Last summer I tried my first triathlon. On the morning of my first race I stood petrified, staring at the water until the sound of the horn shocked me into motion. At that moment one thought sprung into my head and remained for the duration of the race, "Elena, this is the stupidest thing you've ever done. Why are you here??"
Currently, I am training for my third triathlon. This summer I will tackle an Olympic distance. That's twice the length of the torture I put myself through last year. This is the closest I'll get to "the" Olympics in this lifetime, for this or any event. I am excited and, of course, very scared. The training is long and boring. I spend a lot of time alone. Running. Thinking, "I should ride my bike more" but not doing it. And, most often in the pool, asking myself that question, "what are you doing here?" My mind betrays me. It tries to psyche me out.
When I am at my lowest I think about my Dad. He passed away a few years ago. He never saw me do anything like what I am doing right now. If he had, he would have thought one of two things. Either that I was completely crazy and reckless or that I am a badass. I like to imagine he thinks me a total badass.
Just before something really challenging I imagine him watching at the bleachers or on a faraway lawn chair. Beer in one hand, my mom in the other. Cheering me on. Yelling, as he always, did, "Eleeenaaaaaa!! Cuchillo en la boca!!"
This post is AWESOME...you can totally tackle the Olympic distance, it's all mental. I totally think your dad would think of you as a badass. I love the part of "Cuchillo en la boca"
ReplyDeleteOhh, Elena--you could be so mushy sometimes. From wherever he's at right now, your dad thinks of you as his hero as he watches you train.
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