“The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses - behind the lines, in the gym and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.” - Muhammad Ali
There is nothing glamorous about putting on a swimsuit, two sweatshirts, yoga pants and sandals at 5:30am. There is nothing sexy about stripping down 30mins later, jumping into a lane and drilling yourself through the workout while the sun still hides. And there is certainly nothing appetizing about how wolfishly breakfast gets inhaled before running off to work.
But these are "the moments". The ones that we remember in the last strides of the run on race day. We remember the work. The time when steel dedication got welded to an iron heart, and promise ignited. The point at which the cranky pants and bleary morning eyes fell away, the animal-athlete brain took over, and the hay went into the ban.
13 weeks in. 2900 meters for breakfast. 8 teammates nicknamed the Rockettes. 2 lanes of green swim caps. 1 Friday morning workout in the books. Just another day at the office.