It All Becomes Clear

I have come to the conclusion that there is not too much in life that a good 20 mile run can’t fix. Make that a 20 mile run in the fall…when it’s cool, but not cold. The air is crisp, but not dry. The sun rises and shines brightly, but it does not scorch. The wind swirls, but it does not rage against your momentum.

It is a great day to be alive.

In the course of the 3 hours and 3 minutes it took me to cover 20 miles on foot this morning, I resolved the past 3 to 4 weeks of aimless wandering and struggling to find purpose in the many miles I’ve volunteered to put my body through. I miraculously regained the focus and zoned clearly in on the goal. I saw it. I fixed my eyes on it, and I remembered why this was such a worthy goal in the first place.

Ironman is not some current line item being checked off of my Bucket List. I’m not “doin’ it to say I did.” I’m not doing it for the M-dot ink. I’m not doing it for your recognition or acceptance. I’m not even trying to inspire you; or my kids.

You really want to know why I’m out there? Why I chose to go all in, to bet it all and sign my 2008 life away to a one-day event that happens to fall on November 1^st, 2008? Why I get up at 3 a.m. and run in the dark, and why I drop the kids off at school and ride my bike until it’s time to pick them up again, and why I slip back out of the house at 8 p.m. to get the swim in before bedtime?

Because I have learned that if you don’t actively take a stand against it, the nature of the world will ever so slightly dull your senses, soften your will, and limit your amazing, natural born capacity. It will lie to you. It will beat you down. You will forget who you are, and at the time you least expect it, it will throw you a curve it knows you won’t be able to hit. You won’t see the beauty of the sunrise because you’ll be asleep. You won’t feel the stillness of night because you’ll be engrossed in reality T.V. You’ll opt out of that game of tag with the little one because you can’t catch your breath. You won’t take a risk, because you might fail. You won’t enter the event because you might not win. You won’t consider the unthinkable because You. Are. Just. Average. You will lose the magnificence and beauty, the combination of uniqueness and grandeur that The Creator formed you with in His. Own. Image. You will walk the rest of your days on the Earth wondering who you are and why you are here. You will stand on the sidelines and hide from The Coach when you think He’s about to call your number to go in the game. You won’t experience the pain of coming up one second short, but you also won’t feel the exhilaration of coming back against all odds. You might not get knocked down or skinned up, but you won’t know the gratification of pulling yourself back up and finishing with respect. You won’t ever know what you could’ve done or who you could’ve been.

I knew that the journey to Ironman would strip me of the unnecessary baggage I clutter my life with, and it would get all up in my face to show me again who I really am. I knew that it would force me to shut-up for once, to stop complaining and stop making excuses and just watch, listen, and learn. Somewhere, amidst the neurons in my subconscious, I knew that I would be left with no other choice but to accept that

“I AM FEARFULLY AND WONDERFULLY MADE.” ¹

Whatever it takes, that I may be able to spend my days on this earth in celebration and appreciation of this truth, I will do it.

Ironman, you’re mine.

¹Psalm 139:14(NIV): I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.