But I’m special, right?

*Note to self, don’t leave writing a blog until the last possible moment of each day. Associating writing with being fatigued and pissed off with the fact that you have to write doesn’t seem to bolster motivation.

So, you think you’re special.

Maybe you’d deny it, and maybe you wouldn’t admit to anyone else, but I’m sure we all think we’re the main character.

I doubt anyone lives their life in content assuming they’re the Robin to someone’s Batman.

I certainly don’t, I’ll eat that main character sh*t up every day of the week.

Maybe I’m narcissist, or maybe I’m just like you, but either way, we’ve all had a rude shock at one point or another that prompts a realisation that we’re not as special as we think we are.

I ran my first marathon early last year.

Nothing like getting up at 4am, running (hobbling) 42km and losing to 60+ year olds to jolt you out of thinking you’re the man.

So naturally, I went home, ate more Easter chocolate than I thought was possible, and relished in the fact that I’d made the distance.

But I didn’t feel so special anymore. That much was for certain.

Turns out people aren’t lying when they tell you it’s easier to catch the bag for these types of things, so naturally I decided this year I’d give triathlon a go.

Just one problem.

As my closest friends would attest, I couldn’t swim 100m without feeling like I was going to have a mild heart attack.

I mean sure, I could ride a bike, and I’ve logged some respectable miles on my poor legs in the previous 12 months, but if I couldn’t get through that swim, then it’s over before it’s begun.

Pool guy character arc begins…

Fast forward about 8 weeks and honestly, I was pretty chuffed with myself.

I’m definitely underprepared, but I’ve given all three disciplines a good crack in training, done some research on a few of the more technical areas, and received some solid advice on preparation, nutrition and race day strategy.

We’d come full circle.

I’m thinking I’m pretty damn uncommon again. Looking fit, feeling good, eating well.

I even ran a few sessions with mates that weren’t runners by trade, and let me tell you, I was feeling (and acting) like the Big Man On Campus.

Then race day came.

Sh*t… Everyone else is jacked.

Sh*t indeed. I got my first glimpse of everyone else racking their bikes in the early hours.

Elite finance-by-day enduro-by-night bros to my left (fitted with Patagonia vests, naturally), and a ripped to the nth degree triathlon power couple to my right.

I could’ve used another coffee, or three, but they looked sharp as a tack at 5 in the morning.

The race didn’t even have to start for me to figure out I wasn’t the BMOC this time around.

So there I was again, common amongst uncommon people.

But at least I wasn’t uncommon amongst common people, right?

Now I’m not qualified to give you any such advice, but if I was, I’m sure I’d spin you something along the lines of telling you that your future looking uncannily like your 5 closest friends.

And hey, there’s probably some truth to that.

I mean, just being uncommon amongst common people is what keeps the high-school hero in his hometown, right?

So what happens when we reach the inflection point?

We’ve finally pushed the edge, and found a group of uncommon people.

You’re the little fish in the big pond.

Do you retreat to being the big fish in your comfy little tank, or do you strive to become uncommon amongst the most uncommon of people?

At this point in my life I’m only aware of how to relate this to physical performance, but I’m sure you could apply the principle to a range of aspects, anything from career to seeking true, uncomfortable adventure.

Hope this stirs a thought or two. Maybe you’ll stop reading my blog and go do something.

Thanks for reading.

60 minutes 02/08/22