It's a drizzly, overcast Wednesday morning and I'm just now drying out from my rain-ridden ride this morning. The weather today is eerily similar to how it was in Wichita last Saturday. I'm finding myself reminiscing about the race last weekend as I'm stuck in this under-stimulating compliance training. Grand images of the best race I've had to date fill my head as the voices in the room dull to a faint buzz. I look up occasionally to make eye-contact with the presenter, but my mind is really consumed with that morning just a few days ago.
I rolled into Afton Park at 3 in the morning. It was still pitch-black outside as my headlights pierced into the tents that outlined the shore line of the lake. I slowly rolled into the designated parking lot and parked underneath a tree at the corner of the lot. As the slight rumble from my exhaust desisted, I could hear the faint chirp of the wilderness and the calm rustle of leaves that pronounced a storm was rolling in. I was just in time to sleep for a few more hours before I made final preparations. An hour later, the distinct ting of rain droplets crashing onto metal woke me from my brief slumber. I rolled up my windows and slept for a few more hours as the thunderstorms rolled in. At 6, the parking lot began to fill with athletes and the skies continued to unload waves upon waves of furious rain drops. Angry flashes of lightning streaked through the air, as though trying to prohibit the impending sunrise that was pushing through on the horizon. The parking lot continued to fill as the waves of rain began to settle into a slight drizzle. I opened my car door and stepped into the cool morning air. I slowly unloaded my bike, still dripping from the rainstorm, and made my way to the transition area. As I had become accustomed to during the previous weeks, I meticulously placed my gear on the end spot I had reserved. The sky continued to break into a colorful array of blues, pinks, oranges and yellows. Further off, in the opposite horizon, dark storm clouds still loomed in the distance. The battle between weather conditions struck me as appropriate for this morning and I was pleased that sunlight was winning. I grinned at myself as I finished stretching.
The crack of the starting gun came sooner than I expected, but paled in comparison to the thunder that had recently reverberated through our small corner of the lake. The air was so calm that I could hear the lapping of water caused from the mob of swimmers. I smoothly made my way down the shore line, falling comfortably into the back half of the group. At the turnaround mark, I snuck a peak at my watch: 8:00 minutes. Right on schedule. I felt surprisingly strong on the way back and picked up the pace to salvage as decent of a swim finish as I could. I exited the water at 15:30 and made my way up the long, carpeted path to the transition area. I was still breathing heavily as lake water continued to drip from my nose and brows. I was on my bike in record time for me and starting pushing immediately. I wove through slower bike traffic and was determined to make this bike count. I could feel my uniform continue to dry as I slipped through the air. My legs pumped steadily as I made my way through the field, clipping off stronger swimmers one at a time. The route had long, gradual hills, which accommodated my biking style wonderfully. I finished the bike in 33 minutes, a full minute faster than I had just the week previous. Now the true testament came...the run.
I slipped out of my bike gear and struggled w/ my shoes momentarily, swearing to switch to pull laces for my next race. I made my way onto the course, dripping w/ sweat and concentrated on my stomach...nothing. No waves of nausea, no gut-wrenching cramps. I picked up the pace and could feel small twinges in my left calf and right quad, warning me to not push any harder with the threat of a cramp lying just a step ahead. I continued to pass slower runners, although at a much slower rate. I was pleased that I was just able to keep pace and not lose ground again during the run, the event I used to rule. The overcast sky and cooler temperature, coupled w/ the absence of breakfast must've allowed my mid section to remain loose and I was thrilled about it. I pushed as hard as I could as I was passed for the first and only time during the bike and run. The 25 year-old that I had held off during the bike had finally overtaken me between the first and second mile. An older competitor that we had just past encouraged me to attack and stick just behind the runner. I obliged as long as I could, but watched him slowly slip away. I rounded the corner at the 2.5 mile mark and could see my target lying in the horizon...a large red arch, w/ very distinct white letters that spelled out "finish", faintly visible over the treetops. I picked up the pace, determined to leave everything on the course this time. And that I did. I crossed the finish line in an exasperation and looked down at my watch: 1:12:30.
This was a longer race than the week previous, but I had still managed to cut 4 minutes from my time. I felt incredible...exhausted, but overjoyed. I did the math for each of my splits and paces. The swim was my fastest pace yet, I met my goal of 22 mph for the bike, and was finally able to maintain 7-minute miles for the run. I FINALLY hit my times and was absolutely thrilled! I've graduated from sprint distances this year, as my next race is an olympic distance at the end of August. I am ready though. My confidence is high. This is still just the beginning.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
unexpected results
Here it is, incredibly early Friday morning, and I'm getting ready to go for an easy ride before my next triathlon. That feels good to say...my next triathlon.
I began my comeback tour at SMP last weekend and it went wonderfully. I wasn't quite sure what exactly to expect...after all, it had been half a decade since I formally competed at this level. The last time I participated in an endeavor like this, I was at the peak of my physical performance as a division 1 college athlete. The last time, I had been training for the past 8 years and was in excellent shape. This time, although active, I had only been training specifically for a tri for a matter of months. But, I was very pleasantly surprised by the results.
The morning of came just like any other morning. I surprisingly got a good night's sleep. The temperature was a little brisk for an early July morning. I walked out the door and the hairs on my arms instantly reacted to the slight, chilly breeze. I lifted the recently polished road bike on to the back of my car, grabbed my backpack that I had situated the night before and made my way on the all-so-familiar route to the park. My mind raced and my eyes opened a little wider as I came upon the sea of parked cars. I had forgotten how big of an event this was! I unloaded my bike and coasted the easy downhill route to the transition area. Thankfully, the tire pressure held this time. It was going to be a great morning.
I made my way to section II and found my area marked by the little 985 taped to the bike rack. I hung my bike and very maticulously placed everything in my backpack on a towel in my new 2'x3' home. My mind continued to race as I made my way to get my timing chip and to get marked. A very calm buzz filled the air as athletes of all ages made final preparations and warmed up for their various heats. I made my way back to my area to check out my competition, constantly stealing glances at the back of athletes' calves to see if their marking distinguished them as in my age bracket. I also looked for the absense of leg hair, a tell-tale sign of a more serious and prepared athlete. My legs were bare.
I made my way down to the marina ramp, put on my swim cap and goggles, and swam over to the starting area, exerting only a minimal amount of energy. I needed to be fresh for the swim- that's what I was going to struggle with. A calm, quiet, almost unnerving mob of athletes awaited me on the beach, slightly bobbing up and down in the gentle waves of SM lake. The sun rising on the horizon cast reflections on the lake that loomed in front of me. I had to squint to see the bright orange buoys that marked the course I was about to embark upon...they seemed further out than I remembered. And so the countdown began, but there was only one thing present in my mind: one hour, one hour, one hour, one hour, GO!
The swim started smoother than I expected, calmly making sure I kept a consistent stroke, breath, and path. At the quarter and three quarter mark I crossed paths w/ other swimmers, inadvertly getting kicked or hit, causing me to break stride and find a clearing through the now choppy lake. I peaked at my watch as I struggled down the homestretch of the swim and saw that I was in the 7th minute. I was just about on pace and the math I did internally helped me clear my mind of the pain my arms and legs felt. I exited the water at about 11:30, just a bit off my pace. I knew I needed to make this transition count and that I could also make up time on the bike. Uphills seem worst when they follow such an exhausting swim, but I would soon prove that wrong.
I made it to my bike, threw my cap and goggles on the ground, jumped into my cleats, snapped on my helmet, and ran towards the bike route, just as I had practiced so many times before. I didn't recognize it at the time, but not too many bikes were already gone, an excellent sign of my position. It took a couple minutes to get my legs back underneath me, but I soon found my pace as I wove through the packs of riders. The ride felt amazing, which was soon validated as I cruised through the first lap checkpoint 20 seconds before I expected to. I pushed through the second lap and arrived at the second transition 30 seconds faster than I anticipated. I slipped out of my shoes as I was slowing for the dismount and jumped off my bike to run and grab my flats. The next sight was one of the proudest moments I've had in a while...I turned the corner towards section II and the entire bike rack was empty. I was exhausted, but I couldn't fight the smug grin that grew on my face. I had beat my entire rack through the bike.
A minute later I was on the running trail, back on time, but something didn't feel right. My entire upper body had stiffened throughout the ride and it was a struggle to breath. I relaxed the best I could until I got to the hill at the dam. I hadn't prepared for this- traversing up such a steep incline when my entire body already ached of exhaustion. I struggled my way up the hill, slowly picking one heavy leg up and placing in shortly in front of the other, made it through the first water station and started to feel a little better. I picked up the pace, determined to keep my 7-minute mile pace, but my abdomen told me otherwise. Every time I pushed a little harder, my stomach felt nauseated, and I was forced to slow. I made it through the back trails at SMP and watched the hour mark slip by as I made the last incline just before the finish line.
I finished in 1:00:57, 40th overall and 4th in my age group. Not horrible given that the race included 205 athletes. I missed my ultimate goal by a little over 3 minutes, but just missed the hour mark I was shooting for by :57. Still, not horrible concerning I took 7 minutes off my time from 5 years ago. But, this is just the beginning. This is just the beginning of a very long, yet prosperous comeback tour that awaits me. Lawerence is in two days, and Wichita follows the week after. I am ready. I am confident. I will hit my times this weekend.
I began my comeback tour at SMP last weekend and it went wonderfully. I wasn't quite sure what exactly to expect...after all, it had been half a decade since I formally competed at this level. The last time I participated in an endeavor like this, I was at the peak of my physical performance as a division 1 college athlete. The last time, I had been training for the past 8 years and was in excellent shape. This time, although active, I had only been training specifically for a tri for a matter of months. But, I was very pleasantly surprised by the results.
The morning of came just like any other morning. I surprisingly got a good night's sleep. The temperature was a little brisk for an early July morning. I walked out the door and the hairs on my arms instantly reacted to the slight, chilly breeze. I lifted the recently polished road bike on to the back of my car, grabbed my backpack that I had situated the night before and made my way on the all-so-familiar route to the park. My mind raced and my eyes opened a little wider as I came upon the sea of parked cars. I had forgotten how big of an event this was! I unloaded my bike and coasted the easy downhill route to the transition area. Thankfully, the tire pressure held this time. It was going to be a great morning.
I made my way to section II and found my area marked by the little 985 taped to the bike rack. I hung my bike and very maticulously placed everything in my backpack on a towel in my new 2'x3' home. My mind continued to race as I made my way to get my timing chip and to get marked. A very calm buzz filled the air as athletes of all ages made final preparations and warmed up for their various heats. I made my way back to my area to check out my competition, constantly stealing glances at the back of athletes' calves to see if their marking distinguished them as in my age bracket. I also looked for the absense of leg hair, a tell-tale sign of a more serious and prepared athlete. My legs were bare.
I made my way down to the marina ramp, put on my swim cap and goggles, and swam over to the starting area, exerting only a minimal amount of energy. I needed to be fresh for the swim- that's what I was going to struggle with. A calm, quiet, almost unnerving mob of athletes awaited me on the beach, slightly bobbing up and down in the gentle waves of SM lake. The sun rising on the horizon cast reflections on the lake that loomed in front of me. I had to squint to see the bright orange buoys that marked the course I was about to embark upon...they seemed further out than I remembered. And so the countdown began, but there was only one thing present in my mind: one hour, one hour, one hour, one hour, GO!
The swim started smoother than I expected, calmly making sure I kept a consistent stroke, breath, and path. At the quarter and three quarter mark I crossed paths w/ other swimmers, inadvertly getting kicked or hit, causing me to break stride and find a clearing through the now choppy lake. I peaked at my watch as I struggled down the homestretch of the swim and saw that I was in the 7th minute. I was just about on pace and the math I did internally helped me clear my mind of the pain my arms and legs felt. I exited the water at about 11:30, just a bit off my pace. I knew I needed to make this transition count and that I could also make up time on the bike. Uphills seem worst when they follow such an exhausting swim, but I would soon prove that wrong.
I made it to my bike, threw my cap and goggles on the ground, jumped into my cleats, snapped on my helmet, and ran towards the bike route, just as I had practiced so many times before. I didn't recognize it at the time, but not too many bikes were already gone, an excellent sign of my position. It took a couple minutes to get my legs back underneath me, but I soon found my pace as I wove through the packs of riders. The ride felt amazing, which was soon validated as I cruised through the first lap checkpoint 20 seconds before I expected to. I pushed through the second lap and arrived at the second transition 30 seconds faster than I anticipated. I slipped out of my shoes as I was slowing for the dismount and jumped off my bike to run and grab my flats. The next sight was one of the proudest moments I've had in a while...I turned the corner towards section II and the entire bike rack was empty. I was exhausted, but I couldn't fight the smug grin that grew on my face. I had beat my entire rack through the bike.
A minute later I was on the running trail, back on time, but something didn't feel right. My entire upper body had stiffened throughout the ride and it was a struggle to breath. I relaxed the best I could until I got to the hill at the dam. I hadn't prepared for this- traversing up such a steep incline when my entire body already ached of exhaustion. I struggled my way up the hill, slowly picking one heavy leg up and placing in shortly in front of the other, made it through the first water station and started to feel a little better. I picked up the pace, determined to keep my 7-minute mile pace, but my abdomen told me otherwise. Every time I pushed a little harder, my stomach felt nauseated, and I was forced to slow. I made it through the back trails at SMP and watched the hour mark slip by as I made the last incline just before the finish line.
I finished in 1:00:57, 40th overall and 4th in my age group. Not horrible given that the race included 205 athletes. I missed my ultimate goal by a little over 3 minutes, but just missed the hour mark I was shooting for by :57. Still, not horrible concerning I took 7 minutes off my time from 5 years ago. But, this is just the beginning. This is just the beginning of a very long, yet prosperous comeback tour that awaits me. Lawerence is in two days, and Wichita follows the week after. I am ready. I am confident. I will hit my times this weekend.
Friday, July 11, 2008
rekindled excitement
Shawnee Mission Triathlon is in less than two days. Five years after my last true competition, I am finally making a comeback tour. And a full tour it is. Three sprint tris in three consecutive weeks, plus two olympic tris and a half marathon in the next three months respectively. I was at lunch yesterday and realized I need to pick up my pre-race packet today. That's when it hit me…it was a not so subtle rush that washed through my body. Tingles of excitement surged through my veins, my vision became slightly blurred and the corners of my mouth curled up oh-so-slightly. It was a feeling that I hadn't known for years. It was a feeling of excitement that completely overwhelmed any pre-race jitters. I am ready.
Being the planner I am, I stayed up late the other night researching times and placement for the SMP tri in years past. My name is last listed in 2003…along w/ my 81st place finish. My swim was nearly 12 minutes, my bike was over 33 minutes, and my run was just over 18 minutes. My transition times were almost humorous. Oh, how far I've come since then…and that was while I was just concluding my career as a division 1 athlete. This year I am going to break an hour. I am going to exit the water before 11 minutes have passed, the bike is going to take just a hair over 27 minutes, and the run is going to be a strong 17 minutes. And the transition times? Cut in half…a minute 30 for the first, 60 seconds for the second. I've practiced the transitions and visualized the race. I am going to finish in the top 20. I am ready.
A few weeks ago I partook in the Tour de Lakes. It is a 61 mile ride around nearly half a dozen lakes in the Lee's Summit area. I finished in just a little over 3 hours. I was able to keep pace with the lead pack for about a third of the race, which did wonders for my confidence. This is my longest ride to date. To top it off, I rode an additional 40 miles the next day for a smooth 100 mile total for the weekend. Throughout the last few months, I've gotten to know SMP very well. My bike and I have traversed the pavement loop around the park more times than I care to count. I know exactly where the hills are and how I'm going to attack the dam both times. I also know that I need to attack mile three because it is a very subtle downhill that can benefit aggressive riders. I've literally rode this course forwards and backwards. I know exactly where the finish line is. I am ready.
Being the planner I am, I stayed up late the other night researching times and placement for the SMP tri in years past. My name is last listed in 2003…along w/ my 81st place finish. My swim was nearly 12 minutes, my bike was over 33 minutes, and my run was just over 18 minutes. My transition times were almost humorous. Oh, how far I've come since then…and that was while I was just concluding my career as a division 1 athlete. This year I am going to break an hour. I am going to exit the water before 11 minutes have passed, the bike is going to take just a hair over 27 minutes, and the run is going to be a strong 17 minutes. And the transition times? Cut in half…a minute 30 for the first, 60 seconds for the second. I've practiced the transitions and visualized the race. I am going to finish in the top 20. I am ready.
A few weeks ago I partook in the Tour de Lakes. It is a 61 mile ride around nearly half a dozen lakes in the Lee's Summit area. I finished in just a little over 3 hours. I was able to keep pace with the lead pack for about a third of the race, which did wonders for my confidence. This is my longest ride to date. To top it off, I rode an additional 40 miles the next day for a smooth 100 mile total for the weekend. Throughout the last few months, I've gotten to know SMP very well. My bike and I have traversed the pavement loop around the park more times than I care to count. I know exactly where the hills are and how I'm going to attack the dam both times. I also know that I need to attack mile three because it is a very subtle downhill that can benefit aggressive riders. I've literally rode this course forwards and backwards. I know exactly where the finish line is. I am ready.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
overcoming setbacks
Here it is, Saturday afternoon, a little more than 24 hours after having received news that many would consider disheartening. News that, if it would become true, would temporarily alter my life to a degree that I wouldn't be able to do some of the things that I'm most passionate about. Many would take this news as justification for self-indulgent dwelling on such a misfortune, but I'm not just anybody.
I saw an orthopedic specialist yesterday morning about this nagging pain in my left knee. His diagnosis is not what I was hoping to hear: a possible meniscus tear on the outside of my left knee where the IT band attaches to the knee. The only resolution to such an injury is surgery. Surgery that would result in a brace, crutches and the obvious suspension of any athletic activity for the rest of the season. Doc made an avid point that I must discontinue running until we could be absolutely certain that no additional damage would be done...not an easy thing to tell an athlete in training. And what was my response? No running? Alright, I can accept that on an interim basis.
This morning I rode 45 miles in two and a half hours. This is my longest ride to date this season...by 15 miles. It's going to take a lot more than a bit of daunting news to deter me. If anything, it's just encouragement to push even harder. The ride this morning was amazing. The temperature was perfect, the slightest breeze cooled me, and my legs felt awesome. A ride like this is the sweetest escape. Everything else in life just melts away when you hop on the bike and get into a groove. The only thing present is the rush of air from my rhythmic breathing, the roar of wind over my helmet, the slight sound made from bike tires gliding over pavement, and the occasional bead of sweat that slips down the bridge of my nose. I look down and see the wind rip the bead of sweat from the tip of my nose and send it crashing into my bicep. All I see past the glistening sweat on my forearms in the foreground are two legs steadily pumping and a tire that is spinning feverishly over the grey pavement. I look up again and all I see is a seemingly never-ending road and the faint silhouette of casual walkers and runners at the park. Occasionally, the outline of another cyclist will appear on the horizon. My natural reaction is to tuck a little tighter to the bike, push the pedals a little harder, and attack until I overcome the unknowing athlete. Some are more difficult to chase down than others, but the pursuit will continue until my pride has been satisfied. I'll steal a peak over my shoulder on occasion and will see other cyclists peel off the route, seemingly nearing completion of his or her workout. I will continue on. The most difficult question I face on the bike is, "Do I ride another lap, another 4.5 miles?" The answer is always the same...yes; push until you can't go any further. I have a long ways to go until I can finish an Ironman, and that training isn't going to complete itself.
Tell me I can't finish 140.6 miles. Tell me my body can't handle it. Tell me I'm not good enough. And then just sit back and see what happens. I will find a way.
I saw an orthopedic specialist yesterday morning about this nagging pain in my left knee. His diagnosis is not what I was hoping to hear: a possible meniscus tear on the outside of my left knee where the IT band attaches to the knee. The only resolution to such an injury is surgery. Surgery that would result in a brace, crutches and the obvious suspension of any athletic activity for the rest of the season. Doc made an avid point that I must discontinue running until we could be absolutely certain that no additional damage would be done...not an easy thing to tell an athlete in training. And what was my response? No running? Alright, I can accept that on an interim basis.
This morning I rode 45 miles in two and a half hours. This is my longest ride to date this season...by 15 miles. It's going to take a lot more than a bit of daunting news to deter me. If anything, it's just encouragement to push even harder. The ride this morning was amazing. The temperature was perfect, the slightest breeze cooled me, and my legs felt awesome. A ride like this is the sweetest escape. Everything else in life just melts away when you hop on the bike and get into a groove. The only thing present is the rush of air from my rhythmic breathing, the roar of wind over my helmet, the slight sound made from bike tires gliding over pavement, and the occasional bead of sweat that slips down the bridge of my nose. I look down and see the wind rip the bead of sweat from the tip of my nose and send it crashing into my bicep. All I see past the glistening sweat on my forearms in the foreground are two legs steadily pumping and a tire that is spinning feverishly over the grey pavement. I look up again and all I see is a seemingly never-ending road and the faint silhouette of casual walkers and runners at the park. Occasionally, the outline of another cyclist will appear on the horizon. My natural reaction is to tuck a little tighter to the bike, push the pedals a little harder, and attack until I overcome the unknowing athlete. Some are more difficult to chase down than others, but the pursuit will continue until my pride has been satisfied. I'll steal a peak over my shoulder on occasion and will see other cyclists peel off the route, seemingly nearing completion of his or her workout. I will continue on. The most difficult question I face on the bike is, "Do I ride another lap, another 4.5 miles?" The answer is always the same...yes; push until you can't go any further. I have a long ways to go until I can finish an Ironman, and that training isn't going to complete itself.
Tell me I can't finish 140.6 miles. Tell me my body can't handle it. Tell me I'm not good enough. And then just sit back and see what happens. I will find a way.
Monday, June 2, 2008
aspirations
I recently had a birthday...my 27th birthday to be exact. Time to grow up, right? I'm not convinced of that yet so we'll save that for another day. What's been on my mind more so is that I turn 30 in three years. I don't have any apprehensions with turning the dreaded 3-0, like many twentysomethings do. What reverberates in my mind is the associated physical peak that comes with this age. Most that know me well, know that I love competing. Upon college graduation and hanging up my track spikes, I've turned to triathlons to fill that void. I competed for a few years and did well, but had to take the last few years off due to nagging knee injuries. I recently took training up again and have started the ascent of the slow, painful climb to physical strength and endurance. No pun intended, especially given that I just rode the daunting hills out at Shawnee Mission park. My comeback tour actually begins there only a little more than a month away. I have also delved into the training necessary to be able to compete in an Ironman triathlon. For those that might not know, an Ironman consists of a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and a marathon, or 26.2 mile run. It takes an incredible amount of training to accomplish such a feat and I plan to do so by the time I'm 30.
I was in Wichita a few weekends ago to help my cousin celebrate his marriage. The next day I spent some time at another cousin's home. This cousin's wife, a mother of 4 children, recently ran her first marathon. It was the coveted Nike women's marathon in San Francisco. She was so proud of this feat that she created a picture book to tell her story. In this book, she wrote about how she had never run a mile in her life. For her own reasons of motivation, she trained and successfully ran an entire marathon. If she can accomplish this, I can finish an Ironman...if only my knees hold up.
There are countless miles and hours of training between then and now, but I know it'll be worth it. I can't imagine the feeling of crossing the finish line. It might take me 14+ hours, but I'm going to cross that finish line. And that feeling, when my entire body aches and burns, when exhaustion has completely overwhelmed me, is going to trump all the other feelings of accomplishment that I hold dear to me. That's the image that I've engraved into my mind for when I want to quit and am asking myself, "Why in the hell am I doing this?" More to come, but summer of 2009 will be the projected finale of this comeback tour.
I was in Wichita a few weekends ago to help my cousin celebrate his marriage. The next day I spent some time at another cousin's home. This cousin's wife, a mother of 4 children, recently ran her first marathon. It was the coveted Nike women's marathon in San Francisco. She was so proud of this feat that she created a picture book to tell her story. In this book, she wrote about how she had never run a mile in her life. For her own reasons of motivation, she trained and successfully ran an entire marathon. If she can accomplish this, I can finish an Ironman...if only my knees hold up.
There are countless miles and hours of training between then and now, but I know it'll be worth it. I can't imagine the feeling of crossing the finish line. It might take me 14+ hours, but I'm going to cross that finish line. And that feeling, when my entire body aches and burns, when exhaustion has completely overwhelmed me, is going to trump all the other feelings of accomplishment that I hold dear to me. That's the image that I've engraved into my mind for when I want to quit and am asking myself, "Why in the hell am I doing this?" More to come, but summer of 2009 will be the projected finale of this comeback tour.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
the pursuit of fulfillment
For those that don't already know, I am an enrollment counselor for a national university. Every day I get an opportunity to help people. I get an opportunity to help those that want to do something for themself accomplish just that. Every day I see people literally change their lives by getting back into school and continuing their education. It's something I truly believe in, but I find myself struggling lately.
One of the biggest things I look for from anything I do in life is a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment. This is one of the reasons I'm so passionate about sports and anything competitive that I can excel at. One of the most influential reasons I decided to pursue a career with the university is because helping others in this manner can be an incredibly rewarding and fulfilling opportunity. I believe this to be true, but there's another aspect of this position that is starting to wear on me.
I'm the type of individual that doesn't need a lot of help or assistance accomplishing what I want out of life. I'm fairly proactive and will happily pursue opportunities to make myself a better person. Particularly, if I become aware of a specific way to improve myself, I devote my entire being into accomplishing it...to a point it may even be a fallacy of mine. I'm learning that not too many others share my sentiment in this regard. Every once in a while I will come across a potential student that recognizes the need to get back into school and has the motivation to do so. My role in this circumstance is merely to facilitate an enrollment process, which is easy and mildly rewarding. The tougher challenge comes from those that want to go back to school, but don't believe they can. Consequently, this is where the true reward comes from, when you succeed at helping someone believe they can do this for themself. The conversations that follow such an accomplishment are an inspiration and a motivating factor to reach out to others. However, the reward gained from these situations is becoming increasingly overshadowed by another type of circumstance. The true test for me with this position comes from the students that don't follow through once this process has been initiated. The reasons and justifications are vast and full of variety, but all share a similar characteristic: they are all excuses.
One of the things that I struggle to understand is why someone will choose not to go through with something that they know will improve their life. Some students will get all the way through the enrollment process, but then decide not to follow through. I get that some get scared or some just simply change their mind. A huge part of helping someone overcome these hurdles is to uncover the particular individual's motivation for going back to school. From there, it takes a simple comparison between what life would be like in the same situation and how life would be different should this individual make a change. To me, the decision is simple. I choose self improvement. I choose a better future. I choose an opportunity to do something truly meaningful with my life. For the life of me, I don't understand why some don't follow that thought process. I simply can't help someone who won't help themself. It's difficult for me to let these people go. It's difficult for me to accept that I have the ability to change lives, but some will simply get in their own way. I don't expect everyone to think the way I do, but I don't understand why these people show up at my office, ask for help, but then not let me fulfill that request.
I need a sense of pride about my work accomplishments to feel truly satisfied. I'm beginning to question if this position can offer this opportunity to me and I'm unsure how to proceed. I've reached a crossroads in my life that I'm challenging all of the aspects of my life. I refuse to settle for mediocrity and will continue to push the limits in all facets of my life. I've lost some of the drive I need to be professionally successful in the manner I want to be and I need to either dig a little deeper to find it, or decide to make a life change myself.
One of the biggest things I look for from anything I do in life is a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment. This is one of the reasons I'm so passionate about sports and anything competitive that I can excel at. One of the most influential reasons I decided to pursue a career with the university is because helping others in this manner can be an incredibly rewarding and fulfilling opportunity. I believe this to be true, but there's another aspect of this position that is starting to wear on me.
I'm the type of individual that doesn't need a lot of help or assistance accomplishing what I want out of life. I'm fairly proactive and will happily pursue opportunities to make myself a better person. Particularly, if I become aware of a specific way to improve myself, I devote my entire being into accomplishing it...to a point it may even be a fallacy of mine. I'm learning that not too many others share my sentiment in this regard. Every once in a while I will come across a potential student that recognizes the need to get back into school and has the motivation to do so. My role in this circumstance is merely to facilitate an enrollment process, which is easy and mildly rewarding. The tougher challenge comes from those that want to go back to school, but don't believe they can. Consequently, this is where the true reward comes from, when you succeed at helping someone believe they can do this for themself. The conversations that follow such an accomplishment are an inspiration and a motivating factor to reach out to others. However, the reward gained from these situations is becoming increasingly overshadowed by another type of circumstance. The true test for me with this position comes from the students that don't follow through once this process has been initiated. The reasons and justifications are vast and full of variety, but all share a similar characteristic: they are all excuses.
One of the things that I struggle to understand is why someone will choose not to go through with something that they know will improve their life. Some students will get all the way through the enrollment process, but then decide not to follow through. I get that some get scared or some just simply change their mind. A huge part of helping someone overcome these hurdles is to uncover the particular individual's motivation for going back to school. From there, it takes a simple comparison between what life would be like in the same situation and how life would be different should this individual make a change. To me, the decision is simple. I choose self improvement. I choose a better future. I choose an opportunity to do something truly meaningful with my life. For the life of me, I don't understand why some don't follow that thought process. I simply can't help someone who won't help themself. It's difficult for me to let these people go. It's difficult for me to accept that I have the ability to change lives, but some will simply get in their own way. I don't expect everyone to think the way I do, but I don't understand why these people show up at my office, ask for help, but then not let me fulfill that request.
I need a sense of pride about my work accomplishments to feel truly satisfied. I'm beginning to question if this position can offer this opportunity to me and I'm unsure how to proceed. I've reached a crossroads in my life that I'm challenging all of the aspects of my life. I refuse to settle for mediocrity and will continue to push the limits in all facets of my life. I've lost some of the drive I need to be professionally successful in the manner I want to be and I need to either dig a little deeper to find it, or decide to make a life change myself.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
intuition
Here it is, Tuesday night, and my wound is still healing from this past weekend. A wound that is the result of a lack of judgment. Hell, a complete disregard for any common sense is a little more accurate. I feel a little twinge of pain shoot through my hand as a reminder of my stupidity w/ every stroke of the keyboard, w/ every number pushed on the telephone, and w/ every shot of the basketball. These not so subtle little reminders help me validate my promise to never ignore my intuition again- something I've done entirely too many times throughout my life. Let's back up a few days...
It's a gorgeous weekend day and I'm in the midst of completing my domestic duties. Most of the other homeowners in the neighborhood are sharing a similar task as is evident with the buzz of mower engines that fill the air. I got a little earlier start to this day than usual because I know I have a lot I need to get done. Although, I don't really think I can use being in a hurry as a justification to the looming accident. I'm hesitant to even classify this as an accident because that would imply it was incidental, but I'll save that for another day. Maybe it's because the dew is still grasping onto the blades of grass, or maybe it's because I've neglected the yard for over a week, but the mundane task of mowing the yard presents a greater challenge than usual. I struggle through the front and get half way through the back yard before I come up with an ingenious idea to make my life easier. The grass is so tall, thick, and wet that I can only go a few steps before the little clippings of grass start to trail behind the mower and I'm forced to dump the only partially full bag. At this point, I'm getting tired of starting the lawn mower engine over and over, so I decide to grab a lanyard and fasten the security bar down to the handle to keep the engine and blade running continually. If we're going to keep track, here is mistake number one- or number two if you include putting myself in this situation by neglecting the yard as number one. I'm ignorantly pleased w/ myself because this has saved me a little time in between grass clipping dumpings. However, I start to notice that the bag isn't filling up completely because the passage way through the mower from the moving blade to the bag is getting clogged too quickly. I have images of a ferocious blade spinning wildly underneath the mower, the carnage it could do to my tender flesh and the impending ER visit dancing through my head, however, I still somehow convince myself that it would be alright to very carefully clear the clog with very timid, calculated scoops of my fingers- mistake number three for those that are still keeping track. I'm pleased w/ my ingenuity again as I've been able to shave even more time off of this tedious task. This new system is working wonderfully for almost the entire remainder of the backyard. I have just a few more passes to go before I'll be free of this duty and ready to move onto the next until, "THUNK!" I can still hear it, the sound of cold steal colliding with warm flesh. I instinctly retract my hand from the mower to inspect my finger that had ventured just a bit too close to the spinning blade. I fully expect to see a portion of my finger gone and it takes an eternity for my eyes to focus. A few of the longest seconds of my life pass until, to my disbelief, I realize that I've only barely broke skin. The impact and subsequent pain is felt all the way to my wrist, but the cosmetic damage is merely a small split, a plum purple bruise, and a tip of the finger that is only now regaining feeling and becoming less rigid.
This is one of my least proud moments in life. I regard myself as someone that has a decent amount of intelligence and common sense, although not apparent in this decision. I would even go so far to say that I have a decent amount of intuition. I can typically recognize the situations I'm in and know how to handle them. However, any ability in this regard is completely negated when I don't listen to it. I knew I could lose a finger should I get too close to the spinning blade. I knew I could get a speeding ticket if I kept driving down the highway so fast. I knew in the back of my mind that there was someone else I had been more interested in, but I proposed to the other girl instead...
WHY? Why don't we listen to that voice of reason? Why don't we always do what we know is right? Most of us have the knowledge, or at least I'll be optimistic and hope we do. If so, then why don't we keep our hands off the hot stove if we know it burns? Laziness? Apathy? Lack of foresight? No, I refuse to accept that. How could someone take the chance of permanently crippling themself to save a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, and a minor exertion of energy while mowing the yard? I'm guilty of it and can't think of a logical reasoning what-so-ever. I consider myself lucky. I'm lucky to have an opportunity to learn from my mistake...no, let's be honest, mistakes. I was once told that the right thing to do is never the easiest. It's so much easier to take the simple way out, to take the short cut, to choose to spend time with the girl that shows you attention when your intuition tells you she's not right for you. But to what avail was it to take the easy way out? Sure, there might be some instant gratification, but in the end, you typically end up left wanting and with a lesson learned. Now should we have done the right thing upfront, that would be a different story- a story that now intertwines into the chapters of my life.
It's a gorgeous weekend day and I'm in the midst of completing my domestic duties. Most of the other homeowners in the neighborhood are sharing a similar task as is evident with the buzz of mower engines that fill the air. I got a little earlier start to this day than usual because I know I have a lot I need to get done. Although, I don't really think I can use being in a hurry as a justification to the looming accident. I'm hesitant to even classify this as an accident because that would imply it was incidental, but I'll save that for another day. Maybe it's because the dew is still grasping onto the blades of grass, or maybe it's because I've neglected the yard for over a week, but the mundane task of mowing the yard presents a greater challenge than usual. I struggle through the front and get half way through the back yard before I come up with an ingenious idea to make my life easier. The grass is so tall, thick, and wet that I can only go a few steps before the little clippings of grass start to trail behind the mower and I'm forced to dump the only partially full bag. At this point, I'm getting tired of starting the lawn mower engine over and over, so I decide to grab a lanyard and fasten the security bar down to the handle to keep the engine and blade running continually. If we're going to keep track, here is mistake number one- or number two if you include putting myself in this situation by neglecting the yard as number one. I'm ignorantly pleased w/ myself because this has saved me a little time in between grass clipping dumpings. However, I start to notice that the bag isn't filling up completely because the passage way through the mower from the moving blade to the bag is getting clogged too quickly. I have images of a ferocious blade spinning wildly underneath the mower, the carnage it could do to my tender flesh and the impending ER visit dancing through my head, however, I still somehow convince myself that it would be alright to very carefully clear the clog with very timid, calculated scoops of my fingers- mistake number three for those that are still keeping track. I'm pleased w/ my ingenuity again as I've been able to shave even more time off of this tedious task. This new system is working wonderfully for almost the entire remainder of the backyard. I have just a few more passes to go before I'll be free of this duty and ready to move onto the next until, "THUNK!" I can still hear it, the sound of cold steal colliding with warm flesh. I instinctly retract my hand from the mower to inspect my finger that had ventured just a bit too close to the spinning blade. I fully expect to see a portion of my finger gone and it takes an eternity for my eyes to focus. A few of the longest seconds of my life pass until, to my disbelief, I realize that I've only barely broke skin. The impact and subsequent pain is felt all the way to my wrist, but the cosmetic damage is merely a small split, a plum purple bruise, and a tip of the finger that is only now regaining feeling and becoming less rigid.
This is one of my least proud moments in life. I regard myself as someone that has a decent amount of intelligence and common sense, although not apparent in this decision. I would even go so far to say that I have a decent amount of intuition. I can typically recognize the situations I'm in and know how to handle them. However, any ability in this regard is completely negated when I don't listen to it. I knew I could lose a finger should I get too close to the spinning blade. I knew I could get a speeding ticket if I kept driving down the highway so fast. I knew in the back of my mind that there was someone else I had been more interested in, but I proposed to the other girl instead...
WHY? Why don't we listen to that voice of reason? Why don't we always do what we know is right? Most of us have the knowledge, or at least I'll be optimistic and hope we do. If so, then why don't we keep our hands off the hot stove if we know it burns? Laziness? Apathy? Lack of foresight? No, I refuse to accept that. How could someone take the chance of permanently crippling themself to save a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, and a minor exertion of energy while mowing the yard? I'm guilty of it and can't think of a logical reasoning what-so-ever. I consider myself lucky. I'm lucky to have an opportunity to learn from my mistake...no, let's be honest, mistakes. I was once told that the right thing to do is never the easiest. It's so much easier to take the simple way out, to take the short cut, to choose to spend time with the girl that shows you attention when your intuition tells you she's not right for you. But to what avail was it to take the easy way out? Sure, there might be some instant gratification, but in the end, you typically end up left wanting and with a lesson learned. Now should we have done the right thing upfront, that would be a different story- a story that now intertwines into the chapters of my life.
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