Muhammad Ali once said, “I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.’”
I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about quotes like that. Thinking about how great champions — heroes of the sports world! — pushed themselves to the limits … overcame obstacles … undertook grueling training to climb high atop pedestals of glory.
I am on a similar quest. A similar training program that I hope will bring me greatness. It will push my body to the limits. Finely tune me so I’m ready for anything. No, not just anything. Just one thing — my single-minded focus — my Mt. Everest — my championship — MY glory!!!!
To conquer Orlando in the heat of the summer. (Cue triumphant hero music.)
Many have tried and crumbled. Their hearts broken. Their bodies failing them. Their will to succeed destroyed. Mostly they were betrayed by their minds — their confidence torn to shreds. Or their wallets. Or their inability to sit in stop-and-go traffic without moving an inch — NOT A SINGLE INCH! The weakest of them burst into blue flames of frustration. Unable to return to the place of their humiliation, they’ve booked tickets to Dollywood this summer.
I’ve come close to failure in O-town. I’ve almost been defeated by the scorching heat that tries to press you like an iron. The dehydration caused by a refusal to purchase any more $4.50 bottles of water. I nearly buckled while a child sat atop my shoulders during the nighttime Main Street Electrical Parade. Sweat spilled down my sides and my knees wobbled.
So this year I’m training. Pushing myself to the limits so I am prepared for anything. I’ve gone days without a sip of water. Eaten bugs for protein (you never know when you might need to save money in Orlando.) Worn snow suits to do yard work, all to simulate the heat I will face.
I’ve tied ropes around my arms and dangled from swing sets. It will ready my joints for being violently jerked in one direction and then suddenly in another. I’ve learned how to get my wallet out of a sweaty pair of shorts using only my pinky. I’ve thrown 50-gallon drums in the backyard to give me strength for all the tossing — the endless tossing! — of my daughter in the pool. And I have navigated an entire city with my eyes closed, just in case I ever go blind from the sun and need to navigate out of a gift shop.
Nothing is getting left out. I’m covering all scenarios. Like how to avoid this frequent back and forth:
Dad: OK, now listen carefully. You can have only one. Got it? Am I clear? One. That’s it. Now, how many do you want?
Daughter: Can I have five?
Dad: Maybe you misheard me. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I said “one.” Solamente uno. Now, how many?
Daughter: 14!
Dad: No! Ha-ha … listen! I’m serious. Remember my hypertension. How … many?
Daughter: 40!
Dad: (Unrepeatable). FINE! Have 40 scoops of ice cream! I don’t care …
This year a flip of an eyebrow and some neatly placed inflection will get the exchange I am looking for:
Daughter: Tell you what, my dear sweet pa-pa. What do you say we skip the ice cream and put the money you worked so hard for toward my college savings. Or even a Porsche. Either way, I’m quite satisfied. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going over there to pray for world peace.
It hasn’t been easy. The training has nearly broken me. I hallucinate constantly. I’ve lost 22 pounds. I have callouses all over my hands and feet. Most of my hair has fallen out. I’ve lost all sense of taste and smell. I seem to be growing a third nipple.
But it’s worth it. And most importantly, it will make me ready. Ready for anything Orlando throws my way. Ready to overcome all adversity. Ready to become a champion — to live the rest of my life in the glory that is my destiny.