Triathlete magazine had a brilliant article about it a couple months ago titled, 'What Quits First, The Body or The Mind?' The article went on to argue that the physiological capacity exists to in your body to continue, finish or complete a physical task but the brain can and will override the entire system. It's just like a daily limit on your bank account; you might know you have enough funds to continue withdrawing cash, but the machine says No.

Having Bonked as an athlete, student, while working in marketing and as a leader, I can say (with great pride) I haven't been to that place too many times. But when I arrive the feeling is all too familiar.

One leg won't go in front of the other. You cannot swallow, throw up or think. You notice your audible breathing. You are light headed and seeing stars or you are dizzy and seeing dark. All reasonable, logical, complete thought ceases to exist. You are at the mercy of your emotions, your brain reduced to one single thought.

You Can't Do It.

It doesn't matter what IT is, physical, emotional, tangable task. Body Says No. Mind Says No. Everything stops working. Life is insurmountable and you are a oozy ball of goo that can't make anything happen.

Laying on the granite floor in the bedroom I can count the dustbunnies under the bed. I can feel my eyebrows knitted in tension. It's Saturday in my world but I have stopped knowing the Days, only the number I have left. Days. Nothing exists outside my small mind huddled in its own misery. I have my knees curled up in fetal positon and the only thought I possess is that I Can't Do It. I can't finish prep day I can't lead this trip, I can't be a good leader, I won't make it to Friday, I can't move from this position on the ground.

I Can't.

I lay on the floor until my phone rings. There is still hours of work to be done. It is my sister.

She raw raw raws me and I cry cry cry on the floor. My mind says No. We finish the conversation and I sit up for a moment.

With every ounce of energy I can gather up I walk to the bathroom and run cold water through my platinum bleach blonde hair (another blog for another time, this is what happens when you go to a hair dresser that speaks no English and you try to explain in detail what you want using your extremely limited communication skills) put eye cream under the huge dark circles and recall every major get up and go song ever played in a football stadium. And then I move.

There is still work to be done.