MY SYRACUSE

Early yesterday morning The Hub came into the bedroom and finished a sentence he started at some other point. This is a common occurrence and I'm used to it. Just takes a little imagination and a lot of wheels turning to figure out where, when and what and how the conversation began. And where he currently is in it. Usually it works out well. Occasionally it doesn't.

 

"…the thing is," he said, "it's going to be difficult. It just is. But not impossible. And you've done a lot of things that are difficult but not impossible."

 

Then he kissed me and left for work.

 

I knew what he was talking about right away. I have this little race coming up. Coming up in 48 hours. It's fast approaching. And it's got me a little anxious.

 

 

Last year I decided to compete in a sprint distance triathlon. Just cuz. Just wanted to. I've been fascinated with triathlons my whole life … used to watch the Ironman world competition with my dad years and years ago. Maybe that set something in my mind. Maybe triathlons appeal to my cardio-ADD nature. Maybe I just like them because I don't know a lot of people who do them. Who knows. But I decided to compete … even though I hadn't been on a bike in 20 years. Even though I didn't and actually couldn't run. Even though my idea of "swimming" was floating in a innertube with a drink in hand. Even though. So I did it. I competed. I swam. I biked. I ran (well "ran"). And I loved it. l.o.v.e.d. it. So I kept doing it. And upped the ante. Which is what brought me to competing in the Half Ironman distance. 1.2 mile swim. 56 mile bike. 13.1 mile run.

 

Which is what I'll be doing on Sunday. And possibly part of Monday - HA.

 

I've done this distance twice before. I've finished both times. I've represented the back of the pack well. Last year I had limited time to prepare for the race. Just 8 weeks before the 70.3 distance I decided to compete. During that time I was also fulfilling my responsibilities as the National Spokesperson for the Susan G. Komen 3 Day for the Cure. Which meant while training to race 70.3 miles, I was also walking 40-60 miles each weekend.

Difficult. Not impossible.

 

This year, I've had more time to prepare. More time, and more issues. A recurring back injury that's been treated with traction, acupuncture and massage. A nasty bike crash in April that nearly cost me a great deal more than a race. A shoulder problem that is suspected to be a torn rotator cuff. A problematic knee and IT band. Yet another bike accident a few weeks ago. And, of course, a busy, busy schedule that - at minimum - puts a kink in my training time.

Difficult. Not impossible.

 

4 years ago I went through chemo. There were days when I would beg The Hub to let me skip a treatment. I would cry in his arms and tell him I swear I'll go tomorrow …I just can't do it today. I would promise I'll go in the afternoon, just not in the morning. On the way to treatment I would throw up and sob nearly uncontrollably. I would try to lift myself out of the car only to have my nupogen-filled bones scream at me and cause me to collapse. I would sit in a chair and bare my chest to a nurse who would plunge a very thick (and I swear, very dull) needle into my port-a-cath. I would bite my lip and grit my teeth so I wouldn't yell as she pushed through scar tissue. I would swallow rapidly as she flushed saline through my port so I would avoid tasting and gagging on it. I would let them start the drips, push the meds and feel myself slip away. I would leave a shadow of who I was when I went in. Knowing I'd have to come back and do it again. And again. And again.

 

Difficult. Not impossible.

 

Sometimes people ask me why The Hub and I don't have children. I remind them we do … we have The Kid - The Hub's daughter. My Bonus Daughter. "I know," they say, "but why not kids of your own." It takes about half a millisecond for me to go through all the answers in my head. Because we tried. Because we had 5 miscarriages. Because we had a failed adoption. Because we're scared to try (and fail) again. Because you're crazy to think I'm not insulted when you say "of your own". Because it's none of your dang business?

 

But I don't say any of those answers. I say something soft. Kind. Gentle. It's difficult.

Difficult. Not impossible.

 

When I was 15 my dad died. It was a shock. It was gut-splittingly painful. It seemed to come out of nowhere. It threw me into a downward spiral that lasted for a handful of years. It changed me. I thought maybe I died too. I didn't.

Difficult. Not impossible.

 

When I was 29, I left a marriage.

Difficult. Not impossible.

 

When I was 34 I went out on my own and began a new career.

Difficult. Not impossible.

 

And the list goes on. Life is full of difficult. The thing is, the difficults of my life have made me who I am. And as I lay there in bed yesterday morning (difficult to get up on a rainy day) I got to thinking about all the ways we try to avoid the difficult. If anything is the slightest bit hard, we shun it, keep away from it, try to modify it or change it. We are all about making the difficult easy. Everything from new drugs to new diets. From loungechairs to lunchables. From anti-inflammatories to antiperspirants. Everything around us is geared to help us avoid the unpleasant. And yet, when I ask people to tell me about a time in their life of great personal growth or when they experienced great insight or revelations, the stories I hear are almost always about the difficult.

 

A friend tells me about a busted marriage that led to a thrilling new life.

A senior-level leader lost his job and started a new career.

A woman on plane tells me of a painful revelation that induced a year+ long journey of self-discovery.

A client reveals an unexpected diagnosis that led to a change in perspective and a change in life's mission.

An acquaintance tells me of his heart-wrenching loss that altered his priorities.

A wayward son, an alcoholic mother, a sick child, a career-ending injury, a death, a separation, a failure … the stories are endless. The stories are difficult.

 

Yet not one of those people, when asked if they would change it, has ever said yes. Not one would give up the who they've become just to avoid the difficult. Not one of them would call a do-over. That's the powerful part. And the realization that maybe, instead of running from the difficult, we should embrace it. Not for what it is currently, but for what it will be.

 

Nobody wants it to be hard. But maybe it's okay if it is.

 

Sunday is going to be difficult. Guaranteed. The first 11 miles of the 56 mile bike course are uphill. The last 13.1 miles of the race are on foot (not my strong-suit, by any means). The forecast is calling for wind - and lots of it. It will be a long day for me. At some point, my stomach will get uggie. Around the 2 ½ hour mark on the bike, my back will start to burn. My shoulder - not fully recovered from my accident a few weeks ago- will spasm up and ache when I get out of the water. During the run my legs will feel like cement and at some point I'll become painfully aware of something - a seam, a wrinkle in my sock, an ache in my knee and I will obsess about it. Around mile 65 or so of the race I'll have to dig deep for motivation. I'll start arguments with myself. The Voice will tell me it's okay to stop, to walk, to lay down and just rest for a minute. Eventually I'll be reduced to counting …. Sets of 10 …. 10 of them at a time. In the past, this is where I start my chanting … always soft but always out loud, because I need to hear some voice (even if it is my own) other than the one in my head. "I am smooth. I am strong. I am steady. …. I am smooth. I am strong. I am steady. …. I am smooth. I am strong. I am steady." But Sunday, I just may modify that chant.

"Difficult. Not impossible. Embrace the difficult. … Difficult. Not impossible. Embrace the difficult. … Difficult. Not impossible. Embrace the difficult."

 

Difficult.

 

Not impossible.

 

Embrace the difficult.

Comments

[Tammy K]

Love this Jenne!

[Kristen Cincotta]

Wow, you have overcome some amazing things. Good luck in your triathlon! The Pink is cheering you on!

[Ed Doehne]

Jenna,
I gain more and more respect for you everyday, way to do girl...rock it out!

[Terri Mangold]

Love, Love, Love you Jenne! You inspire me more than you will ever know! The Pink for sure is cheering you on!! You go girl!! See you in Dallas! <3 <3 <3

[Megan Conley]

Oh Jenne... tears were filling my eyes! You are one amazing lady! Can't wait to see you back in Cleveland 2011! Good Luck to you!

[Samantha Day]

Good Luck Jenne...may the wind be at your back!

[Ryan Huffman]

To my wonderful life coach - you are a true inspriation and have shown the path for so many privately and publicly. I hope you realize how very unique and spectacular you are. Many thanks for all the help you have given me in finding the way....

[Jordan 13]

Morality is the herd instinct in the individual. (German Philosopher)

[sally brown lesley]

wow, nice.

[Jackie Wamstad]

You are an amazing person! Count on this Pink Lady to be cheering you on in spirit. Best of luck getting done with difficult this weekend. Not impossible for you.