Community of Ones

It's Sunday night. More than that, it is Sunday night after the first full week back to volume triathlon training. Whiskey and chocolates for everyone. Tonight it is McCallan 15 year single malt.

If you look here at the training log, you'll see that I managed about 14.5 hours of training including 4 sessions at the pool for 6900 meters of swimming, my weakest discipline. The best news is not the volume, which would be nothing special to athletes who are stronger and faster than I am. The best news is that (at least for now) my injured neck feels as close to normal has it has felt since mid-October.

What a joy to be tired--tired and healthy from playing hard, not the exhaustion of two months ago when I could only sleep three and a half hours between doses of vicodin.

Of course, the first week back with volume training was not easy. It was hard. Sometimes a good hard, and sometimes a "why am I doing this" kind of hard.

I had one of those moments Saturday morning--the first brick workout of the season. The monotonous trainer ride gave way to 30 minutes of running on wobbly legs in the rain. Chilled to the bone and staring that 1000 yard stare into the steel grey downpour through which I was running, I started wondering what brings me out in the rain when everyone else in the neighborhood was still asleep. What brings me out here alone?

Wait a minute. I'm not alone.

Right as I was slogging through the rain, I knew that all over this country there are other people who shunned the habits of their neighbors. They were out early, in the wet, in the cold, in the snow, in the ice, on the trainers, at the pool . . . ironman finishers, ironman wannabees, newbie sprinters, and masters oly champs, moms, dads, brothers, sisters, kids . . .

We all train when it is hard. We all look in the mirror and refuse to be limited by the way things are. We see what might be. We all are unique among our communities, but we are never, never alone.

I am one, and not even a special one. But I am part of a thrilling community of ones. If our neighbors think of us as a Confederacy of Dunces, I'd rather be the least of the dunces than be thought a genius amongs my "normal" neighbors.

Whiskey and chocolates aren't nearly as sweet for the neighborhood of "normal" folks.