I recently read “Lust and Wonder” by Augusten Burroughs. My favorite quote from the whole book, which was great, was something like “Not that there’s anything wrong with people who run triathlons it’s just that I have more in common with serial killers.” Or something like that.I knew exactly what he meant. Three years ago, just before I quit drinking for the second time, I decided that I was going to run a triathlon. I hired a trainer who specialized in triathlons. I bought cool new racing-style swimsuits, a swim cap and goggles. I bought a fancy new road bike in my favorite colors that came with clipless pedals. Need I say more?Okay, for those who don’t know, clipless pedals mean that you wear these special shoes that clip into the pedals so that you are stuck there and can’t get your feet out in time to catch yourself before crashing to the ground, which I did. A lot. I fell so many times that my knees looked like shrapnel. One time I fell and hit my head so hard that I’m sure I would have had a concussion if I hadn’t? wisely been wearing a helmet. My trainer would just look on in bewilderment as I fell again and again and again. “It’s easy,” she’d say. “Just clip your foot out, squeeze the handbrake and then put your foot down.” But every time I’d try to roll to a stop my brain would seize up and get the order of those three simple events all mixed up and I would end up panicking with my foot trapped in place as I crashed to the ground.And then there was the swimming. My trainer had an above ground, endless pool in which I tried not to drown two Sundays a month. Again, my brain seems to be missing some ability to follow the proper breath to stroke sequence. I swallowed so much water I always walked away feeling like a bloated whale. That couldn’t swim.Finally, I just threw in the towel. I sold the bike, which I had become literally too terrified to ride, on Craigslist. I looked into the frightened eyes of the new owner (who was really buying the bike because her husband wanted her to) and I wished her the best of luck. I haven’t swam a stroke since.So, what’s the point of my telling you all this? Well, when I read that quote from Mr. Burroughs, I was like, “YES! Me, too!” Not that I really believe that I have more in common with serial killers, but I am certainly learning to appreciate the value of accepting my limitations and loving myself for who I am.I wanted to finish a triathlon because I wanted to feel powerful and strong and like I could do anything. The truth is that I don’t need to kill myself on a road bike or in lap pool in order to know that.I am powerful and strong simply because I get out of bed every day and take care of my kids and fulfill the duties of my job and do it all (for the most part) pretty damn well. I think that we as women generally don’t recognize our own strength and tend to dwell on our weaknesses or what we didn’t get done. We lie in bed at night recalling our regrets and all the things we forgot to do rather than celebrating our wins.I’m not suggesting to go out and get a gratitude journal. Sometimes a gratitude journal is about the last fucking thing we need to do because it turns into just that – SOMETHING ELSE WE NEED TO DO. I would argue that most women are extremely fucking grateful for everything that lies outside of ourselves.Over this last weekend, I had a private session with one of my favorite yoga teachers and she told me that, over the last year of my life, I had been in a triathlon. She didn’t even know my history of trying to train for one or my recent obsession with the Augusten Burrough’s book. But that’s the magic of being awake. You notice when worlds collide. You are aware of the moments when spirit is speaking to you. I had wanted to complete a triathlon and so I did but one that tested my mental, emotional and spiritual endurance rather than my ability to run, bike or swim.Honestly, I’m not certain that I’ve reached the finish line yet but I’m pedaling as hard as I can. As they say in AA, “when you’re going through hell…don’t stop.”
