Olympic Boost
So I was reading an interview last night with the speedskater Apolo Ohno who said that when he failed to make the Olympic team in 1998, he retreated to a cabin off the coast of Washington State. He was, he said, “at my lowest point, physically and mentally.” And then this happened: “One day, I went out for a run. It was rainy and cold. Right in the middle of it, I stopped and asked myself how much I wanted to be a speed skater. If I was going to fulfill my dream, I knew that I needed to finish the run I was on right then, no matter how many blisters I had or how bad I felt. That was the turning point for me.”
Sometimes I think the small things - like choosing simply to finish a run when everything inside of you says quit - become the big ones. They set the groundwork for future disappointments, build up a resevoir of insurance. YOu can look back, say to yourself, “You know, I kept going that day when I really wanted to stop. Maybe I can do it again.”
I’ve decided to do that now with this book. I feel so much like quitting. Like I’m in the middle of this spinning vortex that is just sucking me down. It’s hard, this one. I have to write like an adult, for adults. Not for kids. I worry that I sound stupid, not “adult” enough. I fret over the use of certain words, every scene, each movement of my characters.
But I also know what it’s like to get to the end of something - finally - when you’ve been thrashing and floundering throughout the process. There’s nothing else like it in the world. Nothing.
And so I’m going to finish this run, even though the blisters are stacking up, and I’m wet and cold and reallyreally tired. I’m going to push through - until I see my own finish line waiting there for me at the end. It’s a turning point for me, choosing to keep on. A medal in itself.
Onward, always.
CG