I’ve been sweating my upcoming triathlon. I haven’t been training well or consistently, so given I only have 3 weeks before race day, I know I’m racing against an unfriendly clock… it may be too little too late for me… but I will do it anyways. I’ve committed. If I’m last across the finish line, I’ll have to be okay with that… at this point, finishing within the time limit will be a win for me. And if I don’t finish? Well… I’ll live and learn and carry on to a new day… Theodore Roosevelt put it best;
It is not the critic who counts… not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who at best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement… and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.
So, I’ll keep going… swims… bikes… runs… all strung together like a beautiful symphony for the hard of hearing… because, what I do isn’t so beautiful… yet! But with each swim session… each bike… every step of my run, I’m getting better… and maybe my great enthusiasms and devotions will prove to be wonderfully beautiful in my minds eye...
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