Although
my kids have made me sit through countless episodes of SpongeBob over the
years, there is one in particular that sticks with me. SpongeBob and Patrick
are determined to get into the tough-guys hangout (Salty’s Spittoon) rather
than their usual pretty-in-pink Weanie Hut General. The door man goes through a
lengthy explanation of checking their toughness before they can enter. One
requirement is having muscles on your eyeballs. In fact, they have to have
muscles on their muscles (as the doorman’s eyeball muscles start popping out on
top of each other, forming a muscle mountain).
My kids
and I have laughed about that episode many times. Who would have muscles on
their eyeballs? But after attending an Ironman competition, I’m convinced those
guys, especially the ones who can finish the race in less than 10 hours, have
muscle mountains all over the place- most especially in their minds.
When I was
a kid, my mom tried everything she could to make me comfortable with washing my
hair. Every as-seen-on-TV crazy contraption entered our home and onto or around
my head. Being only
5-6 years old, I couldn’t quite articulate to her why I hated getting water on my
head/face. She thought it was my ears,
so she bought this blue foam visor-looking thing that looked like a
stretched-out accordion going all the way around my head. The hair was supposed
to sit on top, while my ears, eyes and nose stayed out of the water. I’m sure I
looked like some kind of scary sea creature, but alas, it didn’t work and I
ultimately ended the shower in tears, just like everything else she’d tried.
From the
time I was 5 until I was 10, I’d taken swim lessons 3-4 times. Each swimming
lesson attempt ended with the same results. I could glide in the water, but
only for a few seconds. As long as I could keep my face out of the water, I was
fine. I grew to be incredibly scared of the water. Even I wasn’t sure why I
couldn’t do it. I tried to do exactly what my teachers suggested, but each
time, I got so scared I wanted to cry.
Over time,
I was able to doggy paddle, and eventually I could even go off the diving
board. But I couldn’t stick my face in the water. Being the Capricorn
over-achiever type, water became the bain of my existence- something I both
hated and feared.
Into adult
hood, I’ve been teased on a few occasions for plugging my nose when I’d jump in
the water- especially when I started going wake boarding. I shrugged it off and laughed along, but it
kept eating at me. What was wrong with
me? I even tried putting my face in the
water without holding my nose when I’d take the kids to the pool, but each
time, I’d come up gasping and choking from the water going up my nose and down
my throat. Unlike almost everything else I’d tried and succeeded at in life, I
hadn’t stuck with swimming lessons long enough to find the problem. So, I got so frustrated, embarrassed, and
afraid that I just couldn’t do it, I gave up trying. The problem was, no one
had ever really taught me how to keep the water from going up my nose. I always
heard, well, I just do it. Just don’t let it. That didn’t help me any. No one
had ever explained to me that you blow out of your nose when you’re in the
water, and keep blowing out until you are well out of the water. I had always
stopped blowing out right as I got to the top, or was coming out of the water. That
second too soon made all the difference in getting water in my nose and
thinking I was about to drown for the hundredth time.
And then I
went to an Ironman competition. Before I met Kermit, I’d heard of Ironman, but
didn’t really know what it was, other than a race crazy people did that I would
never be able to even dream of doing in a million years. I’d gone to a couple
of triathlons with him, and he kept telling me that if I kept going, I’d want
to do one too. Yeah right, I always said.
I can’t swim. Then came Ironman Kentucky 2012. It’s been hard for me to express what I went
through that day, so I’ll just share some things from my journal.
“Watching him (Kermit) struggle and press on through
a 2.5 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, and 26 mile run, through very hot temps,
with the limitations on his body because of his gastric bypass, my heart was
aching, my stomach in knots. I wanted to be superman and pick him up and carry
him through it. I walked by his side encouraging him, desperately trying to
find the right words to motivate him to keep going, wanting so badly to support
him in any way I could. It was mentally, emotionally, and physically draining
for me. I knew how much finishing meant to him and I wanted to see him succeed
so bad!... my dad had been tracking him online helping me know where he was
because with so many people getting hurt or sick, I was really worried… we were
scared he wouldn’t make it in time. He was physically and mentally spent…my
heart was breaking for him. At about 16 hours, I positioned myself on this
bridge above the finish line. I kid you not the entire next 53 minutes I was
praying and trying to mentally send encouragement to Kermit non-stop… I wish I
could express the absolute joy I felt when I saw Kermit running towards the
finish line. I was grateful beyond belief. I started yelling, screaming, and
nearly crying. I couldn’t have been more proud. He had 6 minutes and 45 seconds
to spare.”
I still can’t quite express what I felt that
day. Kermit and all the other athletes
had overcome so many challenges to reach
the finish line. Many didn’t make
it. I realized the most important thing
in finishing an Ironman race isn’t the hours of training to build endurance.
The most important thing was mental strength.
Kermit’s body was on the brink of shutting down. He doubted he had the physical strength to
finish it. What got him across the finish line was him making up his mind that
not only could he finish, but that he would
finish.
I looked back over my life, at not just my failed
attempts at swimming, but other times in my life where yes, I’d gotten through
hard things- but all the while, I did it kicking and screaming in my head,
letting that negative voice take charge, telling me I wasn’t strong enough to
handle everything, wasn’t smart enough for grad school, or wasn’t pretty enough
to find my future knight in shining armor.
And I decided right then at Ironman Kentucky that I was done with
that. I wanted what Kermit had found-
the ability to dig deep, even in extreme physical and mental exhaustion, where
you can tell yourself not only “I can do this”, but “I AM doing this”. I decided I was sick of the mental battles I
had each time I tried to accomplish something difficult. And I knew that if I ever wanted to be with a
man as strong and amazing as Kermit, I needed to cowboy up and develop my own
mental muscles. So I decided I was going
to learn how to swim, and that I too, would be an Ironman.
