I am not a Marine battling for my life & my country. Nor am I someone battling cancer. I do not have to battle an abusive relationship, or drug or alcohol abuse . . . maybe an addiction to training. BUT, hey - I know I'm not the only one.
So why is it that when I get a call from a writer for the New York Times - to follow me for a story about the leadup to Ironman - I get worried that I am just a 44-year-old, plain suburban mother, married with two teenaged girls, who averages 15 miles per hour on her bike? That I feel like a pimple on an elephant's ass?
Seriously, are there not hundreds of thousands of people just like me trying to get by in life & train for an Ironman, too???
This is where the insecurity lies: that I am a nobody! Average Jane! Who would be inspired by me and my training for an Ironman?
And the answer comes to me: Perhaps other Average Janes or Joes. Perhaps some of the people I work with who think it is "insane," but who have a certain respect for me knowing what I am doing. Or maybe my daughter's friends who think I am "awesome"!
What does it all mean, Basil?
Maybe that I need to just accept it that I am signed up, gonna do the training & do my best to kick some Ironman ass!
And by "kick ass," I mean, "get to the finish line with some semblance of a huge smile on my face & try to do 'the running man' down the finish-line chute!
My daughters get really embarrassed by my dancing when I do it . . . so I thought it would be appropriate. I may just forget &/or fall on my face. We shall see.
Well, gotta get going - tons of errands - then dinner with Vit & Lola.
Much peace & love, TracerX