I was eight. I was in a queue of Cub Scouts waiting at the bottom of an abseiling tower. I had never done anything like it before. There was an excited part of me that wanted the adventure. Then there was the part of me writhing in my stomach that didn’t want to go through with it.
I watched each boy climb the steps inside the tower. I can do that, I thought. I’ll take a look at the view and then tell them I don’t want to abseil down.
I watched each boy climb the steps inside the tower. I can do that, I thought. I’ll take a look at the view and then tell them I don’t want to abseil down.
Up the steps to the top. I looked at the hills in the distance while a brisk young man put a harness on me. I’ll tell him in a minute I don't want to do it, I thought. He attached the rope, turned me round and walked me backwards towards the sloped edge of the tower. I’ll see how the edge feels, I thought, and then tell him.
“Lean back and walk back slowly,” he said. I did, all the while thinking I could back out any moment. I reached the point at which the tower went vertical. I braced myself at the edge, let the rope out and walked down. I was abseiling. It was fantastic.
Many training runs remind me of this. There’s a part of me that wants to snooze the alarm, take a ‘rest day’, go later. But while that part grumbles I get on with putting on my running gear and getting out the door. I know I want the adventure. I know how good it feels. That’s what drives the consistency of action.
I don’t override genuine concerns. If the abseil tower and instructors had been anything but safe I am confident it would have tipped the balance. I wouldn’t have done it if I felt I wasn’t physically capable of it.
I have taken what I learned that day and applied it to other challenges. There is no adventure without an element of fear. It prompts me to break the challenge into manageable pieces. I check against it to make sure I have what it takes. I use it to inspire caution and concentration in my preparation.
I consciously go beyond that frightened lazy part of me that wants to pull out for no reason.
Do you have some big goals that you'd like to achieve. Tell me what you have planned.
“Lean back and walk back slowly,” he said. I did, all the while thinking I could back out any moment. I reached the point at which the tower went vertical. I braced myself at the edge, let the rope out and walked down. I was abseiling. It was fantastic.
Many training runs remind me of this. There’s a part of me that wants to snooze the alarm, take a ‘rest day’, go later. But while that part grumbles I get on with putting on my running gear and getting out the door. I know I want the adventure. I know how good it feels. That’s what drives the consistency of action.
I don’t override genuine concerns. If the abseil tower and instructors had been anything but safe I am confident it would have tipped the balance. I wouldn’t have done it if I felt I wasn’t physically capable of it.
I have taken what I learned that day and applied it to other challenges. There is no adventure without an element of fear. It prompts me to break the challenge into manageable pieces. I check against it to make sure I have what it takes. I use it to inspire caution and concentration in my preparation.
I consciously go beyond that frightened lazy part of me that wants to pull out for no reason.
Do you have some big goals that you'd like to achieve. Tell me what you have planned.
