Bold Choices & Wet Ramps

It's been a bit of time since I have written. I am in a season, of sorts, in life, and it means that many things are all consuming. Not always in ways that are unwelcome. In fact, in many ways the all consuming parts are very welcome. And the truth is, I have been writing a lot. But for now, a lot of that writing is not ready to be prime time.

What inspired me to write today was a recent event that had me splayed out on a wet wooden ramp, with my bike in one direction, my body in another, and my water bottle flung across the bridge, luckily not into the swamp.

Per my last post, I am training for a half Ironman. Yes, if you read my latest post, you know that this started out as a full Ironman and luckily the Universe saw that there was no way I was going to be ready for a full Ironman and the one we had planned to do sold out before we could register. Oh darn.... So now, we are gearing up for half the distance coming up in seven (YES, SEVEN!) weeks.

Many months ago, when I started out on this triathlon journey, a beautiful friend gifted to me her bike. I had it tuned up and fitted and had clip in pedals installed. Clip in pedals were new for me and when I first picked up my bike and rode around the parking lot attempting to get foot two clipped in, I failed miserably, afraid that I was going to fall the entire time.

Since then, I now clip in with no problems and have fallen three times before today. Every single fall was in the act of stopping and failing to time the unclipping of my left foot correctly. And if you know, you understand that falling while in the act of stopping is pretty slow - think a tree being chopped down in the woods and slowly falling until the entire trunk of the tree is resting on the ground.

Last weekend after a successful 35 mile ride.

Well, today, I have a new story to add. I fell hard. I mean like really hard.

It was a relatively short ride today. In training for a triathlon, it is important to do what is called a "brick" workout. You cycle for some amount of time or distance, and then immediately get off your bike and run for some amount of time or distance. This helps your legs and your mind get used to the transition between bike and run. So today, I was going to ride for 45 minutes and then run 4 or 5 miles afterwards.

I was just shy of 1.5 miles away from my house and was feeling a bit overly confident and a touch impatient. Just as you come out of the trail, there is a long wooden bridge over the swamp and a wooden ramp that has a few switch backs taking its travelers back up to the street. I knew I was approaching the ramp and it has always taken me some effort to go from the flat surface of the bridge to the ramp part, so I cranked up my speed to get some momentum for the ramp. As I came up the first incline and took the first turn, my bike tires went sliding across the wooden ramp and maybe even some wet leaves and the entire bike slid right out from under me.

It happened so fast.

I laid on the ramp for a minute, realized my bike was in one direction, I was in another. My water bottles had flung completely out of their holsters and across the bridge. I was bleeding and my entire left side was throbbing.

The end of this story is that I am okay and my bike is okay. I am a lot sore and my ego might be a little bruised. But nothing that time won't mend.

I finished my ride after fixing the chain on my bike and picking up all of my things including an earbud that was flung from my ear, and then I still ran 4.5 miles. Yep...say what you want, but I am determined.

Once I got home, changed my shoes, got the dog and started my run, I started to beat myself up.

Why hadn't it occurred to me that taking the turn that fast on a bridge that was slick from rain the day before would turn out poorly for me? I am smarter than that.

Well, it hadn't occurred to me for a few reasons.

I have done this bridge and ramp many times now and I always struggle going up and down it, with a little bit of healthy fear. And that healthy fear has kept me safe. As I was approaching the ramp, I thought to myself I am going to conquer this ramp with no fear today. That turned out well, huh?

There are probably some other reasons, too. I was anxious to get the ride over so I could get on and done with the run part. I knew there were some parts of my ride that were slower and I was trying to make up time where I could.

And isn't life like that? It's very rare that there is only one factor in making a decision.

There are things I know about myself, things I am still figuring out, things I am afraid of, things I desperately want, and things that I am willing to risk to get there.

8 months ago, I couldn't swim with my face in the water and I didn't know anything about clipping into a bike. When I told people I was doing an Ironman, some of the people closest to me told me I was crazy. A person I love dearly told me I wasn't built to be a swimmer. I am not even really sure what that means, but it stung.

Yet, here I am. I can now swim 2100 yards, not without breaks, but I can do it. I am cycling. I am taking risks. l am learning how to fix my bike on the side of the road and getting right back on. I am pushing past limits that I thought constrained me before. I am doing it.

I have always been a risk taker. Not recklessly (though some would argue my speed on the ramp was a bit reckless!). But a risk taker who thinks through the decision, even if my decision making is flawed at times. I really try to think through the consequences. I try to anticipate what I and others are going to need as I make those decisions, whether it's at work, in my political life or with my family.

Healthy fear can be very good. It can keep us safe. It can keep us from going too fast down (or in my case up) a slippery ramp. But I am not somebody that is willing to let fear control me. Fear tells us, you might get hurt. And sometimes you will. Fear tells us, that other people might not like what we are doing. They might not. Fear tells us that you don't know what you are doing. Well, maybe you don't.

I think that's the point.

For me, living a full life means exploring, being insanely curious, and constantly learning. It means making mistakes. It means falling down. And sometimes falling hard. But it also means getting back up.

In life, we can get scraped up, bleed a little, bruise our egos, fix our chains, pick up our water bottles and our earbuds, and keep going.

Our sermon this week was nestled into beautiful scripture from Matthew, and our minister being a huge Dolly Parton fan, tied it to her as well in the wake of her passing the week before. Printed on the front of our bulletin was a Dolly quote:

"Figure out who you are and do it on purpose."

What words to live by. Who knew that this sermon would fit my life so perfectly? And my bike falling incident had happened just a few hours before church. I was pondering the lesson I was supposed to learn all morning before I sat down in the pew.

I am willing to be uncomfortable. I am willing to be bad at something before I become good at it. I am willing to look ridiculous doing it. I am willing to fall. And I don't have to get everything right to keep moving forward.

I just have to keep trying.

So, with all the fear and uncertainty and possibility that comes along with it, I am going to figure out who I am and go be that person on purpose.

Even if I fall sometimes.