Mentalechoes

When I was 13 years old I organised a Guiness Book of Records attempt on the worlds longest time playing tennis (yes there is such a thing) at my junior high schools tennis courts. I got 3 friends together, sponsorship from a local sports store, and about 200 balls, in a determined effort to make it into that big history book. On a saturday morning we started, it all seemed like it was going to be easy, but then after about 14 hours, with all my friends passing out, and a tropical storm setting in, I decided to call it quits. Looking back now, I feel to some extent I was justified in throwing in the towel, after all, the whole situation was going to shit pretty rapidly when the rain started hammering down and one of the mothers took one of the mates home. As far as I could figure at the time, without the same 4 people on the court, we weren't elligible to beat the record, which sort of defeated the whole point of being there in the first place. It's interesting to taste public shame at that age; the local newspaper ran an article on us around page 17, which told the world that although we tried hard, we didn't make it to fame in glory, but instead went home. I often look back and wonder if maybe I had've broken that record, would my life be different now? Would I actually be someone who could follow through with all the things I start, and not just be a perpetual starter non-finisher? Would I be famous and rich? Who will ever know; if only there really was a What-if machine!

Two weekends ago, I ran the dam to dam short marathon of 16 kilometers. While I didn't actually place in the top 3, I did manage to finish it, and finish 7 minutes faster than my time 2 years ago. It was all in all an astounding effort considering my whole training regime came down to 8 runs, and a diet of Burger King, takeaway pizza, and weekend binges on class A narcotics and alcohol. This is why I consider crossing the finish line with my heart still beating to be such a praise worthy thing. I did pass one poor bastard at the 11 kilometer mark who was prostrate on the ground with heat stroke. I wanted to pass out, but not actually wanting to face the public shame of failure again in my life (at least not in my office), I pushed myself past the point of collapse and made it to the end. Actually doing this gave me a renewed sense of self acheivement; maybe I could finish something that I started and reach some goal.

It's easy to be cynical in our lives and just give up on trying. A lof the time we don't even make a conscious choice to give up, we just reach a point in our lives where we realise we don't make an effort anymore, and the time we gave up was a long time ago, and we didn't even realise it. I think they call it a rut, but when a rut becomes your lifestyle, that's when you know something has to change.

I'm kind of hoping now that finishing this goddamn race of pain, and starting soon this new job that there is a new time of life starting. One where finishing is as much a part of life as what starting is. Because you just don't go anywhere if you end up stopping all the time 3 steps away from where you began.

Padwanna.