Maybe Dee was right about the low self-esteem thing. I struggled with it when I was injured in college. Then I think for the next decade I just coasted, not feeling particularly fantastic about myself, but not terribly bad either.
My entire focus changed when dad got sick.
I started training again for my dad.
I pushed myself to the TitaniumPerson level to prove I was something more. Something better. Something worth believing in.
And, I run my hands over the little loops in the terry cloth of the towel, I’m doing it to prove myself to my mom. To prove the benefit of being a professional athlete. But I haven’t even told her I’m competing.
I am dedicated to my training because Miguel is investing his time into me.
But I am still the one swimming 2.4 miles, biking 112 miles, and running 26.2 miles on race day.
I’m the one with the natural ability.
I’m the one with the desire to show up and push myself past sane levels of effort.
I want to push myself. And get myself to the highest level.
The rain picks up again and as I sit at the restaurant looking out through the window, dappled headlights passing by, I remind myself why I am doing all of it.
My dad chose his sport throughout my years growing up.
My mom chose herself when he died.
It’s time for me to choose myself, choose my sport, and choose the people I want to be there supporting me.
Chapter twenty-nine
Miguel
Lunging Idiot
"Chicagoisinthreeweeks." I tell Laney on Saturday morning as we carry our coffees out to the terrace at Deja Brew overlooking the lake. "You qualified last weekend, so technically you don't need to compete in this one but I recommend you do."
"Why?" She asks as she takes a sip of her drink. Her blue eyes sparkling like the sun on the water in front of us.
"It'll keep your body primed for the stress of the race."
"That makes sense." We fall into a companionable silence.
This past week we’ve fallen into a routine. We train together in the mornings, I do more training for the Deca TP while she does dog walks. Then we get together for dinner. Either at my place if she’s working at Curryosity that night or I bring food to hers and we enjoy a meal with Dee.
Their friendship is special. Dee knows how to push her and how to make Laney feel like opening up was worth it.
I could probably learn a thing or two from Dee about how to navigate those moments of push and pull since I plan to be in Laney’s life for a long time.
But I’ve deflected a lot of the questions about myself and it’s starting to eat at me. Laney has been so open with me.
And I’m still hiding my past from her.
I know why, it isn’t supposed to be a secret, I simply hate the man I was. I know I’m supposed to be accepting of myself. And, I am.
I’ve accepted I don’t want anything to do with the old me.
The one addicted to a substance, to multiple substances, to escape. The one who couldn’t stand the reality of his life, felt like a disappointment, and woke up everyday to let himself, and those who loved him, down.
I’m not that man anymore.
