I Want to be Supergirl When I Grow Up!
My transformation was sudden, but complete. With absolutely no preparation or premeditation on my part, I became an athlete.
On Sunday.
During our six-hour brunch at Andrew’s house.
Together with a group of dear friends (and barring a return to my senses), a year and a half from now I’ll have completed my first triathlon. The purpose of our getting together on Sunday was to begin planning for it. We now have a team name (I Am Not With Them) and a logo for our t-shirts!
I’ve been a committed couch potato for the past 35 years (I say 35 because I’m sure my mother wasn’t doing much of anything during the last few months of her pregnancy). Yet somewhere between the quiche, the ice cream, and the movie . . . it happened. Buoyed by great food, laughter, and (of course!) Craig’s and Jonathan's optimism, I made the amazing discovery that I didn’t need to be afraid of my inner (ummm. . . quick, somebody name an athlete!). Apparently, all I’d needed all these years was peer pressure. Somehow I thought radically changing my life would be more complicated than this.
Today marks the beginning of Training Day Two. So far, here’s what I have accomplished (in order of importance):
- Whining
- Brunch
- Starting a blog (newhopetriathlon.blogspot.com)
- Bragging
- Research (trying to find swimming lessons)
- A few guilty glances at my bike
- Rationalizing (“I could go to the gym right now, but then I’d lose my parking spot”)
- My first sport injury (It’s my left pinkie; I’m not really sure why it hurts, but I’m positive there’s a connection.)
- More whining (it’s part of my charm)
I was sharing this new adventure with a colleague yesterday (you know, so I could check off “bragging” on my list of things to do for training). I mentioned how much I hate running, how I don’t know how to swim, how I’ve only been on a bike a sum total of seven times in my entire life and she looked a little perplexed. Frankly, so did the cat when I told her what I was planning (although I must admit she moved from perplexed to indifferent in about two seconds).
So, why am I doing this?
Three years ago, I started the process of reinventing myself. I don’t know if there’s really an athlete inside of me or not (although that would explain the weight gain), but I do hope to learn to make a commitment to something that I’m doing entirely for me. For a variety of reasons, even contemplating the notion of working so hard for something that will not benefit somebody else makes me squirm uncomfortably. Others in my life taught me that putting myself first in any situation is selfish. And I taught myself that I needed to justify my existence by being useful.
I’m curious now to see what happens if I take on something is that is so far out of what’s normal for me. Maybe in a few months I’ll wish I’d have tried to reach my inner “knitter”! Maybe I’ll be able to definitively put an end to this runner’s high myth, this urban legend, this siren song that lures many innocents to their untimely cardiac health. Or maybe . . .
It’s the wonder and the power of the “maybe” that compelled me to sign up.
I’m so predictable!
(Image by Erick Egon at DeviantArt.com)
