Pushing The Limits Of Performance And Life

The theme of the week has been pushing the boundaries of human performance. Today’s post continues that theme directly into my own personal timeline. No, I didn’t break Mach 1, nor did I complete 540.8 miles of endurance sport mayhem. I didn’t win my age group. Fair enough. But there was that day when I went 140.6 miles under my own power – at Ironman USA in Lake Placid, New York.

I used to watch “Wide World Of Sports” as a kid. I can distinctly remember watching Julie Moss crawl to the finish of Ironman Hawaii in 1982 and asking aloud, “why would anyone want to do this?”. Of course, that was long before I became a physiotherapist or started coaching endurance sport athletes. Our perspectives certainly evolve over time.

Fast forward to 2004 – when I found my own answer to that very question.

I always (lightheartedly, yet seriously) say that when you are in the midst of an event, when the going gets tough, there is a voice inside of you that is going to ask you one simple question – and you better have an answer for it:

“Why am I doing this?”

When the chips are down, you look to those deeper meanings. The superficial meanings won’t get you over the hump. They won’t get you through the tough times. As I was pondering the thought of training for an Ironman, I knew this would be important. I realized that I didn’t need an event in my life to define or validate me. So why do it?

When I was a child suffering from Crohn’s disease - age 15 and all of 4’8” tall and 68 pounds – I remember coming to a very distinct realization. A quote from “The Shawshank Redemption” summarizes it nicely:

“Either get busy living, or get busy dying”.

I had a choice: either take ownership of the problem and move forward, or dwell upon it, become a victim, and let it own me. I chose the former. I wanted to live life on my terms.

In the midst of my teenage years, I developed some longstanding issues with my knees. I was told that activities like running wouldn’t be a part of my future. But my time as a physiotherapist had me challenging those assertions both mentally and physically.

Then, it hit me. Ironman was about the mental challenge. I needed to know if I was strong enough mentally to do the necessary training – and to race the day on my terms. That was the meaning for me. I knew that when the voice asked me that question, I would have an answer. It was time to train for an Ironman.

And I did. “Relentless forward motion”, as a friend of mine used to say, took me through Ironman Lake Placid in 2005.

“Try not. Do or do not … there is no try.” (Yoda)

I have always believed that sport is a great metaphor for life – and Ironman certainly embodies this. All that happens during training and racing is but a microcosm of what our lives entail.

Ironman is a long day, no matter how you cut it. In that day, just like any other, you will experience the highs and lows, the emotions that make us all human and vibrant and powerful. You will face distractions – with your goal being to get past them and to focus your energies on the things you control – right here, right now. You push your own limits, and yours alone. You start your race in the wee hours of the morning – you end as the sun goes down. The race doesn’t define you – you define the race.

The voice? It made its obligatory appearance and it asked me “why”. I had an answer. I was simply thankful to have the physical and mental capacity, the lifeblood, to be there, experiencing the moment. It took me back to age 15 – when I was simply thankful to be alive. Relentless forward motion. Here. Now.

Human performance in life - be it an Ironman triathlon or the Grand Kona Slam, living with diabetes or cancer survivorship, or any of countless challenges – is all about our desire to push the limits and boundaries of what we believe is possible in the here and now. Be present to the challenge, and don’t forget to push those boundaries, each and every day. We don’t know exactly what lies within us, or beyond us. Or both. But it sure is special.

Photo credits: TimothyJ