ENOUGH

THE STORY OF NOT ENOUGH

From a young age, I showed obvious signs of not being athletically gifted. The first indication was when my mom enrolled me in gymnastics. The students were lined up to take our first run at the pommel horse. In turn, each child ran down the stretch of mat, bounced up on the jumping board, placed their hands on the horse, straddled over with ease, landing on the other side. It was my turn. I stared down horse with determination. Taking off at full speed, I sprinted my little legs down the runway, hit the platform with a pathetic bounce, and smacked gut first into the horse. My audience gasped as my four-year-old body slid off the horse into a defeated pile on the ground. “Over the horse, Amanda, not into the horse.” I heard someone say.  My mom and the gymnastics instructor must have had a talk after that because I never returned to gymnastics. “We will find you something else, Amanda.”

My older sister was often stuck with me and my lack of coordination. On one such summer day, my mother demanded my sister take me on the bike ride she was about to embark on. My sister protested this order but eventually relinquished at the command of my mother.  My bike was one of those purchases made with the thought ‘she will grow into it.’ Already small from my age, its giant blue frame dwarfed me.  Big Blue had a large sparkling banana seat, swooping silver handlebars with blue and white tassels attached to the grips. The annoying factor for my sister were my training wheels. They were an archaic design and poorly attached to the rear tires causing the bike to wobble side to side as I rode down the street. My body leaning over to one side, my little legs would reach to their full length pressing each pedal down. It was already a precarious situation – we did not have helmets back then either. Not wanting me to slow her down, my sister devised a genius plan. She grabbed rope from the garage and tied the back of her yellow banana seat to the silver handle bars of Big Blue. Once she had secured my bike to hers, I hoisted myself up to balance on the seat. “Ready?” she looked back over her shoulder and asked. Before I could say yes, she pressed into her pedal and took off as if at the start of a race. We did not make it past the length of the house before my bike had tipped to the side.  With me attached, Big Blue was drug down the sidewalk a few feet before my sister realized the design flaw. Much to my mother’s dismay, I entered the house bawling with the skin removed from shoulder to ankle on my left side.

With some patience from my dad, I did learn to ride my bike without training wheels. However, I continued to prove I was bad at everything.  My mom kept trying; tap, ballet, swimming, tee ball. Determined, my mom even tried me out at non-sporting activities, sewing, cooking, crafts, piano, violin, theatre. I was terrible at those too. My dad concluded that I did not have the athletic gene. “You are either born with it or you aren’t” He would say. I, obviously, was not born with ‘it.’ The one activity I continued throughout most of my youth was softball. This may have caused more trauma than it was worth. I was the one everyone hated to be on their team. Each turn at bat resulted in a strike out. I held the position that would do the least amount of damage, catcher. When I did have the chance for some action, the pitcher -who possessed more athleticism in her pinkie than I did in my whole body – would body check me and my eager mitt out of the way to make the play.

In junior high, I persisted to find something I was good at, volleyball, basketball, cheerleading. I never made the team. The only sport I showed even the slightest amount of talent for was track. That was cut short after a badly rolled ankle. I quit. “You have the weak Stoker ankles.” I was told.

I wanted to be an athlete. I would lie in bed at night and imagine myself pirouetting on ice skates, making the buzzer beating shot, or being lifted by my team for my efforts. None of these things translated to reality. I kept being told that I was not enough and I believed it.

What I failed to realize then that I know now is the value of grit. Grit is the hard work and resilience necessary to get better at something. I was conditioned to give up if I did not show innate ability for a skill.

THE STORY OF BEING ENOUGH

At 35, I began my athletic career with the one thing I knew I could do: run. One foot in front of the other, I can do that. Running taught me grit. Running also taught me not to quit when I felt pain and discomfort. Training for my first marathon, I devised mental tricks to get me through, one being to focus on what I could do not what I thought was beyond my abilities.  I built up to running for 10 minutes increments then, walked for one. I continued this until my training session was finished. As the pain in my legs increased, I would tell myself, “I can do anything for 10 minutes.” When I was met with difficulty motivating myself to train, I thought of each interval one at a time. “I can do that.” I completed my first marathon in 4 hours and 9 seconds running for 10 minutes and walking for one.

The sense of accomplishment I felt crossing that finish line began to rewrite the long held story that I was not athletic and I was not enough.

I found CrossFit a year later. My lack of athletic ability was exposed on a daily basis, but I did  not care. I liked CrossFit. In fact, I loved it! Through learning about my body, I began to build confidence. My coordination and agility were poor but over time they began to improve. I think some coaches thought me a hopeless cause the amount of times I fell over, fell down, and ran into things. My first wall walk into a handstand resulted in me flat on my back after my feet toppled me backwards. I was met with eye rolls after trying to squat snatch the lightest weight possible. I was getting the familiar messages that I wasn’t good enough but I ignored them the best I could.

A year into my CrossFit journey, I began to compete in off-road triathlons- open water swim followed by mountain biking and trail running. I was not a good triathlete but I loved it! I swam crooked and was last out of the water most times. The mountain biking portion was always challenging and typically, I was riding solo or trying to get out of the way of other riders or rattlesnakes. The most difficult course was in Canmore, Canada. The mountain biking course was a gorgeous landscape of blues and greens as well as the most challenging terrain my knobby tires had encountered. There were a few moments where I almost cried. The pre-race warning of bears and prayer kept me going. When I finally crossed the finish line, the volunteers had already begun taking the course apart. No fanfare, no medal, no one to congratulate me, not even a banana. I said quietly to myself ‘Yay. You did it.’ In my mind, I had come in first place not last.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

The judgments and validation from others started to carry less weight. I was competing in triathlons and doing CrossFit for me not for anyone else. I learned that it does not matter if I am good or bad at something. What matters is if is I like the activity, I do my best, and I get back up every time I fall down.

What is holding you back for fear of not being good enough? The story of not being enough is painful and limiting. Believing this story creates invisible, emotional wounds. When is it enough? There will always be someone you can perceive as better than you, stronger than you, smarter than you. If we hold ourselves to this arbitrary standard, nothing is ever enough. We become a victim to our own judging mind. Believing the story of not being enough defeated me and kept me small for so many years. I turned the emotional pain of this story into suffering until I let go of trying to meet an impossible standard.

I am seven years into my CrossFit career. While still a bit clumsy at times, I am learning and growing with every training session. I find joy in my accomplishments and laugh at my mishaps. Motivated by the challenges in front of me, I know can achieve any goal if I keep trying. I have a goal of qualifying for master’s spot at a CrossFit sanctional event. It is a big goal and may take nothing short of a miracle to happen…but I believe in miracles and I believe in myself. I am enough.

Now, when I am complemented on my physique or abilities, I laugh at the thought of where I was when I started. I could not even squat. I am passionate about being an example of what you can accomplish with little talent and a lot of hard work. You can do anything and be anything you put your efforts towards. The only limit is the mind. What do you want and what is the first increment to get there? Who cares if people laugh, roll their eyes or criticize. That is not your problem. Get up and get after it. You are enough.

MEDITATION PRACTICE: SOFTENING TO PAIN

This week we are focusing on working with pain. Physical pain is obvious but emotional pain is invisible and lurks under the surface. It can hold us back from our true potential. Pain is something we avoid in life but is a guarantee. If we constantly are avoiding that which cannot be avoided, life will be lived in fear and confinement of self-imposed parameters of safety. Growth happens around the edges. Governing life based on fears of not being enough and being judged by others minimizes our potential. Meditation is one way to dissolve these fears and old stories and live your best life.

Attached is a reading and meditation on pain. Listen, contemplate and journal your thoughts.

To your greatness.