“The future of this world has long been declared; the final outcome between good and evil is already known. There is absolutely no question as to who wins because the victory has already been posted on the scoreboard. The only really strange thing is all of this is that we are still down here on the field trying to decide which team’s jersey we want to wear!”
― Jeffrey R. Holland
This is an awesome story that a friend shared with me so I figured I would share here!
What did her husband find so compelling about triathlons? She thought she’d never know—not with her Rheumatoid Arthritis.
By Linda Nollette, San Jose, California
My eyes darted from my watch to the clock on the website that was up on my computer screen.
Why was I so anxious? All I had to do was register my husband for a triathlon he wanted to race in, the Ironman Wisconsin.
Jeff was away on a backpacking trip with some buddies so he couldn’t do it himself. You had to sign up for Ironman triathlons exactly one year in advance and they always sold out in minutes.
“Really?” I said when Jeff asked me to sign him up. People were that eager to punish their bodies by swimming 2.4 miles, bicycling 112 miles and then running a 26.2-mile marathon—all in the same day? “Yep,” said Jeff.
Maybe I was anxious because even though I knew I should be proud of Jeff, I was sick of these triathlons. It seemed like all Jeff ever did was train, go to work (yes, I knew he had a demanding job) then train some more. Why couldn’t he…
Ouch! I grabbed my right knee. It was swelling again. So were my elbows and knuckles. I gingerly flexed my hands and winced. That’s why I was anxious. Two years earlier I’d been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. “It’s likely you’ll have episodes of joint pain, swelling and exhaustion for the rest of your life,” my doctor said.
No kidding. I was in my forties and my RA could come on with a vengeance and make me feel twice my age. I glanced down at my body. I looked nothing like Jeff, who was totally trim and toned.
Even before my diagnosis, my definition of exercise had been walking to the snack bar at our kids’ games or swim meets. I was a stay-at-home mom in size-12 sweats. And I was jealous of my husband, resentful that his body could do whatever he wanted it to, even compete in one of these grueling triathlons—for fun!
The clock on the website counted down the minutes until registration opened. When was the last time I’d been in a race? Way back in high school, when I was on the swim team.
Our teenagers, Bethany, Tyler and Zach, had been athletes practically from the moment they could walk. That was something they shared with their dad. Not me. I felt left out. Jeff’s triathlons didn’t make me proud of what he could do so much as make me feel inadequate about my own limitations.
Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about something weird that had happened to me just last night. I’d been praying, asking God to help me with my conflicted feelings about this triathlon.
I remembered Jeff’s last Ironman. My girlfriend Kim and I had tagged along with our husbands.
We stood watching them at the starting line. Suddenly I felt Kim staring at me. “You’re going to do one of these someday, Linda,” she said with a grin. “I can tell by that look in your eyes.” I laughed out loud. “Are you crazy?” I said. “I got out of breath just walking here from the hotel. I’m excited for Jeff, that’s all.”
But Kim did hit on something: That race got to me. I’d thought triathlons were a guy thing. But I noticed lots of women in race gear. Everyone looked so happy—radiant, even. The air at that starting line was electric. I couldn’t help getting charged up myself. For what, I wasn’t sure. Then, last night, right in the middle of my prayers, an even stranger feeling came over me. I couldn’t put it into words. It was more like a glimpse—of me, doing something totally unexpected.
The vision filled me with excitement. And the next instant it filled me with anxiety. The anxiety was
still with me when I woke up. Now I watched the registration clock count down, my anxiety building. Five, four, three, two, one.
Quickly I clicked the “Sign Up” button and filled in Jeff’s information. Whew, these triathlons were expensive! And no refunds if you dropped out. I hit “Send” and waited. Success! Jeff was in.
I stared at the screen. Holding the mouse made my knuckles ache but I didn’t let go. I moved the cursor over the “Sign Up” button and clicked. A new entry form appeared. “Linda Nollette,” I typed next to the words “Race Participant.”
I filled out the rest of my information. I typed in my credit card info. I paused. And then, before I could talk myself out of it, I hit “Send.”
A message popped up on my screen. “Congratulations, Linda! You’re signed up for next year’s Ironman Wisconsin in the beautiful city of Madison.”
Whatever trance I was in, I snapped right out of it. “Holy moly!” I shouted. I leaped up from my chair—and grabbed my knee. Ouch! I sank back into my seat. Had Ireally just signed up my overweight, out-of-shape, pain-ridden self to race an Ironman triathlon?
I didn’t even own running shoes! I tried to remember where my bike was—oh, that’s right, in the garage, covered with cobwebs. Congratulations? The message should have read, “What were you thinking?!” That’s probably what Jeff would say.
The next day Jeff called on his way home from backpacking. I told him what I’d done. “Linda, that’s awesome!” he cried. “You’re sure you’re up for it? Wait, don’t answer that. Of course you’re up for it. We’ll do it together!”
I put down the phone with a knot in my stomach. Now I’d be letting Jeff down if I dropped out.
A few days later I bought a pair of running shoes and tried going for a jog. It wasn’t long before I
was gasping for air. I could barely walk afterward. “You’re going to get sore at first,” Jeff said. “That’s natural. You’re starting from scratch.”
Sore didn’t begin to describe it. My RA had never hurt like this. The whole week after that first run every muscle in my body seemed to go on strike. “Use this week to swim” was Jeff’s advice. That, of course, meant squeezing into a swimsuit. Still, I went to the pool each morning, trying not to look at myself in the mirror in the locker room.
Jeff dusted off my bike and pumped up the tires. We went for a ride around the neighborhood. Right away I was ready to turn around and go home. My back was killing me. Jeff sailed along, zipping ahead then looping back to me. “Good job. We’ll go farther next time,” he said. Farther? After that week I wanted to quit. But Jeff had already mapped out a training regimen for me. He even rearranged his own schedule to take the kids to their games and meets so I had time to work out. He joined me on bike rides, adjusting my seat and handlebars so I didn’t strain my back.
Soon I noticed he only had to loop back to wait for me a few times each ride instead of a few times each minute. Progress.
I signed up to race a short triathlon called a sprint distance—a half-mile swim, 12-mile bike ride and three-mile run. With Jeff’s encouragement, I finished! And I had fun doing it. It was like my swim meets back in high school, only better.
I trained harder. Now that I could actually breathe during workouts I looked forward to them because they gave Jeff and me time to talk—which we hadn’t done in ages, we’d each been so busy doing our own thing.
One morning I pulled on my sweats— and they slipped right back down. Size 12 was way too big. “You’re looking pretty buff, Mom,” Zach said at breakfast. “And you don’t seem so tired anymore.” Zach was right. My RA hadn’t gone away, and I still had to take medication. But it hadn’t stopped me from training. In fact, training made me feel better. The endorphin rush I got lessened my pain. The more I exercised, the less tired and achy I felt.
It was like this triathlon thing was changing me into someone new. I just didn’t know who yet.
Jeff and I flew to Madison in September. It was muggy, not ideal weather for a race. Still, I could hardly contain myself at the starting line by a lake downtown. Here I was—one of those women about to do an Ironman triathlon. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe I’d actually make it to the finish. Or maybe I was just a middle-aged mom with rheumatoid arthritis who ought to know better than to try crazy stunts like this.
The start cannon fired. Twenty-seven hundred competitors charged into the lake. I was so full of adrenaline I hardly noticed the swim. Then I was on my bike, zooming through city streets and out into the countryside. Spectators cheered, filling me with energy.
Only when I jumped off the bike and laced up my running shoes did I begin to feel tired. The marathon course wound through a university campus, up and down hills, past the lake. I lost track of the miles. My legs felt wobbly. My whole body ached. I wanted to stop. I wanted it to end.
Then, suddenly, there was the finish. I staggered across the line. Arms reached out to catch me. I looked around for Jeff. Volunteers helped me sit on a bench. “I want to find my husband,” I said, fumbling for the cell phone in my gear pack.
“Where are you?” Jeff asked. “I went looking for you in the medical tent. Are you okay?”
“I finished,” I gasped.
“Wait right there.” Moments later Jeff was sprinting toward me. He took me in his arms and held me tight. I could barely hug him back.
And yet, inside, I felt stronger than ever. At last I knew what I’d glimpsed all those months ago when I’d lain in bed praying about this race and remembering Kim’s premonition.
God had lifted me up so I could see over the dreary mountain of my rheumatoid arthritis and my resentment at being sidelined because of it. I’d glimpsed myself as he saw me. As with the potential to go beyond my physical limitations and tap into strength I never knew I had.
I made my family proud and myself even prouder.
God made me an Ironman. Better yet, he made me an Iron Mom—new, strong, grateful.
There are comforts zones that need to be expanded.
There are lessons that need to be learned.
There are fears that need to be broken.
There is faith that needs to be tried.
But there are not accidents.
We don’t have to like it, but at least one must grow from it.
Without growth, there is no purpose.
And all things have a purpose.
This is the part one of a probably never ending periodic posting of random truths & observations.
Do with it what you will.
1) You can’t force someone to succeed.
2) The price of success is paid in advance.
3) More often than not people will tell you what you want to hear, not the truth.
4) Life is a game that not everyone wants to win, despite what they say.
5) Ordinary people can do extraordinary things. Most don’t believe it.
6) Some people enjoy being a victim and telling others how miserable they are.
“You cannot bring about prosperity by discouraging thrift. You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong. You cannot help the wage earner by pulling down the wage payer. You cannot further the brotherhood of man by encouraging class hatred. You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich. You cannot keep out of trouble by spending more than you earn. You cannot build character and courage by taking away man’s initiative and independence. You cannot help men permanently by doing for them what they could and should do for themselves.”
-Abraham Lincoln-
It was July 4, 1952. Florence Chadwick, who had previously swum the English Channel, now attempted the twenty-one-mile swim from the southern California mainland to Catalina Island. The water was a freezing 48 degrees. The fog was thick and visibility almost nil.
Finally, only half a mile from her destination, she became discouraged and quit. The next day reporters clamored around her asking why she had quit – had it been the cold water or the distance. It proved to be neither. She responded, “I was licked by the fog.” She then recalled a similar experience while swimming the English Channel. Evidently the fog was likewise engulfing. She was exhausted. As she was about to reach out for her father’s hand in the nearby boat, he pointed to the shore. She raised her head out of the water just long enough to see the land ahead. With that new vision, she pressed on and became the first woman to conquer the English Channel.
This story (shared by Sterling W. Sill) teaches a magnificent principle: with increased vision can come increased motivation.
Brian Tracy said, “A clear vision, backed by definite plans, gives you a tremendous feeling of confidence and personal power.”
So what’s the lesson?
If you don’t know where you want to be it doesn’t matter which way you go.
Know where you’re going and what you have to do get there. Have a clear vision. Cut the garbage that distracts from what you’re really chasing. Use your small successes to fuel and propel you to greater success.
After all is said and done, if you want it you’ll find a way, if you don’t you’ll find an excuse.
How bad do you really want it?
I’m not a fan of New Year resolutions.
I believe if you want it bad enough there is no reason you should wait until a new year to do it.
However since many people will make New Year resolutions I want to throw in my two cents on what at least one of your resolutions should be!
And that is….something crazy!
I’m writing this post at 3:29am while laying in bed. Why? Because I woke up sore after my hip popped on my 6.7 mile run that I finished around 10:45pm. In the mean time, I’ve just spent the last 30 minutes reading up on the supplements I’m currently taking and exactly what muscle groups I need to target to have the best improvements in my run times.
By now you’re wondering, what the heck does that have to do with a New Year resolution?
Here’s what’s up.
Up until I was about 18-19 years old I was super active between swimming, water polo, and being a bit of a gym rat.
However, up until June of this year (26 years old) I had been totally stagnate. I did a 5K here and there, but nothing that took real sacrifice and effort.
That all changed when I had the unexpected opportunity to run the Ragnar Relay race on 30 days notice. Had I been training? Nope. Was I ready? No way.
In fact, I had never run more than a 5K in my entire life and was suddenly expected to run 17.3 miles split over 3 legs through the Rocky Mountains all within a 30 hour time period.
Did it suck? Yep.
But it was totally awesome, and in a way I would say it was kind of like hitting the reset button for me.
I went crazy.
I loved it.
I signed up for triathlon on 15 hours notice.
I did three triathlons in four weeks and another three weeks after that.
It sucked! And I totally got my butt kicked every single time. But it was totally awesome.
I would stay up late watching Ironman videos on YouTube.
I dropped a grand on a new bike. Became a new Dad again. Signed up to run the Ragnar Las Vegas event and I can hardly wait for my races next year.
It changed me.
I feel ALIVE again!
Do something crazy!
Make a bucket list and cross something off of it!
But if you REALLY want it, don’t wait, do it NOW.
Do Life!
