Fear doesn’t vanish — it’s managed, stroke by stroke. Here’s how to keep moving when there’s no shore in sight.
W. T. F. am I doing here?
Half a mile from shore, alone in a Central Florida lake.
The pack has disappeared ahead of me.
I bob in the open water, chest heaving, wetsuit pressing tight, the question rises with every heartbeat: “What if I can’t make it?”
When you’re treading water this far out, you have to shut down fear before it pulls you under.
Out here, in the deep water, it has to be managed, stroke by stroke.
Out here, in the deep water, there's no shore.
No pool walls to rest on.
Just the curve of the horizon and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
All you can do is trust.
Trust the wetsuit to keep you afloat.
Trust that every pool lap, every open-water swim, every hour of training has prepared you for this moment.
At the back of the pack, you face two realities: get kicked and clawed by other flailing swimmers, or swim alone.
Today, it’s alone.
The kayak volunteer edges closer, paddle resting across her lap. “You good?” she calls. Close enough to respond if needed,
far enough to let you sort your own shit out.
That’s the deal in triathlon.
A nod, two fist bumps to the head signals all good. “Just need a minute.”
I glance at my watch, and shrug.
"WTF. Gotta get moving."
The journey back to shore begins.
Breath steadies.
Arms find rhythm.
Twenty minutes later, I’ll be back at this same spot, the kayak volunteer still there — a shadow of quiet support.
Back at the shore, a quick wave to Marcia, a nervous smile, and then it’s time to push off again.
One more mile.
Earlier, in the pre-dawn darkness, I’d asked a volunteer to scrawl a “C” on one hand and an “F” on the other.
She looked at me funny, but if a 55-year-old man about to race 140.6 miles asks, you don’t say no.
With every stroke, I see them: F for Focus. C for Calm.
Breathe in … Calm. Breathe out … Focus.
No stopping this time. A wave to the kayaker, and a turn back toward shore.
WTF! I made it!
Stepping onto land meant the hardest part of the day was over for me.
112 miles on the bike and a 26.2 mile run still lay ahead, but I passed the test I feared the most.
Fear Doesn’t Have to Win. |
Here’s a picture from that day. You can see the mix of relief and pride in my face.
And right there on my hands, the “C” and the “F.”
The ink washed away after the race, but the lesson didn’t.
Fear always comes back.
And it can be managed — stroke by stroke, breath by breath.
Maybe your “C and F” won’t be in marker before a triathlon.
Maybe it’s a word taped to your computer screen,
A stone in your pocket,
Or a line you whisper before walking into a hard conversation.
Whatever form it takes, the message is the same:
Fear doesn’t have to win
Take a few minutes to reflect on these prompts as you consider your next chapter.
1. Who or what has been the kayak at your side during one of your WTF moments?
2. What simple reminder, like “Calm” and “Focus”, will you carry into your next challenge?
3. When was the last time you faced fear and kept going anyway? What did you learn about yourself?
If one of the prompts speaks to you, let me know. I’d love to hear your story.
-Mark
Mark Wigginton, MS, Certified Professional Coach
Personal Coach | Midlife Guide | Today I'm Brave
📬 MarkW@FocusingOnResults.com
🌐 www.focusingonresults.com
🔗 Connect with me on LinkedIn
P.S. If this message resonated with you, it might speak to someone else too. Forward it to a friend who’s ready for their next chapter—you never know what kind of shift a few words of encouragement can spark.
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