I quit my triathlon team about once a week.  Sometimes twice.  I have perfectly reasonable reasons to do so.  I work, I have children, I now have a blog and triathlon training takes a serious amount of time and commitment.   I have the words I will tell my coach and this is it: I am tired, I am cranky, my kids deserve better, I quit.  Except that this all happens between my ears, in my mind.  My husband will sometimes hear it but pays no attention to it.  He “hears” it but does not listen – after all, of the hundreds of times I have told him I am quitting it hasn’t happened yet.  Chances are that it won’t happen this time either.

Triathlons means I need to train in three sports: swim, bike and run.  For swim practice my team meets on Mondays and Fridays at a public pool nearby.  We are divided into lanes, and contrary to driving, the faster you are the further to the right you go.  So the fastest lane is on the right side of the pool.  I am not sure this is universal in swimming but that is how it works for us.  Somehow or another I have made it to the right lane.  I wasn’t there before – it was one of my teammates that almost literally threw me into it.  And to make matters worse, I don’t keep up with the rest of my “lane mates”.  These are fast swimmers with nicknames such as “Iron Beto”, “kicktastic Julie”, and Mickey who doesn’t even need an intimidating nickname.  She just rocks.  In true team spirit though, they push me to go faster than I have ever gone before.

Every Monday, or so it seems, if I am not quitting the team I am at least getting out of the fast lane.  I go determined to move over to the left at least one lane.  I have perfectly reasonable reasons to do so: I didn’t sleep well, my cat woke me up, I did my long swim over the weekend, I don’t want to start the week feeling tired. And again, all this happens between my ears.  When I get to the pool usually right on time at 5:59am I am told “Cris, lane 1”.  I sigh. And I dutifully walk to the right lane and jump in.

My mind is a terrible neighborhood to walk around by myself.  It can take me in all kinds of directions and distort whatever I see. I think reality, much like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.  What is “real” is tainted by who sees it.  What I find appalling someone might find normal.  I thought it was appalling to eat at a table with your hands, and then I learned living in Morocco to use only my right hand when I ate exquisite meals sitting down at a fancy restaurant.  I have learned that many of the things I judge I end up doing.  I judge a parent yelling at a child, and then turn around and yell at mine.  I used to say I would never use a TV as an electronic babysitter and guess what my kids are doing right now?  I see God’s sense of humor.

I used to judge a lot more before.  I’ve grown up a little.   I used to be afraid that you didn’t think I was smart enough so I would put someone down to make me feel smarter.  Or funnier. Or wiser. You get the picture.  I didn’t realize I was doing this.  I was judging out of fear.

Triathlon training helps keep me humble.  I only compete against myself as most of my team is faster than I am in all three sports.  So when I quit my team in my head I have to look at myself.  What is it that I am afraid of?  Not keeping up? Being late for school? Feeling tired in the afternoon? Losing my patience with the boys at dinnertime? Dropping one of the many balls I juggle? 

But as soon as I get out of my head, as soon as I show up at that swimming pool on Monday morning I am gratefully no longer alone.  Something comes over me and I just focus at the task at hand and swim on Mondays, bike on Tuesdays, run on Wednesdays and so forth every day of the week.   Once I chit chat with another human being at an ungodly early hour who is probably on the same boat as I am, I no longer regret not quitting.  I realize that I am where I need to be.

I need to push myself and sometimes fail. I need to know that if too many strong swimmers show up one morning, I am the first one to be bumped to the left.  But if I get to the pool and am indeed sent to the fast lane on the right, I go there.  And if someone else judges me because I am too slow to be on the fast lane it may just be that they are too scared to try to get there themselves.

And so it is with life.  Woody Allen said “90% of life is just showing up.”  I am not a huge fan but I am beginning to think he was right on this one.  I just need to physically make it to where I have to be.  I have to let go of the fears, of the insecurities, of the tiredness or laziness and just go.   Because really … there is no doubt I AM going to drop the ball once in a while regardless of what I do.  It would be unrealistic and indeed arrogant to think otherwise.  So why not just show up?  That sounds easy enough.  This morning I showed up at the pool and decided to continue training.   If too many balls come down at once then I can revisit and quit again … next week.