When I was about nine years old I decided that I wanted to go to the Olympics. I decided gymnastics was my best bet because I could practice that on my own. I desperately wanted to take lessons but that was out of the question, so occasionally I was able to get a ride to a free class taught at the junior high. In the meantime, my best friend Kristi and I decided we would team up and buy a crash mat from Kunkels Sporting Goods store so that we could practice the trickier gymnastics moves safely. Needless to say, this dream didn't go very far. There was no one in my sphere who was pursuing big goals or dreaming big dreams, or at the very least we didn't talk about these kinds of things. Certainly there was no one encouraging me to point myself in that direction. I even had adults actively trying to squash the dreams I dared to speak; so I buried my dreams deep inside and moved on.
Nurture has a lot of influence over our path in life--it's a powerful force. But...! We are also wired the way we are wired. And for all the not-so-helpful messages I received that I am working to unravel, that hard-wired desire to expand and excel is in there, too. And try as I might to destroy it--well, I can't. It's indestructable.
And now I'm in this new era, an era ruled by gigantic changes in my body, in my relationships, and in my willingness to look deeper and deeper and deeper into the forces who have been calling the shots in the depths of who I am. But I can go deeper than the wrongs that may have been done to me, perceived or real. I can go deeper than how I was treated or what I was told or what I put up with. It's not about anything that happened; it's not about anyone else. It's about me wanting to own me and to take responsiblity for me--all of me, the whole story, no matter where it came from--and to call it mine. It's all mine. And I want it back.
Recently as I began to rebuild my running fitness for a third time, my coach decided that he needed to ride alongside me once per week while I ran--to push, to direct, to encourage, to coach, and, on a couple of occasions, to yell. During one of these sessions when I was convinced that I couldn't finish out a hard interval, I began to slow towards a walk and he said "No, Diane! You f**king stick with it! You stay down in that well and don't give in. You do not give in! This is where you expand. This is where you grow. This is where your fitness increases."
Running had returned, lesson plans in tow, and in that moment I understood: this is what I needed to do for my fitness, and this is what I needed to do for my life. I envisioned myself at the bottom of my soul. My little runner was down there tending the fire, and the demons were there too, getting away with murder. They were attacking my spirit, my dreams, my resilience, my knowing. They take turns pushing me back up to the surface. My days are spent in an endless loop of finding my way down and then getting pushed back up. But this day I heard my coach and I understood. I swam down to very bottom; I tied blocks around my ankles; I struck a super hero pose. The little runner feverishly fanned the flames, and the well lit up and exposed the demons--and we stood face to face. It was painful; I couldn't breathe well. But I stayed--I stayed because that's my space, and I told them so. I said, "I don't know what you are going to do, but I am staying here until my interval is finished. And I am going to be down here often and longer. This is my space--I was born with it, and it's mine. I am strong and I can withstand pain and growth. I can know the truth about myself and I can learn to hold it. I can breath under water."
Now I am in Flagstaff, Arizona at a pro-style running camp. I have audaciously planted myself here to rebuild my running base, to write, and to launch my coaching business. I'm embracing all of the training and mentoring and professional resources that are being offered. It's a safe and supportive place to roll out the big dreams and take the risks and chances I've always wanted to take. I guess it's like a giant crash mat--a forgiving place to land while I practice the big moves. There will be no Olympic dream at the end, but I think there will be an honest, authentic life of my own design. There is space for me here. There is time for me here. And I have a team cheering for me while I learn to breathe under water.