Simple thingsBy Alison Colavecchia
2.28.03 (www.slowtwitch.com)
My husband and I separated just one month ago. Given the purportedly poor marital statistics in the world of triathlon I want to assure you that triathloning did not "cause" our break-up. While some will assume that pursuing the Ironman wreaked havoc on our marriage those who know me well know better. Rather, it exacerbated some longstanding difficulties and gave me the strength and courage to address these. To both our credit we have kept things simple and put our children first—no lawyers and little acrimony.
A new normal must now be established for all of us. That is where sorting the chafe from the grain comes in, where simplicity comes in. When it all boils down to it, what do you really need? In the end, my needs are simple: my children, my family and friends, a warm home and my dignity. To some this may seem too simple and indeed there was a time when I needed my life to be so much more complicated. Hold your life up under a microscope and take a few things away, though, and you begin to see things differently.
Over a year ago I connected with Kirk Johnson, the author of To the Edge. The Badwater Ultramarathon had intrigued me before contacting him but after reading his book I sent him a note to which he responded. I asked about life after the ultra. He has very graciously corresponded with me and answered many of my vague questions with articulate, personal and well thought out answers. He responded that since finishing his life has been lived on a simpler plane. I didn’t get it. I do now. I get it because I have been physically to the edge and required such simple things to keep going. I saw vividly what I could and could not do without. The latest and greatest hi-tech stuff just doesn’t matter when all you want to do is get horizontal and sleep—ground or no ground—or find a port-a-potty. More importantly though, I get it on a deeper level.
Over the last month, I have had to say goodbye to a great many things. Some things have been easy to say goodbye to. Some have been surprisingly difficult. Relatively speaking the easy stuff has included saying goodbye to my lovely 1924 house, half of its contents, my neighborhood, neighbors, address, phone number and my 12-and-a-half year old garden. There was a time when I would have been devastated to say goodbye to these, indeed would have envisioned myself as not coping without them. I thought they were a part of me. Take them away and you find out differently. More difficult of course is the grieving of a hoped-for life that will not materialize, of family photos that will not be taken and adventures that will not be shared. Every other week I must now say goodbye to my children. I am not sure whether this ever will be easy. For us, though, this was the right thing to do. Our children are loved equally by both of us and need both of us equally. But you do not get back the time that is spent apart. You must say goodbye to it.
After attending to the children’s needs first, attending to what they required to quickly have a sense that this was home, my attention turned to me. What did I need? I had not yet unpacked any of my training gear. I waffled over whether it was friend or foe, luxury or necessity—a part of the problem or the solution. I decided there was only one way to find out.
First, I unpacked my running shoes. Then came my George Sheehan books. Both have been sources of comfort over the last few years. I ran to my running partner's house, beside my old house. Would it be weird? Yes. But then a funny thing happened. I loved the familiar feel of my legs running again. There remains for me something so simple and wonderful about just throwing your shoes on and going. Back again was that sense of heroism that comes with heading out the door in minus twenty-degree Celsius weather. Back again was that wonderful sense of peace and grace that has always enveloped me whenever we have been the first sets of footprints along the snow covered path at 6:30 in the morning.
I have yet to get back into the pool and am convinced this is largely to do with needing warm creature comforts right now and not the feel of a cold, wet pool. Swimming, though, is a part of me and so I know it won’t be long before I seek out the soothing familiarity of going up and down a lane.
Since last October, I have been squirreling away little pockets of cash to pay for a road bike. I went to pay the last little bit this week and it now graces my living room. It has inspired me to get my cycling shoes back on but, more importantly, it has inspired me to start taking care of myself again. I am now eating a few less chips and cookies, drinking a little more water and a little less wine and getting myself into bed at a decent hour. I am humbly back to my beginnings.
On July 27th I am registered to do Ironman USA. I am nowhere near in my training where I was at this time last year but this is immaterial. I have promised my children, my family and myself that if getting to the start line compromises the children’s or my own well-being I will not go. The real gift of this goal is in the way it is nudging me back to familiar routines, back to my stronger self, back to that sense that I can do things I have been afraid to do. This triathlon thing is my friend.
On numerous occasions over the course of the last few months I have, when feeling overwhelmed, remembered the moment of having to turn away feet from the finish line to complete the other half of the marathon. Despite my exhaustion, I chose to continue. I remember believing I was coming to mile-20 only to realize it was in fact only mile 19. Discouraged, I kept going. At mile 20, rather than give in to the urge to lie down I invited George to join me and knew I would finish. Fresh too is the memory of crossing the finish line with my three children and looking down at their jubilant, proud faces. These moments help me with my goodbyes, give me hope for lots of new hellos and a belief that above all "I can."
So it’s simple, really. Keep loving and supporting my children through this and all of the other hurdles that will undoubtedly come our way, build a warm home and continue to maintain the loving relationships with family and friends that I am blessed to have in my life. Taking care of me is so much simpler than I previously thought. For reasons that aren’t altogether clear to me now, restoring and maintaining my dignity seems intimately linked to my living a physical, active life.
And so it is time to unpack the rest of my gear and to find places in my new home for that which gives me comfort. The rest I will slowly let go of, and say goodbye to.
Still Tri’n
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