Updated: Nov 9, 2019
I wrote the title to this blog entry and promptly got stumped. Where did it all begin? Perhaps when I started running just before the age of 40. Or probably, more accurately, much, much earlier...when I was a young child. I vividly remember at the age of three deciding I was quite capable of going down the shops and buying myself some groceries. So sitting firmly on my tricycle, I informed my mother I was off shopping, and headed out. Needless to say, once my mother had completed cooking and couldn't find me, she learnt not only am I rather impulsive, but to take my whimsical statements with some seriousness.
Looking back, I guess I have always be an adventurer. I have the self-.belief that I can achieve whatever I choose to do. But having said this, I am not sure whether this is always a virtue. It certainly doesn't feel like it at the beginning of almost any challenge. Standing there at the start, without fail I wonder what on earth possessed me to do such a thing! Like joining the military at the age of eighteen, or trying open water swimming for the first time in eleven degree celsius water. I feel like a right numpty who once again has overestimated her abilities.
Whatever the source of my rather impulsive nature, the fact remains that there is not one adventurous thing I have done that I regret.
With every event, whether completing or having that sinking feeling of disappointment in oneself, I learn and I grow. I learn that I can do far more than I ever thought possible. I also have learnt to put life's little annoyances into perspective - compared to being moments away from hypothermia on the side of a mountain, or 35 miles into a marathon and feeling like I am going to die, I cope.
But at this moment in time, five days before my 49th birthday, I firmly believe that the last ten years have been by far the happiest and most fulfilling of my life. I am sure that a big part of that is putting myself out there, risking failure, and no matter what the outcome, feeling like I did my best.