This thought crossed my mind several times this weekend. Sixteen kilometers into a half-marathon run, sandwiched between two 50km bike legs, I was on the verge of explosion. "Why the f$*£k do I do this stupid sport?" I asked myself.
Endurance sports were not part of my upbringing; they became a part of my life during a particularly tough time. Yet, here I was, 5km from the finish line, ready to quit and searching for any possible escape.
At that moment, I had no answer. I was pissed off, sore, and far from home. But as I sit here reflecting and writing my debrief, I realize the deeper significance of sport and what it gives back to us.
Yes, there are tough times in sport, heartbreak, and even moments of torture. But when we think of those highs, those victories, those seemingly impossible achievements that we conquer, it all becomes worthwhile.
When I reflect on my "why" in endurance sports, I think of sitting outside, broken and in pain. I’m sitting on the ground, chatting with friends and coaches while sipping a hot chocolate at 2 AM, waiting for another team member to arrive, showing no weakness.
I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
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