For the past two weeks, I've been worrying about leaving to LDAC. What is it going to be like? Will I be able to perform to the standard? Will I fail and then fall a part afterward? So many questions and no answers.
I leave tomorrow morning, alone on my flight to Ft. Lewis, Washington. I have no idea what to expect and how miserable the experience will actually be.
Something occurred to me today though. I thought about people like Wes Santee, John Landy, and Roger Bannister. The best milers during the late 1950's. My heroes. I also can't forget the Father of Modern Day Distance Running, Frank Shorter-- my idol. I've read through and through the backgrounds of these four individuals, and what I found was, despite their different backgrounds, these individuals broke barriers-- world record barriers, as well as emotional and mental ones.
These four individuals have worked towards their goals through adversity. There were many failures, many victories, gold medals won and lost. But the experiences that counted most for each of them, were the ones for which they took the impossible and made it possible. Yes, there was fear, pressure, the possibility of another failure, but when they inched onto that starting line, no doubts crossed their minds.
I mentioned in my previous post, I have felt the tortures and slavery of the 1500m run. While I hate the world and everything in it during the race, a feeling of overwhelming strength and power comes over me whenever I complete it to the best of my ability.
Four laps for 1500m. Four weeks at LDAC, and I imagine it being just like the 1500m race. My first week, complete adrenaline and excitement; I am full of energy, ready to work-- holding a fast, hard pace. My second week, it will hit me then: "This is really happening, I am really doing this." I'll fight to maintain my pace without slowing down for more than a second. By my third week, I will be ready to give up and waive my white flag in. Everything mentally and physically will be exhausted beyond belief and I am just looking for a damn good reason to quit because I fear the shame of blush and embarrassment.
I don't know what we're fighting for anymore and I don't know why we're at war. I don't know why we have our soldiers and comrads dying overseas, fighting for something that everyone back home doesn't understand or care about. Something that soldiers don't understand, but have to care about. But this wasn't a war that required a draft like Vietnam. This was all volunteer-based and we all gave our lives away when we signed on the bottom-line. I signed on the bottom-line and I still don't know why.
I wanted to belong to something bigger and stronger than me. I wanted to be stronger and better than the old me. I want to be brave and courageous and selfless, but I don't want to die, and I don't want to see my friends die. I don't want to see my friends return from a deployment, no longer the same cheerful characters I once knew them as. War changes you. The degree for which one changes, varies. Everyone is different.
But decisions and choices have already been made and I will get on that plane tomorrow morning. I will get on that plane in fear of shame, blush, and embarrassment-- because I have too much damn pride. And like my four idols, I will break my own barriers and do what it is that I don't know I can do.
The fourth week, the final-lap bell will ring, and I will suddenly get another surge of adrenaline; hoping for some sort of encouragement from someone, somewhere; anyone, anywhere.
My mind and body will push through that last week just like it pushes through that last lap of the 1500m race. The desire to quit will be there, but I will not quit...
Who knows, I might come back feeling stronger... For once, feeling proud. Maybe.
