Growing up I was constantly reminded that, “life is a marathon, not a sprint.” My mom, coaches, teachers, and other adults would tell me this almost daily. At times, I thought they were all in on a cruel joke! I hated these reminders! They did not make sense, why would you tell somebody that has a goal to slow down? Devoted to a pool, putting in 3 hours a day staring at a black-line does something to your mental state. I just wanted to go faster.
A quick side note about swimming, feel free to skip this paragraph. For those of you who have met or dated dedicated swimmers, or maybe is a swimmer, will understand the different mental state I am referencing. Like, who in their right mind wants to wake up at 4:00 am to be in a cold pool, wearing a speedo, unable to see the sunrise because you are staring at the bottom of the pool, and then go on with the rest of their day like it never happened? On top of that, have you ever realized that swimmers not only smell like chlorine and have fried hair, but they also train WAY TO MUCH! Swimmers become quite strange people if they stick with it for a while!
Once I entered college, my coach quickly noticed my work ethic. At some point during my freshman or sophomore year, he pulled me aside and told me to stop training so much. Not a typical thing to hear from a coach. During that time, he convinced me to take a week for spring break and go backpacking through Zion National Park with the school's outdoor club. That trip rekindled my love for the outdoors, but I was still focused on playing sports at college. One teammate in specific came up to me in the library and said, “Yo man, you kinda scare me, you are like a robot.” I laughed and headed home to sleep. Obviously, I wasn’t a robot!
As the years past and I started to dabble my feet in the world around me, I fell off the band-wagon of working hard. Or, at least people stopped telling me that I scared them. Maybe my human-self began to poke out. Maybe something else got me moving in another direction, but, I didn’t feel any different. The routine kinda killed me, especially when graduation rolled around. Unsure where to go or what to do, I decided to cycle around the South Island of New Zealand upon graduation.
During the decompression trip, I filled three journals with subconscious thoughts. Sleeping in a tent and riding every day, all day long, gave me the ability to work out some of my mental blocks that the routine had created. Ironically, I was still bound by routine for I had to return home and get a job. At least, that is what I thought. Six months later, I was living in a car, had endless time, and not much money, yet I was finally free. As six months turned to a year, which turned to two, all those people who were playing a cruel joke on me switched up their rhetoric. Now the broken record sounded more like, “You are just kicking the can each time you take a trip. Why don’t you go finish your master’s degree and get a real job.” Scoff.
The next three years of freedom got me to where I am today; living in a van and photographing for a living. My freedom is almost unparalleled when compared to those who told me to get a job. Ironically, they are now telling me, “it looks like you might have done things right! It only takes 20 years to become an expert in the field. I hope you are looking forward to putting in your time.”
Maybe, growing up as a swimmer defined me. Maybe, I would be doing something else if my coach had not told me to train a little less. Maybe, I would be right where I am regardless. All I figured out thus far is we all run our marathons at different paces.