Reflections on Being a Physical and Spiritual (Tri)athlete
The bike ride and run were nothing, only matters of time. It was the swim that was killer. The gun fired and everyone in my wave (the Red Caps) made their mad dash toward the water. It must have been 50 meters from the starting point to the point where the water was deep enough to swim. I was getting a little winded before I even got to that point, so I slowed down and walked briskly. Everyone was pretty much out of sight within the first two minutes except for one other guy and myself.
The waves kept crashing against me. The pool swim didn’t prepare me for this brutal rhythm. In the pool, I could put my head down. I could stroke right, stroke left, turn, breathe and repeat. But here, I couldn’t guarantee a water-free breath. I took in some serious salt water. I must have been 200 meters out when thoughts of quitting and turning back came to mind. But the visualization of the events surrounding that kept me going. I thought of the turn around and placing my feet back on the beach, of the judge (or whoever), pulling my chip and pronouncing me Disqualified. I imagined the car ride home – the ride of shame. No, Linda wouldn’t shame me. That would be all me. No, there could be no turning back.
Moments later, I still was feeling uneasy. It was somewhere between nervous and terrified, though not quite that intense. “This water is pretty deep now.” I have a fear of sharks. And I was all alone now. The herd of swimmers had gone on and the next wave hadn’t been released yet. I was a sitting duck to ocean predators. Granted the water was freakin’ cold, and there was some recollection in this compendium of mental trivia that sharks were warm water dwellers. That helped. Another thought repeatedly came to me: that I am not wearing a life jacket, only a wetsuit. I could actually sink if I stop swimming. All the while, I was still ingesting that yummy ocean water.
My goggles fogged up. Great! I think I threw away the receipt for that anti-fog. Too late now. I couldn’t see, so I had to pull my goggles. This was as bad as it gets. I can’t breath. I can’t see. I’m getting bloated on salt water. I’m a sitting duck. The waves actually seem to be pushing me back to shore with every stroke I do take. There may be shark right under me and I look like a seal. Or I may just sink.
I was praying intermittently throughout the whole adventure. A lifeguard came along side me after awhile and asked if I needed assistance. No way! I asked him if I was making progress. He said yes. Of course he did. I would probably say yes in his position, stretch the truth a bit to make me feel better. But I took it as encouragement and moved on. I just had to make it to the first buoy to know it was true – that I was making progress.
What a relief when that buoy was finally on my left (all buoys were to our left on the Olympic run). I was moving forward. On to the second buoy. By that time, the next wave was well on my tail. When I rounded that second buoy, I was getting hit by swimmers who weren’t looking where they were going, just knew they were moving in the right direction. Somewhere around this area, after about 20 minutes in the water, two things happened. First, it dawned on me that I had never swam out this far from the shore. In fact, this may be two, three, even four times farther out. That was an unsettling, yet exhilarating thought. It was an accomplishment. The second thing that happened was I was subconsciously beginning to get a feel for the “pulse” of the ocean. The waves did have a pulse after all. There was a pattern to these mad waves, like a heartbeat – not completely steady, but not chaotically random either. Once that was discovered, this giant called the ocean diminished to an understanding of its heartbeat.
God used this swim to teach me a great deal, and I am still reflecting and learning. I am reminded of 1 Corinthians 9:27. I understand what it would mean to be physically disqualified, though I am thankful that was not my end. What it must be like for someone to be spiritually disqualified. To go through all the hard work, all the training, all the long rides, swims, runs, to push myself to exhaustion, and then to be disqualified in the first twenty minutes of the first event, would have been heart wrenching. I had to go the distance. I had to finish.
Linda and I just watched the movie “The World’s Fastest Indian” starring Anthony Hopkins. That last segment of the movie, where he raced his motorcycle was inspiring. He leg was burning from the exhaust, his eyes were burning because his goggles got blown off, and his bike was wobbling out of control. But he came to break the land record, to get his bike over 200 mph. There was no going back, no regrouping, no second chance – not this time. If he turned around, he wouldn’t get to do it again. This was it. He had come all the way from New Zealand. It took years to prepare for this event, and it would only take 5 minutes to do the whole thing. And it would only take one small decision, after all the hard work, to lay it all down, to be disqualified. In that moment, his burning leg and eyes, his aching heart, and his fear – none of it mattered. Something inside made him finish, no matter the cost. That’s what I felt in that water. I had to finish.
But this race was nothing in light of eternity. In my own way, I won, for I finished the race in far better time than I had hoped. But even if I had won, as Paul said, I would have received only a fleeting glory, a temporary “crown.” But the is another race I am running in everyday, and this race is for a prize that will not fade, an eternal reward. There was urgency and even terror in the thought of not finishing that swim. How much more should there be an urgency and terror in not finishing this eternal race. There was fear of shame for having turned around and being disqualified in that swim. How much more should be a fear of shame for being disqualified by King Jesus, of having Him be ashamed of me, of Him denying me before His Father in heaven.
This journey through life is a race – a long, drawn out race. The finish line is no where in sight. But that doesn’t mean it’s not imminent, and quickly approaching in light of eternity. I trimmed my attire in that water, and I trimmed my bike on that ride so that it would weigh as little as possible. “Take only what you need.” And I did. “Let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us” (Heb 12:1).
† Thank You, Lord Jesus, for this life lesson. Help me to keep this at the forefront of my mind forever, to run to win, lest I be disqualified, lest I dishonor You with many trivialities, lest I run haphazardly and shoddy in this race. Amen. †
(For those wondering, I completed an Olympic Triathlon on Sunday, June 25, 2006 in Ventura, CA. This is the event to which I am referring.)
The waves kept crashing against me. The pool swim didn’t prepare me for this brutal rhythm. In the pool, I could put my head down. I could stroke right, stroke left, turn, breathe and repeat. But here, I couldn’t guarantee a water-free breath. I took in some serious salt water. I must have been 200 meters out when thoughts of quitting and turning back came to mind. But the visualization of the events surrounding that kept me going. I thought of the turn around and placing my feet back on the beach, of the judge (or whoever), pulling my chip and pronouncing me Disqualified. I imagined the car ride home – the ride of shame. No, Linda wouldn’t shame me. That would be all me. No, there could be no turning back.
Moments later, I still was feeling uneasy. It was somewhere between nervous and terrified, though not quite that intense. “This water is pretty deep now.” I have a fear of sharks. And I was all alone now. The herd of swimmers had gone on and the next wave hadn’t been released yet. I was a sitting duck to ocean predators. Granted the water was freakin’ cold, and there was some recollection in this compendium of mental trivia that sharks were warm water dwellers. That helped. Another thought repeatedly came to me: that I am not wearing a life jacket, only a wetsuit. I could actually sink if I stop swimming. All the while, I was still ingesting that yummy ocean water.
My goggles fogged up. Great! I think I threw away the receipt for that anti-fog. Too late now. I couldn’t see, so I had to pull my goggles. This was as bad as it gets. I can’t breath. I can’t see. I’m getting bloated on salt water. I’m a sitting duck. The waves actually seem to be pushing me back to shore with every stroke I do take. There may be shark right under me and I look like a seal. Or I may just sink.
I was praying intermittently throughout the whole adventure. A lifeguard came along side me after awhile and asked if I needed assistance. No way! I asked him if I was making progress. He said yes. Of course he did. I would probably say yes in his position, stretch the truth a bit to make me feel better. But I took it as encouragement and moved on. I just had to make it to the first buoy to know it was true – that I was making progress.
What a relief when that buoy was finally on my left (all buoys were to our left on the Olympic run). I was moving forward. On to the second buoy. By that time, the next wave was well on my tail. When I rounded that second buoy, I was getting hit by swimmers who weren’t looking where they were going, just knew they were moving in the right direction. Somewhere around this area, after about 20 minutes in the water, two things happened. First, it dawned on me that I had never swam out this far from the shore. In fact, this may be two, three, even four times farther out. That was an unsettling, yet exhilarating thought. It was an accomplishment. The second thing that happened was I was subconsciously beginning to get a feel for the “pulse” of the ocean. The waves did have a pulse after all. There was a pattern to these mad waves, like a heartbeat – not completely steady, but not chaotically random either. Once that was discovered, this giant called the ocean diminished to an understanding of its heartbeat.
God used this swim to teach me a great deal, and I am still reflecting and learning. I am reminded of 1 Corinthians 9:27. I understand what it would mean to be physically disqualified, though I am thankful that was not my end. What it must be like for someone to be spiritually disqualified. To go through all the hard work, all the training, all the long rides, swims, runs, to push myself to exhaustion, and then to be disqualified in the first twenty minutes of the first event, would have been heart wrenching. I had to go the distance. I had to finish.
Linda and I just watched the movie “The World’s Fastest Indian” starring Anthony Hopkins. That last segment of the movie, where he raced his motorcycle was inspiring. He leg was burning from the exhaust, his eyes were burning because his goggles got blown off, and his bike was wobbling out of control. But he came to break the land record, to get his bike over 200 mph. There was no going back, no regrouping, no second chance – not this time. If he turned around, he wouldn’t get to do it again. This was it. He had come all the way from New Zealand. It took years to prepare for this event, and it would only take 5 minutes to do the whole thing. And it would only take one small decision, after all the hard work, to lay it all down, to be disqualified. In that moment, his burning leg and eyes, his aching heart, and his fear – none of it mattered. Something inside made him finish, no matter the cost. That’s what I felt in that water. I had to finish.
But this race was nothing in light of eternity. In my own way, I won, for I finished the race in far better time than I had hoped. But even if I had won, as Paul said, I would have received only a fleeting glory, a temporary “crown.” But the is another race I am running in everyday, and this race is for a prize that will not fade, an eternal reward. There was urgency and even terror in the thought of not finishing that swim. How much more should there be an urgency and terror in not finishing this eternal race. There was fear of shame for having turned around and being disqualified in that swim. How much more should be a fear of shame for being disqualified by King Jesus, of having Him be ashamed of me, of Him denying me before His Father in heaven.
This journey through life is a race – a long, drawn out race. The finish line is no where in sight. But that doesn’t mean it’s not imminent, and quickly approaching in light of eternity. I trimmed my attire in that water, and I trimmed my bike on that ride so that it would weigh as little as possible. “Take only what you need.” And I did. “Let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us” (Heb 12:1).
† Thank You, Lord Jesus, for this life lesson. Help me to keep this at the forefront of my mind forever, to run to win, lest I be disqualified, lest I dishonor You with many trivialities, lest I run haphazardly and shoddy in this race. Amen. †
(For those wondering, I completed an Olympic Triathlon on Sunday, June 25, 2006 in Ventura, CA. This is the event to which I am referring.)
posted by Ron | 4:36 PM
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