What I Can & Can’t Control.

planter boxes

These planter boxes are the source of today’s pain.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. Everything at Red Rocks is painful. The stairs to get in. The bleachers. The planter boxes. The sprints. The one and two-legged jumping exercises. Every last bit of crazy sh*t you ask your body to do for the entire 60+ minutes you’re there.

I’m still a newbie to speed work. (So truth be told, I’m not all that good at it.)

I don’t let my clumsiness STOP me, but today, I finally had the courage to take a good look around at the other people who get up before the a** crack to beat-the-hell-out-of-themselves in Denver’s all natural house of pain.

Today’s group was a mixed bag.

I’d say there were around 50 people already rockin’ it when I rolled in. I noticed a few peeps who were young enough to be my kid (I know, right?) and old enough to be my Grandma. There were a few dogs too.

Let me say quickly there is nothing more hysterical than watching a pug haul his back legs up the steps chasing down his owner. That dog almost died today, hell…we all did.

There’s one guy in particular I want to mention. He was somewhere between 17 and 22 years old. He was an average build — not tiny, not big. Blonde hair, skin that looked like it would burn in the sun. I noticed him when I walked in because he was the super star SPRINTING up the bleachers. All 138 of them. In a row. Without stopping. How do I know he was sprinting? B/c all I could see was the blur of his neon green shoes.

He didn’t stop there. He hopped up every last bleacher on two legs. He trekked back down and did the same damn thing, again, on one freakin’ leg. And those planter boxes you see up top in the picture? Yeah. It takes me about 20 seconds to scale one, it took this guy a mere second. And just because he COULD… he jumped the top box with no hands. WTF?!

I promise, I didn’t just sit and stare at him. (Although I easily could have — his athletic ability was nothing short of world-class.)

I did manage to get in a pretty good workout myself.

But I knew while gawking at him, (out of the corner of my eye of course), that I had a choice to make. Either I could:

  • Leave feeling damn bad that my fitness level is total sh*t next to his; or
  • I could celebrate how far I’ve come this year, how much I’ve accomplished, and the simple fact that I’m doing what’s mine to do to burn down my next big finish line.

I chose the latter.

Folks, it’s no secret I get my a** handed to me by people much stronger than I on a regular basis. If I let it bother me, I’d be in the fetal position, sobbing, for the rest of my ever-lovin life. I can’t control how good someone else is…I can only do the work that’s required to be a better, faster, stronger version of ME. When I look through that lens, it’s easy to let a lot of sh*t go and to stay focused on my own house. 

Today I’m celebrating the truth that every single tiny, consistent step I take, (clumsy or not), just might add up to killin’ one BIG goal in Portland.

ONWARD!

Brook

P.S. If we haven’t yet met, come on over and say hey!  https://www.facebook.com/BrooksFirstMarathon

P.P.S. Take a minute and do one thing. Imagine yourself 100 days from now. Are you still exactly where you are today? Or are you on the back side of reaching a BIG, life-changing goal? The choice is yours. If you’re ready to be all IN and do something totally amazing for yourself click here to join the 100 Days of Sole Challenge! (Hurry — the challenge starts July 6th.) 

P.P.S.S. Midas got his summer “military” hair cut yesterday. I’m not sure if he’s happy or totally p*ssed:

Midas Haircut 7.3.13

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