He has a point. I like to think I don't give up on things. Sure, I've done my share of fucking around (quitting my job at NZ Post after just two weeks is a pretty good example of this), but in general, I finish things I start. I recall one day - and I'm glad it was only one day - during my Worlds buildup, where I came home and crawled into bed, chewing on my sushi listlessly and wondering if I really wanted to go. In fact, if I'm honest, it was more than that. I didn't want to go. That afternoon was spent trying to convince myself that I did want to go. It took a lot. But I soldiered on, thinking of the glory I assumed would come attached to my world title (namely, Donny). There's been other occasions. I very nearly walked out on makeup school, about six days before graduation. I cried underwater during swim training before I went to Athens. When my leg was healing from surgery, I sometimes went without my splint in favour of wearing heels (those were the days when I could still wear heels, dammit). And perhaps worst of all, I decided running at the NTC final with a snapped tibia was preferable to letting it heal properly and giving me a better following season.
My pre-Athens nightmare
I don't know why Donny is so surprised. I care about triathlon, swimming, makeup, athletics, and heels about one million times less than I care about him. So no, even though sometimes, when you send me horrible texts at 2am with so many curse words and offensive phrases I lose count, I will not give up on you, ever.