What is it about races that make it a more appealing hobby than, say, scrapbooking?

A couple weeks ago I was talking to a good friend about weekend plans. I told her that I was going to do the Nike 1/2 marathon and the Catalina triathlon a few weeks later. She then asked me:

"So, how many more of these things are you going to do?"

In all honesty, I was pretty miffed about this question. Though it may not have been her intention, the way she phrased it made it seem like races were just a phase for me. But the thing is, I hope that races aren't a phase. I hope to still be doing triathlons in my 70s and have my age proudly magic markered on my slightly liver-spotted calf.

My friend just didn't get it. So, I responded in a very adult-like fashion:

"I dunno, how many more times are you going to go to the mall and buy shoes?"

Ouch. OK, maybe that was a slightly passive-aggressive response. I never said I was perfect, right?

Perhaps my hyper-sensitivity to my racing being just a "thing" is that deep down I fear that it is a pointless thing to do. I have done over 10 races this year, spent probably more money on gear than my car is worth, sacrificed time with friends and family and tried to jam race t-shirts I will never wear in my overly stuffed dresser. I swim in disgusting water, have calloused feet and STILL can't run a sub 2 hour 1/2 marathon.

Why am I doing this?

What is it about races that make it a more appealing hobby than, say, scrapbooking or yoga?

I tell you why I do this:

Races force me to be a control freak.

2007 was not the greatest year for me. I turned 30 and went through my first layoff. The layoff was rough for me because I spent 3 years at this job, moving my way up the famous corporate ladder and finally found myself in a position where I enjoyed what I was doing and felt like a valued contributor to the company. And then that job security got ripped from me as abrupt and painful as Steve Carrel getting his chest waxed in the 40 year old Virgin.

I spent November and December of last year sending off resumes, trying to find a new career path (I was in the sub-prime mortgage industry---and we all know how that little tale ended) and ultimately felt like I had lost my wayand direction in life.

Then I found the Barb's Race triathlon on-line and signed up for a half ironman at the end of December of last year. I may not have known what I was going to do with my career, but at least I had something I could work towards: a goal, a challenge--something that forced me to test myself and gain the sense of completion.

Training for Barb's forced me to discipline myself in ways I hadn't done in a long time. I am a kind of "fly by the seat of my pants" gal and here I was plotting all my workouts on my personal and outlook calendars. I diligently did my brick workouts and put personal plans on hold so I could work toward my goal. Deep down I feared that maybe a half-ironman was aiming a little too high for me. Whenever I told people what I was doing, their reaction was of disbelief. So instead of facing my fears of failure, I took a different path: I signed up for more races. I think that I signed up for more races so I could be in a constant state of race chaos and not have time to think about the possibility of not finishing the half ironman I signed up for.

Two weeks before Barb's I experienced the quiet before the storm. I didn't do any races during those two weeks and I was forced to acknowledge that this race was really happening and I may or may not finish it. The fear of not completing the race was because for 8 months it was ALL I could talk about to anyone. It consumed my world. If I didn't do it, it must mean I was a big fat failure. So, on race day I jumped in the water at the start of the race determined to make it happen. Determined to finish this challenge.

And then I crashed my bike. Just like that, it was all over.

It is a bit ironic that I signed up for a big triathlon because I wanted control over something, but the end result was a lot like being layed off. I put my time in, worked hard and challenged myself, but something out of my control (i.e. crack in the road, subprime mortgage meltdown) changed everything.

Luckily, I was able to finish the Big Kahuna a month later. I was also able to find myself a new career path. I have learned through my training that things don't get done unless you have a clear path, and even if that path abruptly ends, you have to get through it.

I learned that failure isn't an excuse to not get back on the bike.