Motivating Mottos

As dark thunderheads rolled towards us, sub-zero temperatures set in (ok, maybe more like 50 degrees. But it was cold!) and wind speeds climbed to upwards of 20 knots one recurring thought dominated my training hardened Half Iron man to-be mind: “Why the crap did I ever leave St. George?”

August 15^th, for many of Summit’s dedicated triathletes marked a major trial of their faith and determination. There really were thunderheads, so threatening in fact that they delayed the start of the swim for almost 45 minutes. I’m not a sailor so I really don’t know wind speeds in knots but it was blowing hard that day. At one point, on a perfectly flat surface riding a full carbon frame I was only managing 11 miles an hour. The girl passing me was probably only doing 11 ½ (curse her). Running conditions, however, were probably as ideal as could be asked for. The course was shielded from the wind, was completely flat and followed a beautiful meandering track along the river. In fact my only complaint about the run was the fact that the ground mysteriously became six times harder that day than usual. Other than that it was quite lovely.

My own experience taught me a great lesson that day: there comes a point when you want to give up.

Mine came on the bike ride. That Saturday morning at mile 20 I came into conflict with perhaps the greatest dichotomy facing young triathletes: great potential health but no money. It presents itself this way: my body is at that point when it can be trained to reach its peak performance and recover quickly from the stresses placed on it. But, as a poor college student I face the necessity of spending my time training other athletes rather than training myself. Ironically, by the time I’m a rich college graduate (after student loans are paid off, of course) I’ll be a decrepit old man. Anyway, suffice it to say the people I trained were in great shape; me not so much. And boy did I feel it at mile 20.

The other great obstacle I encountered at mile 20 was my bike. Like all triathletes I dream of a full carbon fiber bike with components so light you get them mixed up with you recently shaved leg hair and a flashy paint job sure to attract ladies and sponsors. Instead, like many other realists I spent my money on rent and rice. I did, however, have a nice bike that day. My older bro, an ex bike mechanic, lent me his Trek (full carbon frame and fork), shoes (Richey pedals) and his low profile helmet. He even fitted the bike to me… mostly. “I’m not sure if we have the seat adjusted at the correct pitch,” were his parting words. He was right.

At about mile 20 I came to the painful realization that (a) my bro’s feet and consequently his shoes are really quite a bit smaller than my own, (b) the seat was NOT tilted right, and (c) my 10-20 mile rides I’d been squeezing in at random really were not nearly as long as the days 56 mile course. The results were completely numb feet, an assurance that my future posterity depended on my getting off the bike immediately, and that my butt would feel like it had been kicked by King Kong for at least the next month. As the pain of these facts set in the relief truck slowly drove past…

“I could give up right now,” I thought, “and all this ridiculous pain would be over!” As I was contemplating this ray of sunshine in the midst of the day’s gale force winds and approaching hail storms a completely random thought came to my mind: “Pain is temporary, pride is forever.”

“Where did that come from?” I wondered.

And then I remembered. I’d seen it on the back of some Dixie High School T-shirt years before. Apparently, that motto had stayed lodged in my brain, waiting for an adequately painful moment to bring it forth. Despite its ancient origins it had a profound effect on me. More than my sore buttocks was on the line in this race. And it wasn’t just stupid pride either. It was my dad’s belief that you should finish what you start, my intense desire to prove to myself that I was capable of doing hard things and my will to validate my preaching to everyone I knew that man in general can do whatever he sets out to do. With this in mind, and the motto “Pain is temporary, pride is forever” set on repeat in my skull I forgot about numb feet, stood up (for posterity’s sake and my rear end’s as well) and pedaled on. The next 36 miles were no less brutal than the first 20 but I did it.

And the saying held true. After about two miles of running I could feel my feet again and all the pain was a distant memory of triumph as I faced new obstacles. When I crossed the finish line in 4:58, just under my goal of 5 hours I knew it was all worth it and that I’d be back.

In reflection I’ve stopped to consider the power of mottos in the midst of crises. Just do it, this above all unto thine own self be true, the Lord giveth the Lord taketh away, and so on. The question is what motto plays in your head in your crisis moments? Discover it, follow it, and as you cross your own personal finish lines you’ll look back at the wave tossed wind buffeted course you’ve traversed and see nothing but dedication, glory and a path to your next great victory.