Thursday August 29, 2002

I'm used to having the gym mostly to myself. During the beginning of the week I work out at 3am. It's quiet, and I can reflect on things while I do cardio. The end of the week is a different game. It's 8am and I'm in a crowded, noisy room trying to focus. I find a treadmill off in the corner. I have a clear line of sight to the mirror on the opposite wall. I put on my headphones and tune out the noise while I focus on my reflection. I'm angry this morning. At work, my dedication and priorities have been called in to question. It hurt. I have worked hard for this company for 9 months. It feels like I've gone from uber-employee to slacker. For 2 days at work, nothing has gone right. If you ask my bosses, I'm sure they will say that I was not doing well. You ask me, I had great days. Both days I accomplished my goals, I didn't short cut myself, and I kept my personal promises. No quitting. Tired from a long day? Too bad, you still need to work your 20 minute stretch routine at night. Going to be late to work in the morning? Too bad, you need to finish all the exercises in you logbook for today. No shortcuts, no easy way out. I want this. I want to stop looking for heroes. I want to start being my own hero. I look up into the mirror and all I see is me. It doesn't matter what others think. It matters what I think. If I'm not giving everything I have, I'll know. That face in the mirror does not cut me any slack. Tired? Sore? Tough. You made the commitment, you will follow through. As you die of heart disease, diabetes, lung disease, you will not say, "Gosh I should have taken worse care of myself." As you die, you will not say, "gosh I should have worked another hour of OT." There is no one to rescue me from this. A hero will not come out of nowhere and make my life better. Mark McGwire will not be able to workout for me. Winston Churchill will not be able to negotiate for me. I need to be my own hero. That's my priority. That is what I'm dedicated to. This is my body, my life and I will make myself into the very best person I can be. Period. No excuses.

Sunday August 25, 2002

3:30 in the morning on a Sunday. It's cool and damp as I walk into the gym. Not a soul is there but the cleaning man and the front desk clerk. I start off my morning cardio and let my mind drift. Why do I quit? I've spent my whole life starting things, then quitting. Why? As I pick up the pace, I flip through my mental files. I think back to grade school, middle school, high school. When I was a young child, I was diagnosed with a learning disorder. The older I got, the harder academics became. When people tell you that you can't do something enough times, eventually you stop trying. You become afraid and you quit before you can fail. I'm on to something here; I quit because I fear failure. I fear the pain that failure brings. The looks of disappointment from parents, the sick feeling in your stomach as someone says, "better luck next time", the tears that come when you think nobody is looking. Fear is a powerful motivator. I keep rolling the idea around in my head as I accelerate past my pain threshold and move into my final sprint. Fear, failure, pain, suffering. Long time enemies that I need to get working for me. Fear keeps me from my dream. Fear keeps me locked into a comfort zone. Fear of pain hampers progress. Pain is a sign of growth. My legs still burn from my weight workout Wednesday. But that means they are growing. The same should be true for emotional pain. It hurts, but it does get better. I step off the treadmill and head for an open space for my abs. I set up to do ab crunches on the ball, an evil, evil exercise. Right away, my theory is tested. My abs burn, it hurts, it's uncomfortable. I want to quit. It would be so easy to do what I've done other days and do a half ab workout. Nobody will know. There's nobody here but me. Thing is, I'll know. So this time I push through. Funny thing, it stops hurting. It's not comfortable by any means, but it doesn't hurt. I finish up the whole workout. I look up in the mirror and today I really like the person I see. It's one small victory over a lifetime of fears. But one step at a time is how you build a dream.

Tuesday Aug 20,2002

It's early morning. Dawn is slowly creeping across the National Mall. The Capitol Building stands watch behind me as a run down the path past the American History museum. The air is warm; telling me today is going to be another scorcher. Sweat rolls down my back, staining my blue shirt from the rescue squad I volunteer for. In my hip bag, I can feel my PD badge bouncing up in down in time with my steps. I have a long day ahead of me, helping keep the streets safe. It's a challenge I look forward to most days. But I don't want to think of that. I'd rather think about the way people who haven't seen me in years react to me. I enjoy watching the double take as they blink twice and ask, Clara?" before speaking to me. I'd rather think how much I love being back in DC. Heat, humidity and all, there's no place I'd rather be. As I maintain my brisk pace down the Mall I can see the morning sun slowly pouring down the Lincoln Memorial. In a moment of impulse I begin sprinting towards the sunlight. It's a race to see which one of us will make it to my favorite step first. My arms pump, my legs push me forward. Lungs burning, heart pounding, ears ringing, I hit the first step and the pain hits. Lactic acid burns through me as I fight my way up the steps. The sun paints down the memorial, threatening to beat me. I dig deep, throw myself forward and beat the sunlight to the finish. I stand there, bent over, hands on my quivering thighs for a moment. My chest heaves with effort as I try to bring my pounding heart back down to a slower rate. I look to my right and squint into the sun, the Washington Monument partially blocking the light. I've finally beaten the dawn. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a flicker of movement-and Conan O'Brien is bouncing down the stairs in his desk. It's 3:30 am and I'm back in the gym on the treadmill trying to remember what minute I'm at in my workout. It's pitch black out; my lats are sore from my back workout yesterday. My abs hurt and I feel the beginning pull that indicates my shin splints are pondering the merits of exploding into full-blown bad pain. I want to cry. For a moment the image was so real, I was there. It hurts to snap back to reality. I'm 1500 miles from where I want to be. In more ways than one. I'm working in a job that I don't like, in a city that was home, but isn't anymore. I don't want to be here. I want the dream. So I'm building it, one rep, 1 set, 1 mile at a time. Will I quit? I hope not. I've got a lifetime of unfulfilled dreams behind me. I tell myself that I won't quit. But I guess that depends...on just how much I want to beat the dawn.