In Which I Demonstrate a Total Lack of Understanding of Planetary Physics

There are a bunch of people in my house. Mike goes to yoga, sometimes. David looks kind of burly, but I think he's just built that way. Kaitlyn said she doesn't like getting her "running" shoes dirty. Amanda is glowering in the corner. Nameless boyfriend goes out for a smoke every few hours. My wonderful flying, breast-stroking, almost-under-a-minute Sloth is not here. I'm here, though. And I feel out of place. Really out of place.
I'm not opposed to hanging out with non-athlete people. Some of my best friends describe their most athletic exploits as the "Lawrence Avenue Bus Chase." Or "If we run, we can make it to the Portside for last call." I used to date a girl who would ride about ten miles and then smoke afterward because she liked how it felt like the first time she smoked.
I'm starting to think that there's some creedence to surrounding yourself with people who have similar goals. Although the overwhelming immersion into the lifestyles that surround me now (or at least a little port window into them, God forbid I join the McDonalds and chain-smoking party.) is inspiring me to be that much more dramatically opposite. The feeling of "don't want to end up like that," isn't anywhere near as powerful as "let's do this hill repeat/20 mile run/ bike to x distant location" or "come on, we can do two or three more IM sets."
We.
It's elusive. It's difficult to make happen. I've been too close to the collapsible neutron star of a team. Sucked across the event horizon of balancing personal needs and team dynamics. I've been too far from it, orbiting the meetings and the team get-togethers like a distant ice planet, dropping in every so many lightyears.
I've been suspicious of teams since my senior year of high school and the subsequent college competitions. In high school, the idea of a cohesive we worked really well. But my senior year I spent juggling two a day workouts and a job and college and high school. As a result, I shot past my teammates, even those superstar sophomores whose genes by right made them much faster than me.
College sucked. Personal lives meshed with team expectations blended with obligation and a certain narrow-minded focus. Just never live with your teammates, problem solved!
It seems like all those people I knew then, or know now are different. They've either drifted away from sport as a focus of any magnitude, or have only recently gravitated on a collision course with it due for sudden impact and inevitable incineration.
So where to stand? I'm not in any danger of having kids to compromise my life. A certain God-given talent springs forth occasionally, frequently, even. My life has been left open, by design, to pursue something with that disgusting passion that makes eyes too bright and work too brutal for your average mortal. I'm not the fastest, the fittest or the most talented. But I'm still here, and after all this time, having seen the comings and goings of other celestial bodies, that counts for a lot.
I'm still competitive too, which counts for more. I'm hardly the Quenton Cassidy, springing back from a life of law to conquer the Olympic Trials marathon in my old age (I feel like he was about 25 in that book. Again to Carthage, for those of you not in the know). Still, there's desire, and as it seems to happen in most of my workouts, the second half is when I really come to life.
So. Where do I find other planets like me? Ones that orbit the same star? And how do I get close enough to share a common gravity without ending up like Earth in Melancholia? (I want my two hours back, Lars Von Trier!) Before I get my hopes too far up, it appears that after today's ridiculous hill workout, I might have. For the first time in my life, I might owe Facebook a sincere thank you. We'll see.