One thing I really don't understand is hashtagging on Facebook. Isn't that a Twitter thing, supposedly? Not that I would know...I don't have a Twitter. One life-consuming social network is enough, thanks. I have to say, though, that I've been guilty of the very thing I don't quite get, and I suppose my motivation must have been the same as it was for everyone else: it looked cool. Very 6th grade of me, I know. I've noticed there are many hashtags about various sorts of unique "problems" that people seem to be having: #firstworldproblems, #whitegirlproblems, #collegestudentproblems...before the hashtag craze, I had no idea that people had so many problems. At any rate, I figured why not add my own problems to the ever-growing pile? Ever heard of #triathleteproblems? Now you have.
1. Try on size small jacket. Examine self in mirror. Try to take off jacket. Fail miserably. Have to get pulled out of said jacket by friend because your arms have become too muscular from swimming and are no longer proportional to your body.
2. The jean dilemma. Waist fit=perfect. Ass fit=bustin' outa there. Ass fit=perfect. Waist fit=enough room for a party.
3. The internal debate: am I hardcore enough to have my name on the backside of my uniform?
4. Almost EVERYBODY who isn't a triathlete thinks you only do the Ironman.
5. The inevitable "Why are you always eating?" Or if you're with a guy, "I think you just ate more than me."
6. Bursting into a wildly inappropriate rap song in public because it's the one that got stuck in your head while running. "Left cheek right cheek..."
7. Race shirts: do I LOOK like a large?
8. The perfect snot rocket. Nail it, and you're awesome. Mess it up, and you're absolutely disgusting.
9. The person you're drafting behind on a ride is too skinny to block any wind.
10. That deflating feeling when you get passed by a lady with "50" written on her calf.
I'm realizing that many of these are quite gender-specific...maybe I should have called it #triathletegirlproblems. Oh well. This is only the tip of the iceberg. More to follow...
Monday, January 23, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2012
Fearless
Much ado is made over being fearless. Many great athletes, adventurers, and innovators are often described using this adjective, their achievements towering over their equally larger-than-life personas. What exactly, though, does it mean to be fearless? Why do people want to assume that great accomplishments come only through a lack of one of the most basic human instincts?
Fear is often one of the first emotions we remember having. As children, we are afraid of the dark, of our nightmares, or of losing sight of our parents in a crowded room. Perhaps these basic early fears reveal the real reason for the existence of the emotion: survival. As we mature we develop more complex fears--fear of losing those close to us, fear of failure, fear of being alone--but the reasoning remains the same. We fear these things because of our strong desire for both physical and emotional security. I believe it is impossible--perhaps with the exception of sociopathic individuals--for someone to go through a lifetime without having feelings of fear in some context. How, then, can anyone truly be called "fearless"?
It is not a lack of fear that aids the world's greatest individuals in their successes. Rather, being "fearless" is simply finding the ability to override every hesitant impulse, nagging doubt, and feeling of outright terror in order to complete the task at hand. Fearlessness is looking down the face of the steepest wave you've ever seen, feeling your stomach twist in a knot, and deciding to make the drop anyways. It's finding the courage to run your first marathon in spite of the fact that your training went nothing as planned. It's taking the risk of becoming a laughingstock and a failure in order to push a bold new technology. It's not a lack of self-doubt--it's an ability to toss those feelings aside. The moments in life with the potential for greatness are often some of the most terrifying. And through the fear, you're faced with a decision. "Am I going to do this--or not?" Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind. Yes, you could land smack on your ass. But you could also have a moment that changes your life. That's what being fearless is all about.
Fear is often one of the first emotions we remember having. As children, we are afraid of the dark, of our nightmares, or of losing sight of our parents in a crowded room. Perhaps these basic early fears reveal the real reason for the existence of the emotion: survival. As we mature we develop more complex fears--fear of losing those close to us, fear of failure, fear of being alone--but the reasoning remains the same. We fear these things because of our strong desire for both physical and emotional security. I believe it is impossible--perhaps with the exception of sociopathic individuals--for someone to go through a lifetime without having feelings of fear in some context. How, then, can anyone truly be called "fearless"?
It is not a lack of fear that aids the world's greatest individuals in their successes. Rather, being "fearless" is simply finding the ability to override every hesitant impulse, nagging doubt, and feeling of outright terror in order to complete the task at hand. Fearlessness is looking down the face of the steepest wave you've ever seen, feeling your stomach twist in a knot, and deciding to make the drop anyways. It's finding the courage to run your first marathon in spite of the fact that your training went nothing as planned. It's taking the risk of becoming a laughingstock and a failure in order to push a bold new technology. It's not a lack of self-doubt--it's an ability to toss those feelings aside. The moments in life with the potential for greatness are often some of the most terrifying. And through the fear, you're faced with a decision. "Am I going to do this--or not?" Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind. Yes, you could land smack on your ass. But you could also have a moment that changes your life. That's what being fearless is all about.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Snapshot from the past
I remember my first 5-mile run so clearly. I was 14 and training for my first year of cross country. I had only recently finished my first 5K race, and was eager to get good enough to make the varsity squad. My father, I remember, followed my progress with a quiet enthusiasm. We had always been rather alike in our mannerisms and personalities, he and I, so when I made my first foray into distance running he began to tell me how far he used to run before his knee surgery. It was fascinating and fun for me to imagine that perhaps heredity had ingrained in me the mysterious love of running far and fast. Sometimes he mentioned to me that he thought he might be able to run again, as long as he took it easy. Still, it took me by surprise when upon declaring my intention to run 5 miles, he said he'd come with me.
We decided to run from our house to the lighthouse at the end of the 7-mile long barrier island where we lived. The distance, my dad told me assuredly, was almost exactly 5 miles. We enlisted the help of my mother to pick us up at the end of our run and thus began our trek to the end of the island. Strangely enough, we were a well-matched pair--he with his caution about his knee and I with my slight anxiety at running a distance I'd never attempted before. It was early evening and still light out when we started. The pace was slow and relaxed, and I concentrated on listening to the rhythm of my dad's footsteps to keep myself from getting carried away with a pace I couldn't sustain. We talked and laughed, and the first few miles flew by with an ease I didn't think was possible. I remember the sound of our combined footsteps--his a little heavier and controlled, mine light and unsure. I remember coming to the 4th mile just as the night was falling and the first stars began to appear. I remember the sudden burst of energy flowing through my veins near the end as enthusiasm got the best of me and I sped ahead. Most of all, though, I remember the connection we established. My relationship with my mother had always been straightforward. She never minced words and loved us with an unmistakable fervor. My dad, however, had always been subtler. Sharing a moment with him had always been harder, his emotions hidden beneath an impenetrable calm. That night, though, the simple act of running brought us together. There were no barriers, just a father and a daughter victorious in their shared quest.
Sometimes it's not the actual runs, rides, and swims we remember, but the people we share them with. Endurance training can be monotonous and unmemorable, but in the black-and-white of our memories some moments stand out like a Technicolor dream. These moments are what make training--and living--worthwhile. I can't speak for everyone, but a single vivid memory can stay with me for a very long time. A stellar race, a hilarious workout with a large group, a moment--even if it's fleeting--shared with someone who means something to you. So much can get lost in the repetitiveness of distance running and triathlon training, and undoubtedly there are many things we'd like to forget as both athletes and individuals. Life is just a collection of big and small moments, an album of snapshots that can be lost or recalled. What will you remember?
We decided to run from our house to the lighthouse at the end of the 7-mile long barrier island where we lived. The distance, my dad told me assuredly, was almost exactly 5 miles. We enlisted the help of my mother to pick us up at the end of our run and thus began our trek to the end of the island. Strangely enough, we were a well-matched pair--he with his caution about his knee and I with my slight anxiety at running a distance I'd never attempted before. It was early evening and still light out when we started. The pace was slow and relaxed, and I concentrated on listening to the rhythm of my dad's footsteps to keep myself from getting carried away with a pace I couldn't sustain. We talked and laughed, and the first few miles flew by with an ease I didn't think was possible. I remember the sound of our combined footsteps--his a little heavier and controlled, mine light and unsure. I remember coming to the 4th mile just as the night was falling and the first stars began to appear. I remember the sudden burst of energy flowing through my veins near the end as enthusiasm got the best of me and I sped ahead. Most of all, though, I remember the connection we established. My relationship with my mother had always been straightforward. She never minced words and loved us with an unmistakable fervor. My dad, however, had always been subtler. Sharing a moment with him had always been harder, his emotions hidden beneath an impenetrable calm. That night, though, the simple act of running brought us together. There were no barriers, just a father and a daughter victorious in their shared quest.
Sometimes it's not the actual runs, rides, and swims we remember, but the people we share them with. Endurance training can be monotonous and unmemorable, but in the black-and-white of our memories some moments stand out like a Technicolor dream. These moments are what make training--and living--worthwhile. I can't speak for everyone, but a single vivid memory can stay with me for a very long time. A stellar race, a hilarious workout with a large group, a moment--even if it's fleeting--shared with someone who means something to you. So much can get lost in the repetitiveness of distance running and triathlon training, and undoubtedly there are many things we'd like to forget as both athletes and individuals. Life is just a collection of big and small moments, an album of snapshots that can be lost or recalled. What will you remember?
Monday, January 2, 2012
Resolved
I've been very silent as of late, partially owing to the end-of-the-year madness that has pervaded my life in many different forms. But I've realized lately that I've missed sharing my thoughts with the kind few who enjoy hearing them.
With a new year comes the inevitable slew of New Year's resolutions, which got me thinking. The majority of New Year's resolutions involve health and personal happiness. Eating better, exercising, and generally living in a healthier manner are on many people's to-do list at the start of a new year. And even though as endurance athletes many of these things are already ingrained in our lives, there are certainly things we can do better. We can train harder, refine our diets, or chase a new PR. More broadly, we can adjust our attitudes and vow to become happier, more positive, and more flexible. But what, exactly, does making an "official" resolution accomplish? For many people, having a set goal to work towards at the beginning of a new year is helpful and motivating. I, however, believe that we shouldn't need a New Year's resolution to live our lives in the best manner possible. Instead of making New Year's resolutions, we should make a promise every day to be the best we can be--whether it's athletically, professionally, or personally. After all, excellence isn't just a once-a-year pursuit...it's a daily attitude, a choice. Many people "chase" happiness or satisfaction and believe that if they were to just accomplish a certain goal, they would achieve peace and self-fulfillment. In my opinion, this is part of the appeal of New Year's resolutions: they provide a starting point for such a chase. However, I believe that happiness is not something to pursue, but a decision we make every day. Will we constantly be looking for something to fill the void within us, or will we do the best we can with what we've been given? The choice is ultimately ours.
Over the course of a year, many things can happen. As I look back on 2011, I personally remember a year of cementing strong friendships, making amazing memories, learning some hard lessons, pushing through difficulties, establishing new relationships, and saying goodbye. Some of these things have been bitter, others sweet. Overall, though, there's not a thing I would change. We're never really done finding out who we are. All of life is a journey of self-discovery, and I'm entering 2012 determined to continue experiencing life to the fullest without any regrets. Fear is irrelevant. The big wave surfer Laird Hamilton once said, "I don't want to not live because of my fear of what could happen," and it's become a mantra I try to live by. So, my lovely followers, as we enter the new year I urge you to step outside the box. Live life without fear, and love with reckless abandon. We only get one shot at this...let's make it worthwhile. Happy 2012!
~Abbs
With a new year comes the inevitable slew of New Year's resolutions, which got me thinking. The majority of New Year's resolutions involve health and personal happiness. Eating better, exercising, and generally living in a healthier manner are on many people's to-do list at the start of a new year. And even though as endurance athletes many of these things are already ingrained in our lives, there are certainly things we can do better. We can train harder, refine our diets, or chase a new PR. More broadly, we can adjust our attitudes and vow to become happier, more positive, and more flexible. But what, exactly, does making an "official" resolution accomplish? For many people, having a set goal to work towards at the beginning of a new year is helpful and motivating. I, however, believe that we shouldn't need a New Year's resolution to live our lives in the best manner possible. Instead of making New Year's resolutions, we should make a promise every day to be the best we can be--whether it's athletically, professionally, or personally. After all, excellence isn't just a once-a-year pursuit...it's a daily attitude, a choice. Many people "chase" happiness or satisfaction and believe that if they were to just accomplish a certain goal, they would achieve peace and self-fulfillment. In my opinion, this is part of the appeal of New Year's resolutions: they provide a starting point for such a chase. However, I believe that happiness is not something to pursue, but a decision we make every day. Will we constantly be looking for something to fill the void within us, or will we do the best we can with what we've been given? The choice is ultimately ours.
Over the course of a year, many things can happen. As I look back on 2011, I personally remember a year of cementing strong friendships, making amazing memories, learning some hard lessons, pushing through difficulties, establishing new relationships, and saying goodbye. Some of these things have been bitter, others sweet. Overall, though, there's not a thing I would change. We're never really done finding out who we are. All of life is a journey of self-discovery, and I'm entering 2012 determined to continue experiencing life to the fullest without any regrets. Fear is irrelevant. The big wave surfer Laird Hamilton once said, "I don't want to not live because of my fear of what could happen," and it's become a mantra I try to live by. So, my lovely followers, as we enter the new year I urge you to step outside the box. Live life without fear, and love with reckless abandon. We only get one shot at this...let's make it worthwhile. Happy 2012!
~Abbs
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