Potential

Before I decided I was going to commit to IMMT, I told myself I had to be able to look in the mirror and honestly say three things to myself:

a) I would be ok having training be last on my list of major priorities (kids, husband, other family and friends, work, TriROK, home and pets)

b) I would accept what my body could do and ask no more than that

c) I could live with the performance outcome of a) and b).

It took many months of standing in front of the mirror and finding myself lying, before I could finally come round...before I could finally say all three and know they were the truth. And that's when I signed up.

I realized that if I wanted to do another Ironman, I was just going to have to accept the discomfort that was going to come with it. If I did it for the right reasons - because I desperately wanted to and truly missed it - then it would make the accompanying realities worth their imperfections.

Because the real truth is that while I love Ironman, I also fear it. It makes me get out of bed in the morning at 4am, when no marathon, 5k, century ride, 70.3, or swim meet could. The worst that happens in those other races? I'm a little slower than I could be. That's not enough to drive me, and I quickly let life's other responsibilities take over and pretty soon I'm only working out 5 hours a week, getting stressed out and unhealthy.

Instead, because I fear it, when I train for Ironman I do the base work to respect the distance. The nature and duration of that work is enough to wring out my body and mind from everything else going on in life, and allow a natural kind of peace to settle in...and if I don't do more than that, then it also keeps my body healthy and strong too.

Training does need to be last for me because the fact is that of all my priorities, it really is the optional one. I COULD just workout to be healthy and not race at all. There is no real obligation involved whatsoever, and I get plenty of joy and happiness from other aspects of my life, so I can't pretend I HAVE to do this for any reason other than I want to.

But because I'm motivated, I find ways to fit in more than I would if I were just training for something I didn't really care about as much. So I am in great shape right now. My body feels good and strong and fairly lean. And I manage to struggle out of bed, and out the door at night, or sometimes at my lunch break, and get in my 12-13 hours a week, and still be able to be there when my kids get of the bus, still get the bills paid, still put dinner on the table.

However, 12-13 hours does not get you in Ironman shape...so I am not in good Ironman shape. It's January 30th...I shouldn't be. And on the swim and the bike it's clear I will have no problem getting there, albeit with reduced hours. But it's equally clear that I will never be able to run more than 15 miles on pavement again in my life, and only marginally more than that on a treadmill. Which means getting in Ironman run shape...well its just not gonna happen.

Which brings us to the reason that I could finally sign up for IMMT.

Performance comes from two sources: innate physiology and training. That's why some folks can train their butts off and still suck, while others can barely train and be fast. I'm in the middle...I have just enough physiological potential that I can train my ass off and be a top 20% age grouper, or I can barely train and still make it into the middle of the pack.

The real problem for me, is that although I'm competitive in the moment, I really don't care about performance that much. I care about POTENTIAL. I can win my age group and be disappointed. Or I can have a terrible time (see IMWI) and be prouder than I ever have been because I squeezed ever ounce of potential from my broken down, pain-wracked body.

Ummm...sorry. Got in the moment a little too much there!

Anyway, it's taken me a long time, but I've finally come to the place where I can train, race, and authentically coach from an understanding of what potential really is. See I used to think that potential was simply the maximum that you could possibly achieve in any given arena. In reality, our true potential combines all these things we need to do as well as we can and brings as many of them up to snuff as we can.

To make my point clear, I charted it:





Assume 30 = absolute potential. Scenario C, I reach my potential as an athlete, but don't come close to my potential ANYWHERE else in my life. Um, I like my husband, kids, and friends a bit more than that.

Scenario B, I reach my potential as a mother, but same dice...I suck everywhere else, and my kids grow up thinking I'm a loser because I'm so bad a taking care of the dog and I can't fix the computer for them, or build their new desk because I'm so unidimensional.

Scenario A...I'm pretty good at everything important to me, and while I don't reach my potential in any one thing, including IMMT, I die a well-rounded individual who leaves the world with at least a few people giving a crap about that fact.

So for the 13-14 hours it takes me to putter along to the finish, I won't be aiming for a time, but an act...one that makes me a step closer to my total potential as a human being, as opposed to an athlete. The culmination of that act will be earning at least $100 dollars for each mile I complete, all to be donated in my brother Steven's memory to American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

Because as much as I fear Ironman, I love it for a deeper reason. Every stroke, every turn of the pedal, every footfall is a celebration of life and the joy of movement. It's a joy I cherish even more because I do it for my brother, who can't do anymore.

So when I struggle with the realities of where training falls in my life, and what my performance is and will never be, I remind myself of these things. And I remember that if I ever DO reach my potential as a human being, it will be because my brother never reached his, but instead gave me the strength and determination to do it for him.

That strength and determination will conquer any fear I have, and make every Ironman I finish a true victory.

a