The Land of Scared Sh*tless.


I had my a** handed to me this weekend.

I was in Omaha for an early family Christmas. Which also (apparently) means I was at the ever-lovin’ mercy of my half-crazy sister-in-law Dannika. Saturday morning, she invited me to hit up her local Kosama class and I thought, “Of course! I’m a marathoner for Christ sakes. This will hardly be worth rolling out of bed and brushing my chicklets for, right?” Unfortunately, I have no other choice than to call bull sh*t on myself. That sh*t was HARD. And I undeniably got SCHOOLED.

The pic up top? That’s Betyana — the queen of all things wrath. (Do you SEE her freakin’ arms?!) Every time I even thought about half-a**ing it, her slack-o-meter sensed my weakness. So, she spent most of our 50 minutes together in my face trying to break my spirit. (Okay, she was trying to motivate me, but there is a fine, fine line.)

I don’t think I’ve ever squeezed my butt cheeks so hard, (or so many times!), in my entire freakin’ life. It’s been 48 hours and my entire body, (even my blood cells and hair follicles), is still smarting. Right about the time you think you’re a font of good health, someone comes up with some wild busting of all things a** to keep you humble. Holy.

Driving home from our workout, Dannika and I chatted about the $1K club. (I.e. if we wanted to do it again next year.)

For those of you who don’t know, the $1K club is a group of women who each pick a physical goal and write a check for $1,000 — if you reach your goal, you get your $$$ back, if you don’t, your check gets cashed and the women who reach their goals split the pot.

Dannika says, “Okay Brook, WTH would I have to do next year if we do this?” (Does she know me or what?) I said, “I’m not sure, but it’s going to have to be f*ing big… and I think we should up the ante.” Then I ask, “Is $1,000 enough for you to commit 6 months of your life to chasing something epic?”

Turns out it’s not. (It’s not for me either.)

Is $1,000 a lot of money? Hell yes. But is it enough to keep you motivated and moving if you really, really want to quit? I don’t think it is. Would I chase a half-Ironman just to get my $1,000 back? Hell no. If I’ve learned nothing else in the last 12-months, it’s that money absolutely does not motivate me. So the jury’s still out. (And I’ll keep you posted in case you want to play in our sandbox.)

Here’s where I get honest…

Yes, I just signed up for marathon No. 3. But honestly, 26.2 doesn’t scare me anymore. It excites me… and it’s definitely still a hell of a challenge. But it no longer scares me. (If that makes any sense.)

The problem with that is I thrive in the land of scared sh*tless.

I’ve spent the last few months chewing on whether or not I am ready to chase my FIRST half-Ironman. Part of me wants to leap off the f*ing cliff and figure it out on the way down. The more reasonable side of me wants to know what I’m getting into first. (No matter what anyone says, you can’t ever truly know until you DO something yourself.) I keep trying to pinpoint my fear: Am I worried I won’t finish? That I will fall off my bike? Drown in the water? Make a fool of myself? Get half way in, decide I hate that sh*t and pull the plug?

I’m not sure. And I’m not sure if the why matters, either.

At the end of the day, I can only conclude that what I’m really chewing on is whether or not I want to spend the better half of next year scaring the hell out of myself. And I think I might. B/c for me… scared sh*tless is the one place I can go where I know without a doubt I am living.



P.S. Are you chewing on doing something crazy next year, too? Your first race? A monster goal of another flavor? If the answer is yes… and you don’t want to do it alone… check out my new Sole Success Club here. I guarantee it’s everything you need to chase epic… and I promise we’ll have a blast doing it. xo

P.S.S. What goes through your mind before you shout, “Hell yes!” to something that scares you? I’d love to know!

P.P.S.S. There is no other way to say it, I ate like crap this weekend. Holy! I did manage to pass on this little box of goodness at the airport:

maple cashews












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