How Bad Do You Want It?

This coulda been subtitled "And sometimes you have to vomit." But that is not a great headline for a Tuesday.

When I was a wee sprout back in a small town Texas high school (1971-1975), girls who wanted to do anything athletic had two choices: you could play on the tennis team or you could join the swim team. Otherwise, Friday night lights ruled the universe, with boys' basketball, track and baseball filling the gaps in between.

In order to be on the tennis team, you had to know how to play tennis well. I didn't.

In order to be on the swim team, you had to agree to wear an embarrasingly thin red and white striped thing and not drown too noisily during practice. You really didn't even have to know how to swim well, at least to be on the JV team. Swim team practice consisted of a bunch of drills written on a blackboard that we all were supposed to complete, but there was no one available who taught us the rudiments of how to swim, stroke, breathe, kick--you either already knew it or you faked it, and our coach spent her entire time with the 4-5 ringers on the varsity. I'm not sure I ever even saw her except at meets.

Still, I joined for two years and faked it, never managing to get past the JV freestyle relay team, as my swimming skills were mostly self and friend taught. After two years I quit, tired of seeing my hair turn green for no real reason. Since I was in the marching band, I was exempt from PE anyway.

Fortunately for me, I was an active teenager, doing a lot of water skiing, walking, biking, swimming (for fun), and sailing. I watched very little TV and of course, the first video game (Pong) was about 2 years away. Otherwise I would have been the size of a small mountain because I was a rabid junk foodie with a serious love crush on Ding Dongs, snowballs and Nehi Grape Soda.

So, what I am getting at here (finally) is that I never had the opportunity to learn how to train or compete at any level when I was young--no youth soccer or softball leagues, no volleyball summer teams, and no one had ever heard of lacrosse. Boys had summer leagues and teams, but us girls were supposed to either try out for cheerleader (I was not cute enough) or lie in the sun by the pool. I had no one to tell me to rub it out, buck it up, push harder, or do just one more.

My first foray into personal competition (I had competed at dog shows and field trials since 1985, but that is not personal, although a lot of people unfortunately feel otherwise) was in 2006, when I trained for and ran my very first 5K event. Up until then, any working out was sporadic, accidental and without form or function. I wasn't overweight at the time--in fact I was borderline thin, which ain't the case any more--but my law firm had a discount at a local gym and on a whim I joined. Once I paid money, I got a bit determined. I started going 2-4 days a week and even took a six week coaching clinic on how to use the weights. Then I found the upstair indoor track and tried a little running (on shoes that were 3 years old and were probably Target specials). One quarter mile and I was completely and fully exhausted, but I decided it was fun, kinda.

The rest, as they say, is all boring history. However, remember, I had no experience in training for ANYTHING.

What I had, and apparently still have, is a lot of dumb determination. And when the question How Bad Do You Want It arises, well, my answer is generally, pretty bad.

Dumb determination is what keeps people like me up at 2 a.m. swearing at the stubborn screw on the back door that won't turn like it's supposed to, rather than giving up, going to bed, and calling a contractor the next day. It's what makes me finish a stupid idiotic trip to the grocery store at 9 p.m. when I could just as easily go the next day, because I said I would get it done that night, dadgummit. I didn't say dumb determination was always a good trait.

Last night, I started on swim drills after a week off. One of the drills was 6 X 50s at about 90 percent effort (I have a hard time figuring the difference between 90 and 100 percent, but I guessed that 100 percent would have my eyes falling out). After number 5 (I get 30 seconds of rest in between) I collapsed against the side of the pool, seriously wondering if I was going to toss cookies into the pristine water.

Now, no one was standing over me with a whip or a watch. In fact, no one was there at all other than an older dude wearing a face mask and snorkel in the next lane. I could have turned those 6 50s into 5 and there would not have been a sword that came down and sliced off my toes.

But, dadgummit, I was determined to do this. I want to get faster and better. I want to do this 70.3 in May without quitting. So I heaved off the wall and did number six (no, I didn't vomit. In fact, I haven't vomited yet in training or racing, although I have come close a few times).

When you train alone, as I do, you have to have some of that dumb determination to get through the hard parts. Otherwise, it's way too easy to listen to that voice that says STOP NOW THIS ISN'T FUN ANYMORE. It's way too simple to run 50 minutes instead of 60, or bike 20 miles instead of 28. After all, who's to know? Who's to care?

The answer is: you do. If you want it bad enough, you won't short yourself (there are exceptions, what I call the Bad Days, when you are permitted to call it quits, but those should be very few and far between, maybe two or three a year). You'll gut it out. You'll make it happen, even if it makes you feel like yurking on your shoes. And after it's over, you will feel a lot of pride in your accomplishments.

So for those of us that missed the youthful athletic boat and the joy of hearing an overweight coach yell at us to run one more lap, it's not too late to get on board. How bad do you want it?