Thanks Trauma
I had a conversation with Jess before bed a week ago. She told me that at one point during the 500 miler I left the turn around in a less than stellar mental place and she was concerned, or maybe just curious, about how I would come in from that lap in about 40 to 45 minutes. Apparently I came in in a great mood and she commented that I was looking good. My response was “ thanks trauma”.
I think about a lot when I ride and when I ride long I think about things I should write about. Inevitably the moment I get back, eat and drink all those thoughts are gone and I am left wondering what the hell it is that I thought about for 6 to 12 hours. Thankfully Jess jogged my memory.
Senior year 1991. Our coach told me on several occasions that I was driving her to drink.
I spend a lot of time ignoring the past or pretending it did not happen to some degree. All the emotional and mental abuse as a child and all the desperate attempts to fit in as a teenager then into my 20’s left me feeling the only way to “fit in” was to drink to excess every time I went out which inevitably led to even more self loathing and anger the next day. I started working when I was 13 to get out of the house. I would walk 3 miles home after the mall closed at 10pm to prolong my time away. My mother forged my birth certificate and I gave her my paycheck. It was a fair trade at the time. I started sports in high school as a way to stay away when I wasn’t working. At one point I was working almost full time while going to school and playing field hockey. I threw all I had into focusing on something other than home life. My first attempt at college was a shit show because once I left the house for Western MA I knew I would never be allowed back. I was leaving for good and while I should of been excited it was also very upsetting to know that she did not want me back ever. That is until many years later when she needed me for something. In my 30’s I joined a gym and would run on the treadmill for hours going nowhere. That led me to a spin class and a trainer who suggested I try a triathlon. 1 year after doing my 1st sprint I signed up for Ironman. It was away to funnel my emotions. I hated so much about everything and everyone but on the bike or in the pool I had to shift my focus and concentrate only on what I was doing in that moment. The run was another story and not a pretty one :)
We only know what we are taught as children
In the 70’s and early 80’s it was very much “keep your mouth shut about how others parent their kids”
I have always had multiple jobs or one job that I worked a ridiculous amount of time at . In fact, when I met B he thought I was gently blowing him off because I could never get even a night to meet up with him. After a few months he realized it was because I genuinely had no time and was working 15- 20 hour days.
Here I am closer to 50 than 40 and while I may no longer be avoiding a bad home life I am still “running away” from something, so I am told. But what if I am not really running away. What if this is me and my need to go bigger and longer is just a by product of all the shit I have seen and been through? What if all the past trauma is a motivational trigger ( I absolutely hate this word btw) and my WHY? What if Mary’s murder made the 500 miles easier because it was no where near the pain I felt for almost a year and a half? A lifetime of grief, trauma, anger and depression is WHY I can go long and then longer. Not quickly but I can guarantee that when push comes to shove I will outlast almost anyone. Pain is almost like a comfort food. I crave the next physically painful thing because it takes away from the mentally painful thoughts that engulf my brain daily.
When we are faced with adversity we have 2 choices. Fight like hell or quit. My will to fight as a child is what led me here. I know that I just need to fight a little longer, in any painful situation, and I will come out on the other side happy and safe. The same goes for endurance events. Will it suck? Yes. Will it hurt? Like hell. Will it be worth it? Only if you fight like hell and win the day. I didn’t realize this is what I was doing the first 40 something years of my life but over the last few years it has become more and more obvious. I am able to suffer well ( relatively) because it is all I have known for so much of my life. When my mind starts to tell me it is too hard I almost always hear another part of me say “ this is nothing compared to ( fill in the blank)”. It is probably so much a part of me I couldn’t change it if I wanted too. And I definitely do not want to. I wouldn’t give up all the abuse from family, friends and strangers for anything now because it is what has made me me. And when I sit with myself alone on a good day…. I actually do like who I am.
2000 ish. I had the greatest garden and a beautiful 220 year old house in NY. This garden brought me so much joy.
