So I’ve been trying to process and psychoanalyze what went down in my head this weekend, because, honestly, turns out I actually placed just outside of the top 20% of women. If there were age group awards, I would have been damned close to in them (5th or 6th or something). I am allowing myself to be upset about how badly I’ve let my arm strength go with the monkey bars, but only in the capacity that I’m doing something to fix it. But I effed that up last year too. I don’t know what possessed me to think I’d do better, but consider that disillusionment that swimming 2x week is enough to keep up arm strength shattered, and that’s a good thing.
The underlying problem? Hi, my name is Quix, and I am an adrenaline junkie.
Sadly, my addiction started at a young age. Gymnastics. Flying through the air. Ice skating. Twirling and jumping on a razor thin blade on a slippery surface. Then diving – gymnastics for bodies falling apart. Then the stage. Not as physical, but definitely a FREAKING RUSH.
Then, the odd things that are a rush for me, that don’t really make sense. Pushing myself physically, but not in athletics – the 3 day sleepless college study sessions because I was such a procrastinator (or was a procrastinator because I liked the rush). Partying with my friends until 3, napping, waking up at 6, heading to the bar with the graveyard crew, and then doing the school and work thing all over again. Working 100 hour weeks to do something unachievable at work. Getting promoted so fast my business cards couldn’t keep up.
Then, in 2007, when I decided I had enough of that shit, the adrenaline came from weight loss. Uprooting myself and moving to a different job, state, and life. Then more and more and more weight loss. Once that slowed, I had already tasted the adrenaline of running, and wanted more. While the actual ACT of running/biking/swimming doesn’t really compare to the first time I landed a double full, stuck a beam routine at state, my first singing solo on stage, the feeling of a PR or conquering some great barrier is just as sweet.
It’s all about those little numbers, ain’t it? The score at the end of the routine, the numbers on the treadmill, the subscribers in game, the place in the rankings, the reading on the scale. They can either make you fly, or make you all emo bird. See below.
My worry is that I’m having trouble getting my next fix. Tearing away at these 20 lbs is more like clawing my way up a mountain in a blizzard, and while I acknowledge that a few lbs per month is still progress, it’s certainly not something I go around mentally pumping my fist about (and, it’s weight gained back from when I lost it before, hard to get all freakin’ stoked about that). PRs are getting harder to come by as I improve. It’s probably why I keep jumping from distance to distance. The first time you race a distance/sport – it’s always a PR. Maybe that’s why I’ve jumped from 5k to 10k to halfs to tris – the longer you race a distance, the less likely you are to PR each time.
Maybe I should just take up skydiving instead.
EDIT: THIS. This. So this. I need to go from a dabbler to a master.