My Why

I’ve thought a lot about this question – the ‘why’ of it all. Thought about it a lot more now that I'm entering my second season and realizing I want to stick with it for a lifetime. It’s natural to ponder this one, because it’s so often the question people ask when they first learn you're a triathlete. Especially when that someone looks like me. Eventually you need to come up with an answer.

I bet there’s a whole psychology book out there on the reason that people’s first reaction is “why” – but that’s a tangent of its own.

Truth be told, when I feel a ‘you’re fat, therefore I’m not taking you seriously’ vibe from someone new, I make a point of working triathlon into the conversation. It’s not like I can go around with a “thyroid patient – remodeling in progress” sign around my neck, so I’ve found this is the next best way to get people out of their judgmental little boxes. After the inevitable incredulity and “why”, I find it’s common for them to check me out while they think I’m not looking. They do this to re-confirm their original impression that standing before them is a very short, very fat woman. Cute? Sure. But definitely fat. And it throws them off balance; they no longer know what to expect from me. I am officially outside their experiential parameters. Which is exactly how I like it.

But back to the why. I think a lot of the reasons we do this thing probably have similar roots. But these reasons are deeply complex and personal, and not the kind of thing to explain to a gaping stranger. So, we lower our eyes and grin a little, and say something like “I guess you’ve got to be a little nuts.” Because if they don’t get it, they don’t deserve to hear our whys.

I was recently reminded (Thanks,Wil) of the classic Steve Prefontaine quote: “Somebody may beat me, but they are going to have to bleed to do it.” This seemed to hit home for a lot of folks – I guess it spoke to their own whys.

I think it’s a great quote that illustrates the amazing competitive spirit that flourishes in so many athletes. But it doesn’t do anything for me. I’m not out there to beat anybody. I’m not out there to win anything. I suppose one could argue I’m out there to beat my childhood demons, to win respect for who I am and what I can do. But that would be an oversimplified, pop-psychology explanation with a Hollywood ending.

My why is internal. Sure, I never feel like I’m good enough, and I always feel like I need to do more. But that particular neurosis is an explanation for why I wasn’t satisfied with a sprint, which led to wanting an oly, which led to considering half-iron, which made me figure I might as well shoot for Iron. All before I can run a mile. It speaks to “why I want more” - it doesn’t get to the root of why I chose triathlon in the first place.

I was never an athletic person – even before my health problems derailed a decade of my life. So why someone like me was drawn to the mother of all endurance sports is a question for the ages.

What I do know is this: I spent my life often bored, searching for stimulation. How lucky I am to have been led to a place I’d never have looked on my own. Endurance sport? Ce n’est pas mon milieu. I’ll make a fool of myself.

It’s a fantastic paradox, that I would so love the thing that humbles me most.

I love that I conquered a panic-attack inducing phobia to swim in open water. I really love the friends who swam patiently beside me while I hyperventilated and begged for the shore. I love when I’m flying down a country road on my bike and find myself betting I can top the next hill in the big ring. And I love the feeling – that brutal, burning, freefall feeling – after a run, when I know I pushed my body to its limit and came out stronger for it.

I love that it’s demanding. I love that there’s always a reason to push a little harder, a little faster, a little farther. I love that there’s always a new goal on the horizon. I love that it will never come easily. And oh, how I love the people. It’s a solitary sport where you never feel alone, even at the back of the pack with no one in sight.