It all started with high school track and cross country.  Actually, that's false. It was my older brother and sister who got me addicted to measuring myself against myself.  They could get me to do anything if I was "timed." Did they need a snack? Their bed made? Room cleaned? Dishwasher unloaded? The task was as good as done if they promised to time me. As I got older, and before I knew running could be a sport in and of itself rather than just something you did to get in shape for the real sport you played, I dabbled in everything. If you could consider it an extracurricular physical activity, I was down to try it. I started with gymnastics but was told I was too tall. I tried volleyball but, as a tomboy, I hated the spandex (man how that changed!) Next was dance...please, and then basketball (my sister was already the star). Finally, I found my passion for soccer and hockey. I could barely dribble the ball or handle the puck but I learned I was fast. It gave me such great pride to reach the ball or puck on the other end of the field (or ice) before anyone else, and when I discovered that you could just do that for sport, like race someone to something, I was SOLD. 

This is a longer story than I was initially intending but bear with me. You'll understand my point soon enough. As I reached high school, the joy I found in racing slowly evolved into terror. I was always worried about running slower than I did previously, or about feeling tired in a race and not knowing what to do. In college, it never got any better. The nerves were so debilitating, I felt completely spent before I even started the race! 

It wasn't until I met Sean, my boyfriend, that this slowly started to dwindle. The thing about him is that he doesn't make anything a big deal. Not in the sense that he doesn't care. Quite the opposite actually. It's just that he doesn't think about the "what if's" the "what when's" and the "what how's". He just shows up and executes. And takes A LOT of 'at-bats.' Some of this is probably learned through his training in medical school or residency. It's not like he is asked to place 'a' line, or 'an' epidural, before he is sent off on his merry way, injecting patients with medications with whatever he has on hand. No, he has thousands, literally thousands of hours to practice perfection. Is there room for anything else in medicine? My hockey coach always used to tell me something like that too..."It's the practice that makes perfect. Not perfect practice." But to get really real with you, I'm not looking for perfection. I used to. But not now. My goal is to keep showing up, as Des Linden would say (again, if you don't know her, google her). And to keep practicing constant repetition until it doesn't scare me anymore. 

You know that kinda corny, age-old saying, "Face your fears"? Well, shoot, that's the most real thing I've ever heard. I won't fool you into thinking I don't ever get nervous before races. That's the furthest thing from the truth! But it's a different kind of nervous now. One that gives me energy, rather than drains me. And gosh darnit, that makes me feel freaking powerful. 

Stop back next week. I got a race recap for ya'll!