Intention

I recently finished reading Andre Agassi's autobiography "Open", the absorbing and inspiring story of one of tennis' greatest sons. The tale is an unexpected one and speaks more about dedication, loyalty and sheer determination than any misguided sense you may have that Agassi actually loved the game. In fact he asserts many times, just in case you don't believe him or continue to operate under the delusion that he comes to love tennis, the man hated the sport - consistently, unrelentingly, passionately. What ultimately made him successful was his growing sense of self, his acceptance of the contradictions and paradoxes in his own character and his understanding that the decision to actively, consciously choose what you do, can make all the difference between success and failure.  Towards the end of the book he speaks of the Andre Agassi College Preparatory Academy, a tuition-free charter school he established in his hometown Las Vegas, in one the city's most dilapidated areas, for at-risk children. The school is one of the achievements he is most proud of, ironic considering its founder and namesake dropped out of school in Grade 9. In his conclusion, he encourages us to seek those incongruities that make up our personalities, the conflicts and inconsistencies that dictate and underscore all the whys of our actions.

By nature I am risk-averse. I like routine. I like things to be familiar. I am scared of leaning too far beyond the safe barriers of what contains and prescribes my responsible existence. I am after all a wife, mother of three and an important contributor to our household's financial stability. Yet, I am also disinclined towards failure. Throw down a gauntlet anywhere in my vicinity, challenge me and the reaction is like a dare to a teenager high on a sense of their own invincibility. I will pursue a goal, any goal, even one unsafe and far outside my comfort zone for a taste of that perpetuity. Tell me I won't and I'll exceed your expectations. Tell me I can't and I'll make you forget you ever had any doubts.

Last year, I became obsessed with the idea of running the Comrades Marathon. It hit me suddenly, while running my dreaded 30 minutes on my least favourite instrument of torture, in my poorly ventilated gym - the treadmill. I wanted to run something bigger, better, more difficult... the most difficult. Within 2 months I was running 10 kms. I had joined the Bedfordview Running Club, which entailed rising at ungodly hours, driving though inky black and running until the sun rose. I was soon running 50 kms a week. I was also soon nursing a persistent ITB injury. Bouts of physio followed  by rest followed by exercise followed by more running and a return of the inflammation eventually forced me to confront the fact that running 10 kms let alone 87 kms was really not a very good idea. Was I disappointed? Most definitely. Did it leave a gaping hole of desire where my Comrades dream had briefly shone and unceremoniously died? I have to say, not consciously. Was I poised, primed, ready and waiting for the next thing, anything to come my way? Maybe.

There is no real explanation for why when just a few weeks ago an unexpected bbm arrived from a friend who is the Fund-raising and Marketing Manager for ORT JET SA, inviting me to climb Mt Kilimanjaro in support of one of their newest initiatives, the reaction was an immediate, visceral assent. (Yes, play on the word "ascent" was intended!) The invitation stated, "If it's something you've always dreamed of doing..." I had to laugh. Me? Dream of climbing a mountain? The tallest  mountain in Africa? The highest freestanding mountain in the world. Had I dreamed of this? Hilarious! Me of the structured bed time routines, inflexible homework schedules, slightly (ok, not so slightly) obsessive creator of highlighted, cross-referenced lists. Me, who lives my life rigidly within carefully delineated and self-created parameters - I would never dream of climbing Mt Kilimanjaro. Yet, within seconds, I knew I was on board. I was exhilarated. I was terrified.

And what does that say about me?  I am afraid to dream, that I dare to dream. That I crave safety and certainty, but I secretly harbour a yearning for adventure. That I am disciplined and rigid, but that same determination will sustain hours of training and preparation to allow me something magical and inspiring. I tend to look in, to engage in self-reflection, self-doubt, self-criticism - but what I really want is to look up and out, to gain perspective from a higher vantage point. I want to be inspired, but I also want to inspire. Is Agassi right? Does our greatest strength come not from a certainty about who we are, but the ability to accept that we are a compilation of incongruities; a composition in progress, a song with the lyrics still being written, every day, every moment we exist and learn and discover.

Why should I want to climb to almost 6000m above sea level through five different climate zones and a night of darkness and ice to meet dawn at the top of Africa? I don't know. Why shouldn't I? The adventure has begun.

by Tali Frankel