Today is what's foremost on my mind. I got up at 4am, which isn't exactly normal for a Saturday morning, and got geared up for a triathlon. My uncle is injured and my mom hasn't been training enough to feel comfortable doing an olympic distance triathlon. The solution was my 17year old cousin would be doing the race for my uncle, and my mom, aunt and I would do the triathlon relay style. I only found out about this two weeks ago and started running again but I'm not exactly in tip top shape so I was a bit worried about my performance.
My aunt did the swim. We waited and waited for a purple cap, black and neon green wetsuit to appear. She was literally the last person out of the water. I felt bad for my aunt. She hasn't swam since her last triathlon THREE YEARS AGO. Furthermore, her time wasn't bad- it was what she expected. Unfortunately, the bar was raised high this year and it seemed only the professionals showed up instead of an additional group of NORMAL PEOPLE who aren't exercise addicts with six packs.
My mom made up a bit of time on the bike portion of the race. We were only second to dead last by the time I began my run.
I've never raced before and I had injured my foot a few days ago, so I reserved my energy and took an easy pace. Within the first mile, I passed an older man. I felt sort of bad about the fact I was secretly rejoicing inside- I wasn't going to cross the finish line last!!! There were at least two people behind me! Each mile I passed more and more people. My foot didn't hurt anymore- probably because of the adrenaline. I felt good. I picked up the pace and passed more people. Crossing the finish line was one of the greatest feelings ever! Especially knowing we weren't last and I had been able to get us ahead of around 30 people. My time didn't suck too much either though it could have been better if I trained.
I felt good at something, and if not good, capable.
Underneath all this happiness is self-doubt and fear. I am not okay inside. I've been eating much more than usual the past couple of days to the point of being uncomfortably full. This feeling triggered a more destructive feeling of self-hatred. I couldn't believe myself. How could I have let myself go? How could I have eaten so much? I have to repeat over and over again my mantra,"It's okay. It'll be okay." I don't want this to ruin such happiness. I can't let it!