Just another Thursday

Okay, it wasn't really a big mission -- 1050 meters before work. But this morning was the first morning when I rolled over and looked at the clock (beepbeep, beepbeep, beepbeep) at 5:30 and thought...oh, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY, GO AWAY AND LET ME SLEEP!

It's dark out there. It's warm in here. I'll do it later. It's only a swim session, I'll make it up over the weekend. My head hurts. I'm tired. It's going to be cold in the water. It's even going to be cold in the locker room. Good grief, is it snowing?


And, you know what? It was dark out. It was warm under the covers. My head did hurt and I was tired. The water is always ridiculously cold in the pool. Right, right...and right.

But wrong, of course.

All excuses. Ugly, posturing excuses.

No listening to the procrastinator who takes up shop in your head over the wee hours of the morning. No listening to the excuses -- squirming to find and form a reasonable reason to hedge, quit, short-change.

I learned all about that.

Just do it, stupid. One step at a time and before you know it, you'll feel better. These nagging thoughts will be replaced and forgotten.

You know, Mighty M was asking me the other day how my first IM training sessions have been, the trooper that he is. And, upon reflection, I realized they felt like an old hat. Easily recognizable, sometimes awkward, always reliable.

I don't know if I expected some major revelation to happen this month -- the sky to open up and some great truth to reveal itself to me. I guess so many of the wonders of the sport and the preparations were really peeled back and illuminated for me last year, it's hard not to expect a second coming. Triathlon was a shiny new object, sparkly and beautiful, even in the toughest moments. There was something profound to be learned at most junctures because most junctures were firsts. First distances, first falls. First finishes and first personal bests. Novelty can be a novelty, in and of itself.

I guess the real revelation that I'm landing on now, through the process of planning such a big year and engaging so many people in the process, is that it is terribly satisfying to flex my metaphorical muscles. Flex my reliability. Flex my commitment. Even flex my enjoyment in the unpleasant side of the process.

These were not qualities that I made great use of before -- or arguably even had in my repertoire. But now, that pre-dawn conversation is predictable and almost amusing. Even my sluggish and foggy mind remembers what I used to say and why, and why those answers are no longer relevant. I no longer rob myself of time nor opportunity. I no longer accept meager excuses to cloud meaningful goals. I just don't do it anymore. Each day is important and no one day will do it alone.

I have felt deep and painful regret. It is destructive and has no place in my plans anymore.

So, grinning knowingly, I quietly switched off my alarm and slipped out of bed. Grabbed my lunch from the fridge and gym bag by the door, and headed out to scrape off the crusty windshield. It was Thursday, my swim day. Gotta get moving before the lanes fill. Just one more day to fill my coffer. One more day when I can be proud of my little moments of integrity. One more day to have the gift of time to craft a meaningful life. Just another Thursday.