WHY- Part I

I'm calling this post "Why- Part I" not because I have a Part II in mind, but I know it'll eventually arise.  So, today I'll be addressing why I am treading down this insane path to the Ironman...

Of my 13,421 days of life, yesterday was not among the best and happiest of them.  My day began at 4:45 when the alarm clock stirred me awake.  At 5:15 I was on my way to the gym and 10 minutes later I was in the water taking my first strokes of a 2000 yard training swim. 

I returned home, had breakfast with Talia and waited with her for the school.  As we waited I called my father who, at 6:20AM in the northern suburbs of Chicago was sitting in the passenger seat of my mom's car as she drove him to the hospital for complicated abdominal surgery.  Talia, Rachel and I wished my dad good luck and told him we love him before we hung up.  I kissed Talia goodbye and I jumped in the shower.

After I was dressed I jumped in the car and headed to Strong Hospital to visit someone who recently fell victim to a serious accident.  We chatted for a bit, I wished him well and got back in my car to go to work.  I sat through our Monday morning staff meeting feeling distracted.  My thoughts were mostly with my father, but also on the major task that still awaited me that day.

The staff meeting ended and I returned to my office to finish a eulogy for a 1PM funeral.  This eulogy took me exactly twice as long as all other eulogies.  As I put the finishing touches on the eulogy on Sunday night, the electricity flickered, the computer crashed, and the file disappeared.  Yes, I saved it.  Every 10 minutes.  Yes, I looked for it everywhere for about 30 minutes.  But it was gone.  As if I dreamed up the previous 3 hours of work.  So I began again.  On Monday morning I completed my preparations, called Rachel for an early lunch and a much needed opportunity to vent my anxieties over a hard day.

After a quick lunch I returned to my office to dot my "i"s and cross my "t"s before I headed into the Pastoral Lounge to greet a family who was mourning a sudden and surprising loss.  As I sat in my car in the parking lot awaiting the start of funeral procession to the cemetery, my sister called to give me an update- the surgery would take several hours longer than anticipated.

We finally arrived at the cemetery.  I performed the burial service which was emotional for everyone in attendance.  I empathized with the mourners, all the while feeling like I should have been in a hospital waiting room waiting for my father.

When the surgery finally ended late in the afternoon, the surgeon had said that it was a "nightmare" surgery.  Comforting...  I finally spoke with my father just after 7PM.  The good news is he'll be okay.  I finally got to bed, later than I had initially hoped, and set my alarm for 5AM.  I overslept this morning and my feet didn't hit the floor until 5:15.  15 minutes may not seem like a lot, especially at that hour, but I have my mornings scheduled out to the minute.  This morning I was set to do an hour and fifteen minute indoor training ride, followed immediately by a short 3 mile run.  My goal: be done and home by 7AM-ish to have breakfast with Talia.  I cut my training ride 10 minutes short and walked in the door at 7:05.  Almost perfect!

From the moment I began re-writing the eulogy on Sunday night until the moment I finally heard my father's voice again, I lived a long, difficult day.  No, it wasn't the hardest day I've experienced, but its stresses certainly wore me down physically and emotionally.  I figure that's why I overslept this morning.

A normal person might have recognized such a day as reason enough to get some extra rest and postpone this morning's workouts.  For me it just wasn't an option.  The Talmud teaches that "sleep is 1/60 of death".  I certainly recognize and acknowledge the role of sleep in the physical recovery of the body and, perhaps, the emotional recovery of the soul.  But I think what the Talmud means is that when I'm sleeping I'm sure not living life. 

Why?  Why do I do this?  Why do I willingly limit myself to 5-6 hours of sleep most nights just to get up an punish my body?

This simple answer: Because I can.

Life is too fragile and far too unpredictable to waste it away sleeping in my bed.  I was reminded of that yesterday at the hospital and again at the cemetery and again all day long as I anxiously awaited word about my father's surgery.  So I wake up well before the sun and fit in two grueling workouts because I can.  I do it because it reminds me that I'm alive.  I do it because my body is capable to taking the beating, and by doing so, I am testing the limits of my physical and emotional self and celebrating the daily renewal of my life.  I have arms that swim, feet that pedal and legs that run, so why not use them?  I may not always have these gifts to take advantage of, so I ought to while I still can.  I run through quiet neighborhood streets, noticing mostly darkened homes as most people still sleep.  At that hour it's just me out there.  The whole world seems to belong to me for those moments.  It's me, my beating heart and my thoughts.  It's meditative.  It's empowering.  It's transcendent.

I swim...
I bike...
I run...
...because it strengthens my body and feeds my soul.

I do this because I can...