with oneself that made team sports pale in comparison? How could a person overcome such tragedy, and become triumphant?

When I came across the Ironman Triathlon, years later in the late 90's, I rediscovered that fascination with endurance sports that I'd put away, folded and stuffed like last season's clothes into a drawer, to be forgotten as the years passed. There was no reasonable way I could prepare for the Ironman, so it just became one more unrealized dream.

Then, in the early 2000's, one of my friends asked me to come support her as she completed her first triathlon. I came and cheered her on, proud of her and for her, and all the while my heart ached, as I thought, "this could never be me." I was looking at the pictures of us together, her slim and athletic, beautiful and radiant...and me, dwarfing her in size, fleshy, round of face, full of figure.

What I failed to realize - what the pictures and the number on the scale can never possibly show - was that my being there to support my friend was a huge source of strength for her. A big reason for the smile on her face was the fact that she saw me, cheering her on, telling her she could do it, believing in her and watching her cross the finish line. She'd had her own overwhelming odds to overcome...burdens and barriers that weighed her down, nearly crushing her spirit, as heavy as any weight I carried on my body. Yet for her, in this season of her life, somehow I had helped to lift some of her burden, enough for her to shake off that heaviness, and run toward achieving one of her dreams.

A woman I respect recently told me that I was very strong. She didn't disqualify me because of how I looked, or the number on the scale....not the way I had for many years. She believed in me, and what I was capable of, the way I had believed in my friend. What makes this so powerful is that this particular woman has been bodybuilding for over 30 years, winning award after award for her passion. She, and other friends planting little seeds of their faith in me, have begun working a change in my thinking that has finally grown to the point where it is strong enough to overcome several years of negative thinking.

I finally believe I can do this, with appropriate and diligent training. I don't know that the number on the scale will change any, or if my appearance will shift to a smoother, less "fluffy" appearance. But after long last, it's not about that anymore. It's about life, and the pursuit of dreams that I have shelved, or shamed myself about, all so unnecessarily, because I was distracted by the fantasy of being some perfect, "flawless" woman that has never really existed. That fantasy, and the accompanying shame of not achieving it, has got to go, because it stands in the way of my achieving my truly worthwhile dreams.

What are those? you ask. Well, if you stick around long enough and be my friend, you'll see. And maybe if I'm lucky, I'll get to see yours, too.