Don't Stop It

I’ve wondered for a long time why I feel so genetically programmed to persist in taking on physical challenges with each passing decade.

My original personal trainer.

My father is entirely to blame.

He took my training wheels off before I was ready. I failed swim class and was made to re-take lessons until I passed. Then learn to water-ski - slalom - by age 9. In the garage, with a punching bag, he taught me how to box. Not to be a fighter, but to “hit once, make it count, and run like hell.”

As a teen, I had to ride my ten-speed to the tops of mountains with him. (His mantra: “Don’t stop till you get to the top.”) He took me down double diamond runs at Squaw Valley and Heavenly, my skis attacking moguls in awkward, ungraceful bounces marked by tears and gnashing of teeth.

Game for a single ski. Not really.

You’d think, wouldn’t you, that once I graduated high school I’d rebel like a normal person? Oppose my father’s oppressive ways – lead a sedentary life, become a pear-shaped computer programmer or the slacker star of a Richard Linklater film? 

But no: the avid, near rabid quest to mountain bike, snowboard, surf, and sail offshore marked my 20s and 30s like permanent tattoos. When the going got tough, I'd catch myself inadvertently singing, Don't stop till you get to the top to the beat of Michael Jackson's Don't Stop Till You Get Enough.

My early 40s involved an uphill battle to complete a marathon. As I neared the finish line, a 75-year-old man sprinted past me. Then a woman with prosthetic legs flew by. I won’t tell you my finish time, but the volunteers were disassembling barriers as I hobbled along muttering my father's hymn.

(Side note about the 40s: You finally have the stamina and attention span to do tackle endurance activities while your body screams, "Why didn't you do this when you were 20?")

My late 40s are lately consumed with motorcycling, which I never thought could ever be as difficult as single track mountain biking. Now I know. I have a lot to learn. And it's harder than I thought it would be. On the other hand, it's just another mountain to climb. Dad's voice is in there saying, Don’t stop till you get to the top. The man is 80, still lifting weights and running - half of his three-mile route uphill. Don’t stop till you get to the top. 

I can’t actually see this mythical land of finales he's been referring to my whole life. All I know is that stopping before I get there won't ever be an option.