What's wrong with this picture?

Tea: I'm not doing it.

Mike: I'll give you $75 if you do.

Tea: No. What's wrong with you?

Mike: I just like marathons....not doing them watching them.

Tea: You DO realize that $75 is like $3 per mile? There's no amount of money that makes the preceeding 18 weeks of training worth the $75.

Mike (his eyes sparkling with excitement now): C'mon, it's fun!

Tea: Fun for who? No, running 26.2 miles is really not fun. You get to sit in a coffee shop reading the paper.

Mike: Ok, how about $100 for finishing in under 5:00. That's not hard.  It's a THIRD of an Ironman. A THIRD. Not even HALF. It's a little itty bitty piece.


I just look at him and shake my head.

I know we'll have this "discussion" again in a month.

It's like a ratty old sweater

This year, I'm doing nothing and a whole lot all.at.the.same.time.


Races--meh, I did a couple earlier this year...the rest of the year....shhhhh....I don't have much going on.


SURIUOSLY People, I don't.


On the other hand, I'm training like some kind of crazy possessed woman.


or at least that's what Mr. Tea claims.


I, however, didn't notice....because I'm having so much fun.


Now, I've had more than a few friends look at me questioning and then ask questioningly "What are you doing? When is your race?"


And again I have to whisper I'm not doing any.




At which point, they violently shake their heads trying to get their minds wrapped around this concept, and respond "Are you trying to lose weight"


(sigh, apparently, I look like I could drop a few. Nonetheless I respond "No.")


Their heads spin around, they start blinking and stuttering and finally spew out "I-I-I don't understand. Why are you training so hard?"


I know that some of you can relate to this (coughbillcough), but others....well, admit it, you struggle with the concept of exercising, being active, training, (whatever you want to call it) simply for the fun of doing it.....well, it's downright NOT NATURAL.


Afterall, there HAS TO BE SOME REWARD FOR ALL THIS HARD WORK. WHERE'S THE REWARD FOR ALL THE MILES? WHERE'S THE REWARD FOR GETTING UP EARLY.


I understand. 


Maybe this isn't about ME. Maybe this is about YOU.


Afterall, I don't need a REWARD for doing something that I love and enjoy. The act of doing and being able to DO, IS my reward.


That doesn't mean the workouts aren't hard.


That doesn't mean that it's always easy.


It simply means that I love doing it....whether or not there is a medal involved.


Think about it. Think about what a positive impact you could have on your life if you change your thought process from "this is something that I have to do.....to lose weight....to get faster....to do this race"  


TO


"This is something that I want to do because it's fun and challenging and gives me goals and makes me healthy and and...and everything else is secondary."


There is no such thing as failure.


Every day you get up and do something is success. (And yes, even taking a day off requires self-control for some).


Wouldn't you then FIND time to exercise?


Wouldn't you MAKE time to exercise?


Wouldn't the pressure of having to do something, because you HAVE to....disappear?


You just go out and have fun.


You DESERVE it.

Where worlds collide

Jman and Googs have been in sports their entire lives.

They started baseball at the age where kids are hitting off a tee, and when you tell them to run home....they run to their mom.

The started basketball before they could tie their shoes.

They've played hockey and did some swimming.

Shortly after they both learned to ride their bikes, I took them on bike rides. At very young ages, we were going on up to 10 mile bike rides, stopping to play at the park or buy icees.

They've even run races. The races they don't want to run; well, they never hesitate to come out and cheer me on. 

Then came football.

Sometimes it was hard to watch as Googs would sprint across the field (linebacker) and de-cleat some guy 80lbs heavier. Or when he played Center, I'd hold my breath as the refs would pull the guys off the pile, only to see Googs be at the bottom of the pile.

When Jman started playing, coaches started realizing very quickly that he had speed. "Good", I thought to myself, "No more bottom of the piles. He just has to outrun EVERYONE."

As Jman would run 50-60-70-80 yard touchdowns, I was the mom running downfield with him step for step....often to many bewildering looks. 

Through all those years, Mike coached the boys. I cheered and did the mom stuff--bringing water enough for a team, cleaning cuts, wrapping limbs and.....the hard stuff......

trying to decide when an injury was ok to play with and when they needed to back off. As a mom with a Masters degree in Exercise Science.....I guess they were lucky and not so lucky.

For years, my role was somewhere between Protection and Encouragement. When they were tired, I was talking to them on the sidelines saying things like "This is where you dig deep. Sports don't build character. They reveal it. Show everyone here what kind of character you have." 

If there was a sports cliche, I used it.

Then, they got older. Last year during a playoff basketball game, Jman got hurt. I pulled him to the sidelines. We stretched and massaged. I sat there trying to decide what to do. We sat in silence. Finally, I turned to him and said, "Since you've been out of the game, the other team has outscored us 10-0. I will never tell you to play injured. Your team needs you like never before. Sometimes, you have to dig deep and......well....you need to HTFU."

Jman turned and looked at me with shock and a smile and said, "Did you just tell me to HTFU?"

"um. Yea."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, signaled to Coach that he was ready to go back in.

They won the game.

Sports has always been a part of our lives, so it's no surprise that sports would be played in high school.

Basketball, baseball.....and well, sigh.....football.

Contrary to what everyone thinks, I love football. I'm a die hard Broncos fan and bleed orange and blue. I can talk the talk and draw up plays that even shock Mr. Tea and the boys. 

But Jman is going to high school now. 

That means a hand-off.

There's a new sheriff in town, and he's the high school football coach.

No more cleaning cuts. No more wrapping cleats. No more running down the side lines at full speed. I can cheer, but will he even hear me way up in the stands?

So when I dropped him off for his last day of middle school. I felt the tears welling up. Jman looked at me and said, "Are you going to cry?"

"Probably but I'll wait until you leave the car."

As he turned to leave the car, he smiled at me and said, "You just need to HTFU."