Thankful for the Chance to Fail

For me, a continued state of mindless mediocrity is a living hell. Of course, what might be exciting and challenging for me might be pretty boring to lots of folks. This is to say, I know I don't have all the answers, the perfect life, the only right and true way to live. But I do know what is right for me. I just know there is more to all this than performing life's chores and responsibilities in a prompt, timely manner; to always be the good soldier in this campaign called life. The "restless warrior" down there, yearns for more, and I guess that is where endurance sports helps fill the void. Sometimes I think I have let myself get too tame. Over the years I have had some great adventures, done all kinds of somewhat risky, crazy things and I have written about them. When I go back to read or edit these pieces - yet again - I get the urge to take it outside once more; to get that picture back. I really like that person that was a little crazy sometimes. A line from my personal mission statement reads: The life God has chosen me to live is to be an adventure. I know that is true as surely as I know I am here. Yeah, I think I am ready for the season. My first triathlon is May 7Th, and I have already decided to line up in the middle of the front of my swim wave: knock it about a bit. I have already decided to bust my lungs for a bike PR on this fast course where I set my previous PR. And if I take a beating on the swim and blow up on the bike course, I will be so thankful for that chance to fail. And if I succeed? Ah, I am smiling already.

Hammering Under Water

There was no other way to do it. The pier I had built needed cross-bracing. Start the nail with little strokes, keep the rhythm. The water is sloshing obscuring visibility; I am hammering by faith, not by sight. Just keep to the program, and before long came the solid feeling of the nail being driven home. There are lots of lessons in that, especially as I pursue a training regimen to brace up my fitness, to steady my pier for hard weather, the tough events. But, life itself is like that too. Hammering under water, believing in the dark, gives exercise to our faith in ourselves, our program, and in God.

The "Direction of My Dreams"

The hills on the bike course; the hills in life can beat us up mentally, before we are even close to being whipped. Yesterday, biking uphill and into the wind, I decided to analyze how I ride hills. Sure, I have read everything I could find about how to ride hills, before I went out and did it my way anyway. Sometimes the same hills seem hard and sometimes easier. What's the difference? There are lots of variables to consider but in my amateurish research with a sample of one, I came to this conclusion: it is about where I are looking. Sounds too simple, doesn't it? When I look far up the hill and as I pedal, I can be intimidated by the length and steepness. Intimidation says, you are already tired; the hill goes on forever, and gets even steeper. You are toast. When I look at the next 10-20 yards as I pedal, I only see what is under my control at the moment. Sure, I can go that far, at least. The hill doesn't look that steep. My legs are feeling fine. I can do this. Of course, I can't ride bikes and go through life with blinders on. I have to stay on the road and go the right direction. But, I don't have to climb the part of the hill I haven't' arrived at yet. There will be a moment for that. I only have to go the right direction: the direction of my course; the "direction of my dreams" which was determined before this ride began. And so I live this day, knowing that I am pedaling on, climbing, this hill called life. And the "direction of my dreams" is vested in riding God's course for my life, this day; and this day: I am feeling fine; I can do this. --"if one advances confidently in the direction his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours." Henry David Thoreau

My Ironman

It scares me to think about attempting an ironman distance event. I am sure it is a little scary to everyone who attempts it. Sometimes, when I get all beat down by training that doesn't even approximate ironman distance event training, I wonder: can I do this? In that moment of weakness, excuses pour out from me like spilled jelly beans. And so my fears and I go through a vasillilation process of "to do" or "not to do."

Just about the time, I am happily deluded, Just about the time I think I am about ready to scrap this alleged nonsense of ironman, I see the cap my wife has on the wall. Big, bold letters are printed upon it that say, "Marvin, My Ironman." Like the old Kenny Rodgers song, "She believes in me." And she believes in me when I don't even believe in myself. When I can't see myself finishing an ironman, she believes and sees.

And God believes in me.
"Marvin, My Ironman."
"I'm not that good. I have no talent. I get so tired. I just don't have it."
"Marvin, my ironman."

Looking at that cap my wife made, I realize I have to try. I must honor her and I must honor God, for their belief in me, for making me dream dreams larger than myself, for giving me the courage to try to achieve them.

The Somber Hill

I love coming down that hill on my bike and I love to do hill repeats on this curving three-quarter mile incline. Today, I found out a friend of mine was killed on that road: got off the road in a turn, over-corrected and rolled the vehicle. He was not wearing a seat belt and was thrown from the vehicle.

I didn't know where on this road he had had this accident, so I took the course slowly around the turns, trying to identify some sign of the aftermath of the wreck. There it was at my hill. The spray paint was still there on the grass, on the pavement, telling the sad story of my friend's last moments on this earth. And there was one spot circled in orange spray paint, that may have been where his body had been.

My hill is littered with markings of orange spray paint, but even after it is gone, I doubt I will ever traverse this hill without thinking of my friend. He had come a long way back to be the person he was. I taught him in Sunday School and he became so good as a student, I let him teach.

Remembering the last time I saw him: I was running by his house, and he was out working with his tractor. He stopped. We talked. When I began to leave he asked me how far I had come. I told him. He said, "Marvin, I believe you are the toughest man I know." I laughed.

Times like today, standing over my bike, looking at the footprints of his death on the road, I really don't feel all that tough.

Nothing Was Impossible: A Tribute

No one could get me more angry than he could. I once jumped off the roof of a house I was working on to confront him about something he said. He could drive me that far. We were so different in so many ways, and yet, in certain central areas, we are much the same. Only some one that I loved so much could make me jump off a building. Today, is my Father's birthday. He has been gone for over twenty six years and I still miss him.

He would have been great at endurance sports. Like me, he had absolutely no natural talent to do anything, but the guy could hang in there, and hang on like no one I have ever met. We did a lot of fishing, hiking and camping together. We carved the place I live on now, out of a proverbial wilderness. I smile at the adventures we had together, getting in and out of predicaments; great times. Nothing was impossible withI us, it seemed.

It was hard to know how bad he really felt because he just didn't complain that much. During his losing battle with cancer, I saw him take an incredible amount of pain. It is my regret that endurance sports did not come along for us during our time together. He would have been great at it, I know, because as I see it, my father was an Ironman.

Stop Digging !

They say that the first thing you need to do when you find yourself in a hole is to stop digging. I am into my third day of no training whatsoever. It has been a while since I have been in this kind of hole. It doesn't look like it is going to get any better unless something changes; unless I stop digging. Oh, I could blame a variety of things besides myself, but I think it is time to stop blaming and digging and climb out of this hole. Is there really any other good choice? What happens if I just keep keeping on like this? Given time, this hole I am digging for myself could change my identity, my own self-image, degrade my own self-respect. I could be buried in this hole.

Multisport has been chosen as my lifestyle, and though it wears me out at times, I love all that goes with it. I am not ready to change identities. It is what I am called for and who I am called to be. So, throwing this shovel down, and climbing out of this hole into the light again.