Along the way, we discover the real reasons for why we first begin. And from this far out and this long gone, I can finally see why I did.

I have lots of titles, so it was never about the procuring and pinning of another. It was never about an accolade, or even about acquiring a smattering of recognition for having 'taken on'. I have lots of accolades. And have been plenty recognized.

I set out, I thought, because I needed to find 'my place.' I needed to find the 'edge of my potential' because I knew I could just be more. And maybe at the time, two years ago when the thought of swimming half-a-mile without stopping held my breath for me...when the idea of riding a bike for a solid hour (let alone seven or eight) was as alien a concept to me as playing in the NFL...when I could only run a mile before my burning lungs produced nothing but swear-word smoke rings... maybe then... when so many limiters were before me this was true.

I wanted to be more, which in and of itself is admirable, I agree. But it's something else entirely when you want to be more simply because you don't think that you're already enough. And from this far out and this long gone, I can see that this was the real reason I first began. But at least I did begin. And what matters is the perspective I have now, having come this far, because it will inevitably affect the rest of my way.

With all of my titles and accolades and recognition... still not enough? Now, I shake my head to think about it.

I shake my head because now I think about trying to outrun an Apocalyptic thunderstorm up the biggest and longest damn hill in Michigan...that... thrill.... I shake my head when I think about negotiating my pride with an all of a sudden riptide, and about watching vultures circle above me on mile 17 of a sweltering 20-mile August run...this, right now, is what I'm made of...

I shake my head and smile to think about the 'scooper-truck, Mommy...' incantations that carried me across a half-Ironman tape... priorities making appearances..., and about a mile-90 downpour with 20-mph headwinds taking a backseat to the thought of making cupcakes with sprinkles on some random Sunday; something as epically rewarding as Ironman morning when looking through the right eyes.

Out there I learned because of no piece of paper. Because of no tangible "proof", and no one really knowing except me if I gave up or not. Because of not giving up, and because of learning to accept myself even when having to once in a while. Because of seeing that being perfect is simply embracing a collection of imperfections. Flexible. Original. Ever-evolving. And one of a kind. All along. Enough.

All of these crucibles just so that I could see, and just so that I would believe. I was enough. For all of them. For me, I was enough. And from this far out and this long gone I see that it's only when we can accept ourselves as 'enough' that we can really believe others when they insist that we are. That and more.

This is what I see now looking back from this far out and this long gone.

And it will inevitably affect the rest of my way.