After my father died, I just wanted a day; a day alone, a day to myself…a day I could just be. It would be a few years before I got it (and more) at Enchanted Rock, but the Summer that followed was anything but still.
I met a mermaid who swam away, I was tempted by a water nymph who eventually did the same. I was visited by ghosts in the midst of the living. I lost a skirmish in a swamp, told fortunes in the desert and drank mead with a female paladin. I walked in the footsteps of champions and felt the wind above the city with a retired Valkyrie. I saw heaven at the top of the world, and felt hell after the return. I rode under a rainbow next to a one eyed Viking warrior priest on the way to battle. I found water in a drought, for even if the top is dry, the bottom of the valley is always fertile.
My journey started in the dark, in shadowy mists with silent phantoms. There was a dawn, blowing away the fog and dew. Now I feel the sun is at its apex. It has dried and baked the Earth but after the peak is the descent.
The journey to confront the Beast still continues. The races are just sign posts, in between comes the real conflicts, the trials, the ‘side quests’ (if you’ll indulge me).
I went to a wedding of a family member. I felt like a ghost among ghosts. My physical appearance has changed dramatically in the past 2 years. I had long hair and glasses for most of my life, as well as a skinny profile. But now I have short hair and got Lasik. Not to mention gained weight, both good and bad weight depending on the season. Many people didn’t recognize me and many of them I hadn’t seen in over 10 years. The friends of the bride and groom had no idea the weight I was carrying. It’s always shocking when you see a picture of a dead family member. Their image constantly hangs above you behind your head, but when you are confronted with an actual image, I always think “I didn’t expect to see you today”. The wedding was supposed to be a happy event, but for me, and my mother, there was a heavy cloak of sadness in the joy.
A month later, the second and shortest race was the Spartan Sprint at the Dallas Cowboys’ stadium. I felt ready, in shape, confident. I had a time to beat and I felt more prepared than the last time I ran.
19 seconds slower. Of all the hard work, the confidence, the preparation, I was still slower than 5 years ago. I know 19 seconds doesn’t sound like much and I tried to justify where I fell short. There were only 2 obstacles I couldn’t finish. I missed the spear throw. I actually hit the target and it should’ve probably stuck. But the target was overused and the spearhead bounced off the well worn backboard. I also wasn’t able to complete the rope climb (my nemesis strikes again).
I gave it my all. I didn’t feel like I walked too much. I pushed myself as hard as I could and didn’t feel like I wasted any time. But through it all I still wasn’t faster than my first time. The course was different, so it’s hard to say if the course had been the same I would have finished faster. But at the end of the day, my time was still slower. I did finish in the top 10% of my age group. I think at least that was an improvement.
A month after that, I participated in the Camp Gladiator Prelims, a qualifying competition for the Camp Gladiator Games. I had been busy the weeks leading up to it. My workouts were loosely consistent, but thin, and I had to shove them in whenever I could. I was able to practice the course, but the week before I attended another wedding so I wasn’t exactly physically prepared.
The morning of the Prelims, I was emotional. I did 30 minutes of yoga the night before, and 30 minutes the morning of. I had a smoothie (which is rare for me) and had some extra caffeine and supplements. I feel like I did everything I could to prepare the night before and morning of. The rest was out of my hands.
I wanted to succeed, I wanted to qualify, I wanted some vindication for the crazy effort and self torture I’ve put myself through. But some weird voice was telling me it was an exercise in failure, that I wasn’t ready, that it wasn’t me. I had to choke down my emotion as I approached the field. I watched elite athletes sweat and grunt, unbroken and unwavering. I didn't know how I would stand up to them, stand up to myself, or find the strength I would need to qualify.
I gave it my all. I did my best, I left it all out on the field. When I got my time I knew it wasn’t good enough. 30 minutes of hell, and probably the most miserable 30 minutes of my life. I limped from the field toward my car, eyes watery, dryly swallowing and choking. I lost myself once I sat in my car. Some wave of failure slammed into me. It was hard to explain why I felt that way.
It wasn’t the money, for we had to pay to try regardless. It wasn’t that I let anyone down, the Spartan Races are an individual time, non competitive; I don’t know why I didn’t feel the same about the Prelims. It was a greater disappointment. I felt I had failed at my first Spartan race despite the better time, I felt I had failed at the second Race due to a shorter time. I didn’t do as well as I wanted at my last sword fighting tournament and my fights were mediocre and undramatic.
As I sat in my car, I looked back over the summer, disappointed in my training, disappointed in my time. I really did give it my all, and it wasn’t good enough.
Summer came to a close. School started. The sweltering days marched on. My time with my children would be dramatically cut.
But the sun still breaks through the darkening clouds and lights the glistening valley. Above and behind are my disappointments. I am renewed with better equipment and healed scars. Up ahead, dear reader, looms a full complete rainbow and its mirrored reflection in a gray and rainy sky. Fall is foreshadowed with the hammer of Thor. The parched sky continues to become thicker with rain clouds. And my Autumn comes with a vengeance…
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