In the immortal words of Kevin McAllister, “this is it, don’t get scared now.”  This past week, as I wrapped up work on a tough and busy semester, I found myself curiously focused, not on the 62-page behemoth capstone project for student teaching, not on finishing the research article I’m hoping to submit for publication, not on the myriad of other projects that I was tackling, but on the fact that I needed to hit the pavement.  That there are only 3 weeks left until my 2013 race season kicks off.  And I don’t feel remotely prepared. Sure, I’ve been amping up my running.  Sure, I’ve been getting some bike rides in on my new road setup.  Sure, I’ve been hitting the pool 3 times a week.  But I’m still beating off some demons of past failures, mental road blocks, and pushing through the suck to really, truly get fit.  It’s a threshold that has long haunted me, and that I’m determined to zoom past this year and make into ancient fitness history.

“C’mon Daddy, let’s go!”

Last week, at the gracious invite of my friend and rockstar ultra-marathoner Jason Koop, I went to Carmichael Training Systems for a lactate-threshold and VO₂ max test.  Oof.  I had never done one, and while I sorta knew what to expect, found myself really beat down, running out of steam in what I felt was pretty short order.  As I pushed through the last interval, breathing apparatus strapped to my face, finger sore from all of the blood pricks, my legs screaming as the wattage of the bike’s resistance goes up by another 25 watts, I found myself asking why the hell am I putting myself through this?!?  I warily eyed the physiologist, thinking if you come at me with that needle again, I’m going to punch you.  But pressed on, seeing stars as I pushed to my max and finally slowed for a cool down ride.

“C’mon Daddy, let’s go!”

Later in the week, it was kinda cold and rainy out and didn’t feel up to hitting the trail, so I decided it was a pool day.  Headed to my favorite pool in town, at UCCS, and picked a pretty long, challenging workout to do and hopped in.  Holy crap, it was cold.  Usually, I don’t complain, and prefer a colder pool, so I don’t get too overheated while swimming, but it took my breath away on this day in particular.  I began my warmup:  300 meters swim/300 meters kick/300 meters pull, followed by 200 meters of each.  Not even halfway through the first 300, I found myself struggling with the same old panicky feeling I sometimes get in the pool.  I’ve been swimming my entire life, and yet still sometimes get the uncomfortable, claustrophobic urge to stop and gasp for breath.  I pushed through it, battling my way through the entire warmup, feeling frustrated that I wasn’t catching my rhythm.  Finally, as I started my main set of 300m negative splits and 1-arm drills, I found I had settled into the familiar feeling of determination and ease after breaking that anxiety.

“C’mon Daddy, let’s go!”

This Sunday, my 6-year old daughter Fiona thrilled me with the question “Daddy, can we hike the Incline together today?”  My heart leapt with joy!  I’m of the school of parenting that I believe in empowering her by presenting choices, and letting her decide and learn the consequences, whether they be good or difficult.  So I’ve never pushed her to join me on the Incline, just demonstrated my enthusiasm for it, running, hiking, whatever, in the hope that she’ll want to join in on the fun.  So I was thrilled that the day had finally come where she chose to join me.  We loaded up a pack with snacks, water, sunscreen, and set out.  She did amazing!  And more than her athletic endurance was watching her when we would take breaks.  We’d step off to the side of the trail, have a sip of water, and she would INTENTLY watch as a few people passed us up the steps, and quickly look at me, and say “C’mon Daddy, let’s go!” and continue chugging up the steps.  Every time, for probably 50 breaks, this repeated itself...her asking for a break, followed by the realization that she didn’t want to get passed up anymore and the desire to keep climbing, and the phrase “c’mon Daddy, let’s go!”  As we hiked down Barr Camp, her little legs obviously getting tired of the seemingly endless steps, I congratulated her, giving high-fives and sweaty hugs.  She smiled, looked down towards the shuttle stop and said “C’mon, Daddy, let’s go!” 

So each time I struggled with these thresholds, these mental blocks, and forever after, I think I will always hear her sweet voice encouraging me, her persistence and enthusiasm shattering even the most overwhelming of exhaustion. 

See you on the trail!