Like everyone else

I don’t think we realize how connected we are. Too often we insist on feeling isolated, different, special--as if being distinguished from the crowd makes us better, happier. It doesn’t. The truth is we’re interwoven more than we allow ourselves to realize. Support from friends and strangers alike allow us to tell ourselves we’re unique, and we take it in like it’s the air we breathe. I don’t think we need to cling to special anymore. Isn’t it better to be loved, encouraged, able to flourish to your potential than to pat yourself on the back for staying your course alone? It sounds so conceited it’s laughable, but we all do it. My tri friends do it because they bust their asses hours a day. My smart friends do it because people are dumbasses. My engineer friends do it because most people are absurdly frightened of numbers or have no sense at all. Of course, I’m included in every one of those groups... I wish I could say I’ve always considered that being distinctive was the biggest lie we tell ourselves (it probably is by the way), but I just thought about it today. We all have scars that define us, distance us from others—but we all have them. And isn’t that my point?

The guy in charge of my freshman year dorm said something similar to me 6 years ago, but I wasn't quite ready to hear it. I was fretting about my cramped living quarters and lifestyle clashes with one of my roommates, and he listened attentively. After we dealt with the problem he said something along the lines of "It amazes me how many experiences we all share, but we feel so alone. Maybe if we were more open with each other we wouldn't have to make the same mistakes over and over again." I nodded and left because I wasn't really listening-- I was getting a new room when I returned from winter break! When I got back though, J.T. was gone... a huge bummer because not only was he a great asset to the South 40, I'd also never thanked him properly for his support.

Where’d all this come from? Oh, a little thing called fundraising. Right now I’m raising money for the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund via the Janus Charity Challenge. The JCC is a program for Ironman competitors to race for something besides hardware (and let’s face it: my AZ age group finish will be the last for a long while). I initially set what seemed like a lofty goal of $2,000 and was afraid to ask anyone if they’d donate. Why? Because I felt alone. Why would anyone care about my cause? Their moms probably weren’t dead from ovarian cancer. When I did finally bite the bullet and send out some emails (what could it hurt?) I was astounded at the response. People whose lives have been touched by ovarian cancer donated. Friends of mine--and friends of friends--who don’t give a rat’s behind about what I’m promoting gave money, and people I don’t even know donated because they appreciate what I’m doing or why I'm doing it. My family expressed utter surprise I’d even finished ONE ironman, let alone was training for my third—I never tell them stuff like that because I assume they wouldn’t care. It turns out they do. It’s been amazing, and great motivation... something I need in the sweltering Tropic of Houston.

If you’re feeling generous, here is the link to my fundraising site:
http://www.januscharitychallenge.com/wi06/mishelek
You can read my story and help out if you want—and I urge you to. Gosh it is SO MUCH EASIER to fundraise when you care about what you’re doing! I want to raise as much money as I can because I believe strongly in the OCRF objectives. More importantly, I don’t want to let my mom’s memory down, and those are the best reasons I can come up with.

You want to know something else? Only about 30-50 athletes of the 1800+ in the race choose to participate in the program...and being a part of a group that small makes me feel downright special.