Where does Vitality come from?

Vitality.  I love that word.  It conjures up images of enthusiasm, bright faces, wide eyes -  someone hippity hopping through life.  I don't hippity hop so much anymore, so what does vitality mean to me now as I enter this new phase in life?  As mentioned in my previous post I am re-learning how to have fun in sport.  I guess in the context of vitality, I have lost my enthusiasm and I am trying to get it back.  This has happened slowly over the last few years, almost imperceptibly.  I used to love everything about training - the early morning rainy runs, the post run brunches, feeling myself get stronger, faster, and yes, even the clothes.   On occasion the training would be a chore, and I would have to  push myself to do a work out,  just hoping the muscles would get me through the miles so I'd be ready for whatever event I was training for. I would count down kilometers, knowing that I would feel better at the end.  Training for my last big event though,  this positive feeling at the end simply became one of relief that the training was over for that day, and while I am enjoying the work outs again, I still have to push myself to get there.

On race day, there is no shortage of vitality.  The contagious excitement of the other competitors (though I have always classified myself as a completitor....I'll complete the event...), the volunteers and spectators cheering us on, the realization that I was about to find out if I had trained hard enough. Starting the race, feeling the camaraderie of other participants, the energy was high everywhere, and this could be absorbed to buoy me on when I needed it.  Seeing the finish line, crossing it and then partying makes race day all in all a good day.   But where does this vitality, enthusiasm, spirit, come from?  Is it innate?  Is it external?  Is it nurtured?  When I try to answer these questions I need to compare two sporting events, one I finished when I wanted to quit, the other I quit when I wanted to finish,  to try to understand the difference.


When I did the half ironman in Oliver, I had a bike accident during the race and did not think I would finish it.   I injured my shoulder and couldn't reach my water bottle, my bike had some damage to it which I had to disembark and repair, losing valuable time, but  I kept going.  Mainly because there was no support van in sight and I had to get to transition.   When I went into transition to the run, I told my friend waiting for me that I was out.  I could not move my arm as it had stiffened up from the fall.  I showed my road rash, which was actually pretty lame looking, and tried to look pathetic.   "Bullsh*t " I was told, - "here's two advil - get going!"  Before I could say no, I put on my runners, threw back the advil and hit the road.  As the advil kicked in, I found myself enjoying myself and used my new found energy to spur another runner on who wanted to drop out. I felt alive, invigorated, and completed the race.  As it turned out I had suffered an early shoulder separation, so would have been quite justified in quitting, but hearing an external voice telling me to move on, that I could do it, in combination with adrenalin, advil and  flat coke at the water stations, I was able to push through to the end, getting a lot of sympathy and high fives.  Trust me, I milked that sympathy.    In France, though, doing l'etape du tour, it was a different story.  I was with a group of strangers.  I had significant bike problems, it was hot out  and I was losing the will to continue after the first climb. Two of the people on my team told me they knew of a short cut which would cut out one of the climbs and we could reach the finish area from the back of the last climb.  They told me it was unsafe for me to continue, that my bike was being a b*tch, and that I should go with them.   No one said "Bullsh*t" to me.  No one was telling me to suck it up, that I was strong enough to continue, and I couldn't tell it to myself.  Or at least I wasn't listening.  So we took the shortcut, coming up the back side of the finish line and I was defeated, demoralized and disappointed in myself.  Two  similar scenarios with different outcomes, the only real difference being what the external voices were saying.  So what does this mean to me?

I  think that most of the time vitality comes from within, but when things get really tough, we need an external voice to move us, inspire us, support us.  I still ask myself if I could have finished the event if I had my 'support team' with me.  I don't know, but I'm pretty sure I would have at least tried harder.  I realized then, for the gazzilionth time, how important my friends and family are to me and that even though I think I am alone, I'm not.