On Saturday, April 7th, I ran the Two Oceans half-marathon in 2 hours and 9 minutes. My right knee started killing me at the 5-kilometer mark (with 16k still to go) and I had to pee REALLY BAD starting at the 1k mark, but my experiences with swimming, track, and triathlons has made me care about my times way too much much and is probably also the reason why I am so competitive when it comes to physical activity. So, naturally, stopping was not an option. I did pay dearly for this undertaking with about two days of walking in a silly way with my legs straight, not bending down to pick anything up, and taking the stairs at an unimaginably slow pace and an entertaining technique (or so I was told.)
The rain began just as I was starting to get hot and at first it felt fantastic, but it was a matter of a kilometer or two before it escalated into a downpour of epic proportions. There was one point with only 3k to go where I was running uphill straight into the wind and rain - my shoes inaudibly but indisputably squishing with each step - my feet, clothes, and body heavy with exhaustion and saturated with water - my terrible eyesight in full swing, alone and fending for itself as the rain washed my contact lenses behind my eyes and into my brain (ok, not into my brain, that's a little dramatic... but I was borderline-blind for a short while and had to dig my contacts out from behind my eyelids) - when all I wanted to do was STOP. RUNNING. My muscles weren't quite on fire, but my knee might as well have been screaming at me for the last hour and a half and I sure was exhausted. "The finish line HAS to be coming up soon," I thought (ok, repeatedly chanted) to myself.
I never doubted whether or not I would keep running. I never exercise with music, and I had two straight hours to take up with meditation (what I like to call "zoning out") and a lot of internal motivation. Some of the things that kept me going: A glance at the beautiful mountains, thinking about telling my parents and grandparents all about the race, occasionally passing someone, thinking of how amazing UConn Swim Club did at Nationals in Atlanta recently, dreaming about my knee brace on my desk at home in Connecticut, thinking about my friends from home in Farmington (especially the ones I do triathlons with), stopping to remember to appreciate everything that made it possible for me to even be running this beautiful race in the first place, the marching bands playing "I can see clearly now the rain has gone" at certain points along the way ("it's gonna be a bright, bright sunshiney day" ...NOT!), random people cheering "Go Maria!" because our names were printed on our racing numbers, and taking mental snapshots to hold on to as long as possible.
I've adopted a way of life to try to try to eliminate regret and useless wondering. When in doubt, try it. Just do it. Kind of want to go out, but too lazy or tired? Not sure what to do? Do it. Open yourself up to possibilities. How will you know whether or not that could have been the best night of your life if you just stay home on the computer? When I look back on my life, I doubt I'll remember the nights that I got plenty of sleep, or the days that I got all of my homework done on time or did the same old thing. Should I go to South Africa? Yes, why not - let's see what it's like. Join the University of Cape Town swim team? Hell yeah. Go to a show for a band I've never even heard of? Can't wait. Take a chance? Worth it. Bungee jumping? Sure. Paragliding, cliff-jumping? Has to be fun. Wear a bright blue wig to an Avicii concert and jump up and down all night? I'd do it again. Run a half-marathon? Go for it. How will you know whether or not you'll finish if you never even try?
 |
| Bunge Jumping |
Since I've started consciously trying to live my life with no regrets, I've learned that this takes a lot of forethought, planning, and premeditation. When making a decision, I think of "future-me" and try to imagine whether or not I'll look back on my decisions contently. When I first decided to study abroad in Cape Town, I had very little idea what I'd be getting myself into.
I had never planned on studying abroad. I thought that if I wanted to travel and see the world then I could just go after I graduated college and it would all be the same. Then one night when I was hanging out with my friends from UConn Swim Club, everything changed. I had talked to other friends about their semesters overseas in Europe many times, but it didn't excite me or make me feel like I had to do it myself, at least not during my few valuable university years. But when I asked my friend Rachel who went on this trip 2 years ago about the beaded flower she has in her apartment, her response evoked somewhat of a revelation for me. To this day I do not really remember exactly what she said, but I do remember that there was something about the tone in her voice and the distant look in her eyes that made me realize that there was no way I'd truly understand what she was talking about if I hadn't gone there myself. I somehow saw that there was an entire sphere of thinking and entire aspect of the world that she understood, and I didn't. I knew that I didn't understand it, but I did somehow know that I wanted it too. At that moment I decided that I couldn't let myself miss out on something that even then I recognized as an opportunity to change my life and my way of thinking forever. I was hungry to grow, even though I couldn't even give much thought to what that would entail.
Once I found out that the UConn in Cape Town program was only offered in the Spring semesters, I was sad and disappointed. Surely, I couldn't miss nationals for swimming, or spend my 21st birthday away from my family (and my swimming family). I tried to find programs that would be good for me that were offered in the Fall semesters instead. I have a Spanish minor at UConn that studying abroad could have helped, but none of these programs instilled the energy, curiosity, and passion that I got from what I could get out of the program in South Africa. Even as someone who was conflicted and somewhat clueless, I knew deep down that it would be Cape Town, or nothing at all. Keeping in touch with Logan from last year's trip confirmed my suspicions about it really being everything I'd personally hope for in a semester abroad. I had (and still have) so much to learn, but I still didn't know if it'd be worth leaving UConn if I didn't do something that allowed me to give, not just take. I could go on a vacation on my own time; I wanted this semester to be something more. I asked some senior teammates for advice, and when my club's president said, "Take it from someone who is about to graduate and didn't study abroad - do it, or you'll regret it," I pretty much decided to go even though I knew it wouldn't be easy to leave. If I wanted "future-me" to be happy with "past-me" (which at the time was "present- me"...), and if I wanted to keep trying to avoid regrets, I'd have to take the leap and just go for it.
I was not prepared for what "growing as a person" would mean or how it would happen. I look at absolutely everything with new eyes and approach every thought and situation with a new perspective and internal process. I'm more aware, compassionate, understanding, sensitive to others, and critical of my surroundings; and most importantly, critical of myself and my own thoughts and judgments. I also know how much further I have to go. I'm hungry for knowledge and understanding. I never could have imagined exactly what it would feel like to be the person I am today because of this experience, or how difficult it would be to get to this point, but I’m happy I’m here.
When I was hiking Table Mountain, I thought for the hundredth time, "GOOD CHOICE COMING HERE. This is beautiful. This is amazing. How could I have ever doubted this." Someday, when I am too old to do things like hike for four hours up one of the seven natural wonders of the world, I want to be so exhausted that I am content with just sitting still for once in my life. I want to have done it all: no wondering, no regrets. I want to sit back, relax, and die ancient, exhausted, peaceful, and content, thinking, "Yeah, been there, done that."
"Hey self, remember that time you were 21 years old and ran 21km in one of the most beautiful places in the world in the pouring rain while seriously contemplating whether or not the bottom half of your right leg was going to fall off?"
"Yeah, I remember. That was awesome. Rock on." Future-me is now present-me, and I'm reflecting on the last 14 weeks knowing that I can say, "Thanks, past-me. Good job. This was absolutely the right choice."
 |
| View from Table Mountain |
No comments:
Post a Comment