EDIT: Here is another perspective on why pro triathletes may not be getting as much publicity as they should or could. I know this is all about money, but if WTC is purposely keeping pro athletes from gaining popularity, that’s pretty sad.
I think one of the coolest things about triathlon is racing with the pros. Age groupers are fascinated by the ungodly splits, mysterious lifestyles, and mythical training schedules. All of which is why I think a lot of pros are missing a huge opportunity.
Age Groupers are rabid fans who can’t get enough of their sport, but I’m pretty sure most “Ironmen” can’t name more than one or two pros in their race. I write and think about triathlon every day, and the Pro Roster at Wisconsin was totally off my radar.
Konstantin Bachor, after setting a new Wisconsin bike course record
I’d imagine it has to feel like a traveling circus for many pro triathletes. Showing up in random towns with other endurance freaks so the age groupers can gawk at their oddities. But, just like carnivals, triathlons have a built in, and captive customer base.
Occasionally I will strike a conversation with a pro at a race and they have always been really cool, but I am typically unimpressed by the way most handle their online presence. Some are accessible, but most of the time it feels like the conversations are “inside baseball.”
I went to Wisconsin to “cover” Ironman simply because I love the sport and culture. I was shocked by how many people recognized me and said they read Crushing Iron. Open communication resonates, and I certainly connected with a bunch of new friends and readers.
I have written over 500 posts about triathlon and while I’m certain much of it is BS, I rarely hear or get responses from pros. I don’t mean praise or positive reinforcement, but a quick barb, thank you, disagreement, or whatever.
Last night, out of the blue, I did get a “thank you” on Twitter from Pedro Gomes for posting a picture of him at Ironman Wisconsin. I didn’t even tag his name under the photo because I wasn’t sure who he was. But now I know.
Not only did he thank me, he followed, responded again, then sent his email so I could link him some video I shot at the race.
Pedro Gomes, 3rd Place at Ironman Wisconsin 2014
It’s not a huge deal, but I thought it was cool, so I checked out his website, and Race Report (which included a photo credit for me). You can rest assured my friends will now be getting a taste of Pedro Gomes 1st place predictions.
A little Twitter love goes a long ways. I’ve heard from Jodie Swallow, Mirinda Cafrae, Ben Hoffman, and . . . well, that’s about it, but I definitely remember and talk about them.
I just think with all this talk about cutting pros out of races, etc, it would be in their best interests to build followings and marketable brands for coaching, merchandise, or general leverage with sponsors. I would certainly order a “Gomes Racing” or “I Follow The Swallow” t-shirt.
I really enjoy having pros at races and think it’s important for the integrity of the sport. But with the growing popularity of Ironman among the carnival goers, it makes you wonder if the pro circuit is losing some of its allure with race directors.
Here’s the official Crushing Iron video from Ironman Louisville 2014. This is been a pretty heavy year for me and some close friends (maybe more transitional) and I think this video sums up a lot of the feelings.
I really appreciate the support of everyone who travelled to see us tackle a very difficult day. Mom, Chris, Rebekah, Pete, Jim, and Allie were there every step of the way, and we all know spectating an Ironman is no walk in the park.
A special thanks to my brother Chris for capturing so many amazing moments with the camera, and to Sarah, who graciously watched my dog Mattie for the weekend.
Here’s to Robbie and Elyse who trained their asses off to rock Louisville.
I’ve written an Ironman Louisville race report, but feel like the run deserves a little more attention. Namely because it was the hardest and most confusing athletic endeavor I have ever experienced.
I say “athletic endeavor” but my journey was much more reminiscent of Fear Factor meets 65 “Ice Cup Challenges.”
The only thing I can compare it to was the run last year at Ironman Wisconsin. It was a very similar experience, but this year I felt much better getting off the bike, so the collapse is even more intriguing.
My run at Wisconsin was 4:23 and hurt every step. My Louisville time was 5:27 and damn near killed me.
God, that run. I don’t even know how to describe it other than a precession of 25 Aid Station hunts. One mile at a time, I blindly felt my way through darkness under searing sunlight. An endless mirage that tugged and taunted until the finish line was my only remaining option.
I mean, the heat is obviously the reason Louisville’s run turned me into a corn on the cob, but I still have deeper questions: When and how did it fall apart?
Did I push too hard on the bike? Sure didn’t feel like it. I nearly lived in the small ring, coasted all downhills and rarely felt like I was hammering. The main problem I had on the bike was my neck.
But, there is just no other reasoning that makes sense. I must have been much hotter on the bike than I realized. That, and/or I didn’t get enough fluids. I mean, how else could I be that hot, that fast on the run?
There is no doubt I ran my first mile too fast (9:38) but I honestly felt strong off the bike. It wasn’t until the first Aid Station when I started seeing two headed vulcans.
Exactly one mile into the marathon I was in survival mode. Volunteers were cooling water and Perform bottles in those little kiddie pools and all I could think about was parking my hot ass in the middle of their stash.
I also had a gut cramp, which didn’t help matters. I popped salt and chicken broth to no avail. Maybe I should have gone with more Perform? I just couldn’t even look at that stuff after the bike. I would have surely puked.
This run felt like trudging through a swamp on the hottest day of the year. My body, including my feet, were soaked, and nothing was drying off. BUT, that ice was certainly melting.
By the time I was a quarter mile away from the Aid Station, I was scrambling for any secret to save my melting ice. It was my personal cartoon where the character melts and seeps into the sewer grates.
All of my injuries were a mute point. They had ZERO to do with this run. My legs (and ribs) felt fine. It was just an overall feeling of sloth. A muddled and confused “forward is technically a pace” adventure.
There was a period of time when I felt outside my body, only be reminded by some very nice liar that I was looking good. “You look good, Mike, hang in there!”
I looked like shit and have video to prove it (which I will soon be releasing for the world to make fun of). It will be a public humiliation like never witnessed before. Life of Brian shit.
But, seriously, I’m glad I had the sense to spend time cooling my core. It could have been a very bad ending and we wouldn’t have had any video to laugh at later this month.
I did make it, but in typical me fashion, I’m a little pissed that I walked at all. I may not have been “run ready” for this race, but I think my legs where there. I really do. It is this core temperature thing that I don’t quite understand.
I was over an hour slower at Louisville than Wisconsin. I think I was in at least as good of shape . . . and clearly 20 degrees makes a big difference, but when and how did it go off the rails?
Racing Ironman is nearly as complex as the human immune system, and just like the body, sometimes it’s best not to overthink how it works.
My goal for this race was sub 12 hours and I was quietly confident it would be a reality. I was pretty sure I’d hit the run with about 4 1/2 hours to spare and that was true, but I was not prepared for furnace.
Pre-Race
Everyone gathered at the Downtown Marriott at 5:30 and we walked to transition. I carried a couple of pre-sliced Power Bars, some pretzel bits, and two water bottles. I had a tech fill my tires to 108 psi then racked my bike.
The age-grouper across from me was getting assistance on how to fill his tires and the volunteer kept telling him to stop pumping. The racer insisted he rolled at 140 psi and I couldn’t help but think that was asking for trouble in the heat.
Robbie and I decided to start in the back of the swim and waited for the line to come to us. We watched the pros, then about 1,000 others jump in before going to the top and loosening up. I’d put in a lot of time on swim and felt pretty good, but starting last had me a little nervous. You never know with Ironman, you just never know.
My goal was to swim below 1:15 with much less effort than I put in at Wisconsin to get 1:20.
The Swim
At about 7:30, the end of the line finally showed up and we climbed on the back. I had that eery pre-race calm again, but this time it felt like denial. A mere 5 minutes before an Ironman, it didn’t feel real. I didn’t believe I was actually doing it.
I took that as a good sign as Robbie and I walked down the pier completely calm. We exchanged a hand slap and jumped in the Ohio seconds apart.
I’d been working hard on my swim and my stroke was there from the beginning. I felt smooth, under control, and in no fear of panic. But, I had totally underestimated the congestion.
I’m not going to say the contact was like the mass start at Wisconsin, but it was close. Typically you feel the wake of someone as you approach and either sit in it or move around to pass them, but when they are breast stroking or treading water, it’s a different story.
I’d looked at the channel the day before by bike, so I knew it was longer than most thought, but despite many warnings I underestimated the distance to the turn buoy once you clear the island.
I’d heard stories about the Ohio River. The channel was just like any other body of water, but once I got out into the river, my under-water-visibility went from two feet to the other side of my goggle lens. There was about 50 yards when all I could see was brown silt. It was a little claustrophobic, but went away quick enough.
I’m guessing it’s around 400 yards from the end of the island to the turn buoy. Once I got around that, it was smooth sailing.
My swim strategy was to go easy to the end of the Island, go hard to the buoy, then find a nice-long-stroke-groove down stream. It worked nearly perfectly to the tune of 1:06.
T1
I can honestly say this may have been the best I’ve ever felt getting out of the water in a triathlon. Typically I’m breathing hard, and battling equilibrium, but on this day I was ready.
I jogged up the ramp and into transition. A volunteer handed me my bag, I put on shoes, shades, and my helmet, then bolted out of transition for sunscreen. I was about to pull my bike off the rack when I realized I was still wearing my swim skin!
I just started laughing and asked the volunteer if they would throw it into my bag, and of course, they said yes.
I grabbed my Trek and started walking. Then jogging . . . then naturally hit another gear. I felt great as I ran through the Swim Out and mounted my bike for a mysterious 112 mile ride. My time goal was to be at about 6 hours with less energy than I used at Wisconsin for 6:03.
The Bike
My plan was simple. Take the bike easy, stay in aero as much as possible, and occasionally push myself on the flats.
I was taking it by feel with an overall goal to ride easily through the first loop, work on the second, then cruise the final 25-30 easily back into transition.
I don’t wear a Garmin, heart monitor, or ride with a power meter. I totally go by feel and for the most part nailed this ride.
There were a lot of hills but none that made me notice or think about getting out of my saddle. Most of the time I found downhill momentum taking care of the next climb on the many rollers.
I’d talked with a lot of people about this course and by all indications the toughest section was the early out and back. It was two tough climbs with some fast and hairy downhills.
I didn’t find the climbs that difficult, but the hairiness was real.
Though not as narrow as I expected the road was jammed with people and on my first downhill (which I road in 1/2 aero with one hand on my back brake) I had a difficult time stopping before nearly slamming into a group at the bottom.
Once back onto the main road I thought to myself, if that was the worst of it, I may crush this ride. Well, it may have been the worst, but there was plenty of formidable challenges waiting.
In all, the hardest part for me was the mere distance. My longest ride of the year was 80 miles and that’s about the time my fatigue began to show.
It wasn’t so much my legs as it was my back and neck. It was getting very hard to look up from aero and hurt nearly as much to look down. It was a constant fight the last 30 miles.
I’d ridden mostly in aero during training, but after some reflecting I’ve decided the nature of my riding (which was mostly on a protected 1.2 mile loop) was with my head down. There was no traffic or danger of leaving the road so my neck didn’t get the training it needed.
I also swam mainly in a pool and wasn’t used to sighting as much so that awkward neck pain may have started with sighting the swim.
The ride was smooth, if not boring. Other than LaGrange and one little section right before it, there was virtually no crowd support. LaGrange helped, but the last 40 miles were barren and lonely.
They were also fast and it was hard to stick to my plan of taking it easy. Especially the last 15 miles when you’re so close and mainly downhill in the shade.
Speaking of which, the sun was behind clouds most of the bike, which was a huge break. I didn’t really notice it much at all, but did start thinking about it as I cruised home on River Road under the trees. I knew it was there, but didn’t want to acknowledge its presence.
I felt strong cruising in at 5:56 and, other than my neck, thought I was ready to finish Ironman Louisville with a bang.
T2
I didn’t hear the part about Bike Dismount being moved to the edge of the road instead of right before the “Bike In” and it cost me. Instead of leaving my shoes on the pedals 15 yards away from handing off my bike I was now running 100 yards down a concrete path in my bike shoes.
It was not going well and I actually stopped early to take them off and run the rest barefoot. This, didn’t go very well either, but I made it into transition, grabbed my bag and headed to the tent for round two.
I was rolling the dice with this run. Nothing was pointing to a good time. My achilles forced me to more or less take the last two months off. My longest run in that time was 5 miles. I upped my bike and swim frequency, did a lot of strength and balance exercises, but not much running at all. Still, I believed I could pull off a miracle and as I ran out of transition, I thought it would come true.
The Run
My support crew was waiting right outside transition and gave me a huge boost. Jim ran along with me for a couple hundred yards checking my vitals and I assured him “I felt great.” We slapped hands and I was off on a journey I will not soon forget.
I really did feel good. I had no foot pain and my bruised rib hadn’t bothered me all day. Could I pull this thing off with virtually no run training? I would soon have my answer.
By the time I reached the first Aid Station, my fortunes had taken a dramatic turn. I suddenly felt like I was in a sauna for the last 9:38 (Despite my effort to go slow, my first mile was much too fast). I couldn’t get enough ice water in or on me.
I was so hot that a mere ten minutes into my run I was concerned about my health. If I couldn’t get my core temperature under control, there would be no finish line.
This would be my ultimate test of patience.
I held ice in my hands, dumped more in my shorts, and tied a bandana full of it to secure on my head. I was a moving melt down.
My Garmin band broke in T2 so I was resetting my chrono watch at every mile marker. My vision was playing tricks in the heat, but I was becoming more disappointed by the moment as I kept seeing 11+ minutes for my pace.
I’m sure a minute of that time was being spent walking through Aid Stations. I mean, I was loading up with ice. I couldn’t get enough. I was walking through all the sprinklers and even crossed the road to have a guy to hose me down front, back, and sideways. It was desperation mode and I had no answer.
Adding to the discomfort was a stomach cramp for which I had no solution. This was all new territory for me. I was digging into my gut trying to release that pressure. I tried yelling it away, drinking chicken broth, Coke, downing salt, all to no avail. It was fruitless, and on top of it all I felt like there was not enough water in the world to quench my thirst. I pounded water, which I’m guessing only fueled the cramps.
My first 13.1 miles were around 2:15 and if I could have repeated that feat, I would have hit my goal of sub 12 hours. But as I limped halfway into the Finisher’s Chute, I could think of nothing in the world I wanted to do less than run that loop again. I was an emotional wreck as volunteers held out my Special Needs bag, which I regretfully declined.
In reflection, I cannot believe I did not change my socks at that point. In fact, in the future I will have a spare pare of insoles waiting too.
My feet were soaked and dry socks may have been a huge relief, but I was still in cooling mode and knew I would pour water on them at the next Aid Station. It all seemed hopeless as I headed out to another “turnaround” that seemed like it would never come.
Everyone I asked about this run course said there was “zero shade,” and I was finally starting to believe them. It got to the point where I would see a 10 foot patch of shade from an overhanging tree and get an erection.
I ran the entire way (other than Aid Stations) to mile marker 16 but there was something about that number, and more specifically the fact that I had 10 miles left (and had to run them all at 10 minutes or less to hit my goal) that ruined me. I started to run/walk.
I honestly didn’t know if I could make it. Ten more miles seemed unreasonable and frankly not worth it. My core was still hot, but now it was the blisters.
At mile 20 I sat on the side of the road to take off my shoe because I thought a toenail had fallen off and was lodged under my foot. That was the sensation, but my toes were “fine.”
I was highly disappointed in myself for walking. I have never understood or been a fan of walking the marathon at the end of an Ironman. In some ways it seems like a failure to me, like you don’t deserve to be called an Ironman.
But even walking was hard.
My walk/run plan was 2:00 of walking followed by 4:00 of running. It was holding up fairly well, but somewhere around mile 22.5 a guy in my age group walked next to me and said, “I want to run right now, but can’t really think of any good reason to do it.” I agreed with him and that was my longest walk section of the day, probably a half mile.
He was right. It didn’t seem worth it.
It is very cruel to watch your dream dwindle away while the clock is still ticking. I knew 12 hours was long gone and even 12:30, but I did not want to flirt with 13. So with roughly 3 miles to go, I wished him luck and decided I was done with Aid Stations and walking. I would run this home.
Shortly thereafter, I surmised that it was now less painful to run than walk. I focused everything I had on consistent, short strides and barreled ahead. That is what I wanted to do for the entire race, but for some reason, I couldn’t get it straight in my mind. I didn’t want it bad enough.
Now, I just wanted it to be over.
I was nearly 140 miles into my journey and I was running. This sport is so mental.
The finish line tugged at me and I no longer needed water or ice. I just needed to be done.
When I turned the final corner and saw the majestic Louisville finish line, I was temporarily ready to do it again. I zipped up my jersey, straightened my visor and floated down the chute. Where was this energy 10 miles ago?
I was all alone as I ran down the carpet, scanning the crowd for my team. And right before I crossed under the arch, I saw them on the left and veered off for a quick hug. It was perfect, and I stood on the finish line 12 hours and 42 minutes after I started.
The hardest thing I’ve ever done, was over.
My brother, Rebekah, and my mom. The best support crew on the planet!Me with Pete who drove down from Wisconsin. We’ve stayed friends since freshman year of college.
So, I’m living most men’s dream come true. In a downtown hotel with a bachelorette party in the next room. Too bad it’s the night before my Ironman.
I ran into the mother of the bride and told her the deal and she suggested I meet the girls. I explained that I have spent a lot of years in their shoes and don’t want to be a dick about it, but just wanted to know their schedule.
They assured me they will be going out fairly early, coming home late and passing out. Last night they were true to their form. I actually woke up around 3:30 and heard them coming up the hallway going, “Shhh” to each other.
Pretty cool… in reality, if I get to sleep early enough and they come home around 4:00 that would be a perfect way to wake up. I’m still weighing the option of trading rooms with my mom, however.
——–
We’re headed to transition soon to cheek our bikes and drop bags. I hope to have a pre-race report after dinner.
One note, we did a practice swim, bike, run today and the most noticeable factor is the current of the river. It rained like mad last night so the current is pretty strong for the down stretch. Swimming into it, however, is no picnic. Luckily most of that .6 or so miles up stream is protected.
It is definitely hot, but appears it won’t be the reported 100 degrees. I am serious when I say this, but I truly think I would rather be biking or running in this heat rather than walking. Yeah, I say that now.
I had a minor panic attack the other day when the clasp of my Garmin broke. I called all over town to see if any of the running stores had replacement bands. Nobody had anything in stock.
Today I was holding that same watch in my hotel and a wild thought crossed my mind. “Maybe I should try taking it to a watch repair shop.”
Ha . . . yeah, right. Watch repair shops went out of style in the 90’s, right?
I sheepishly asked the Concierge if there happened to be a watch repair shop in the neighborhood, and without missing a beat she started running her highlighter over the local map, then drew a big “X.”
“Yep, right here. You’re about 4 blocks away.”
“What?”
This sounded too good to be true. I took the map without asking for the name or address, and looking for the old theater this “watch repair shop” was next to. I fully expected it to be some kind of surf shop/indiglo hipster place selling disposable neon watches, but then I saw it with my own eyes, “The Watch Shop.”
A tear dropped on my cheek as I swung open the door and heard it knock against a real bell. Within 4 seconds an older gentleman with one of those telescope deals on his eye had sprung to his feet and was graciously asking how he could help me.
“Well, sir, this could be a long shot, but I broke my running watch and I was hoping maybe you could help me out for my race on Sunday.”
“Let me see what ya got there, son,” he said with the confidence of a brain surgeon.
He quickly deduced I had “broken off my tongue” and matter-of-factly asked if I cared what color the new one was.
“Heck no, any color is better than duct tape.”
He neither found that comment funny or annoying. My baby Garmin was already under the bright lights of surgery.
Then he got a phone call and was rattling off “watch lingo” faster than an auctioneer. He laid out 3 different scenarios to his inquisitive customer.
“You could go gold plate, or imitation, or 20th century gothic . . . ”
I scanned the room and all I saw were . . . watches. This guy had brand focus down cold and I knew I was in good hands.
Suddenly I felt almost petty in his world. Here I am bringing potentially the finest Watch Surgeon in the South a rubber wrist band and asking for a tongue replacement? What a joke, he must have thought. He was surely more caught up in his conversation about Gothic and gold.
Two minutes later he approached the counter, “Well, I can still talk on the phone and work.”
He handed me my watch and it felt like I was holding a priceless relic coming from his hands. The man who has built and repaired watches for Louisville’s finest citizens. I didn’t have to ask, but knew for certain he had repaired watched for Muhammad Ali and maybe even Colonel Sanders himself.
“Five bucks,” he said looking at my Muncie 70.3 shirt.
“Muncie Cardinals, huh?”
“Yeah, I said, but we all know the real Cardinals are in Louisville.”
“Yes, they are,” he said handing me my hand written receipt, “and they fly for the first time of the year on Labor Day.”
I fastened my watch, then heard the clang of the bell when I opened the door before turning around, “Sir?”
He stopped in his tracks, “Yes?”
“There are some fine establishments in Louisville, but from what I have seen, this is on top of the list.”
He waved, sat down, then started repairing another watch.
I’m staying with my friend Sarah, her man, and her two very large dogs. We had a great time talking about our days back in Rockford, Illinois (where we met), design, and watching my dog feel out the giants.
Around 11:00 I went to the spare room and found a bed straight out of the woods, literally built from tree branches. “Damn, this is like being at the cabin!”
I sat down, laid back, then realized we might have a problem. While the frame was badass, the actual mattress felt like I would be sleeping on a piece of white bread.
For a brief moment, I gazed over the edge and considered sleeping on the floor. The paranoia is stupid crazy the week before Ironman and I feared I’d wake up with a sore back. But, I decided to give ole Wonder Bread a shot.
I did my best to relax, and melted into the mattress like Peanut Butter and Jelly. The traditional scurry of thoughts about the swim, bike, and run rushed through my brain, then I drifted off to sleep until I woke to soft cries from my dog and her new friends at 7:35 am.
Not only did I sleep well, it may have been the best sleep I’ve had in months.
For years I worked in an industry that was fueled by conflict. The argument, the fight, and good versus evil. Slowly, I have been remembering that life is much easier when you go with its flow.
I am all for healthy discussion and search for the truth, but instigation and agitation are dead end streets. I really believe that news, and talk radio are built to stoke your anxiety and reinforce conflict in society.
Over the last few weeks there is a building sense of calm building inside me. Not only about the race or my lifestyle, but everything in the world. Sure, there is a lot of fucked up shit going on, but the more I realize it’s out of my control, the better my mindset and more good I find in people.
And what’s the number one thing that is out of my control? The weather. News holds this one over you big time. “We’ll keep you safe! Be prepared! Blah . . . ”
The weather is what it is. I knew this race would be hot. 5-10 degrees won’t make a difference. I need to ingest a lot of fluid and make sure I don’t forget sunblock. Other than that, it’s all pretty much what I expected, and out of my control.
And now I’m seeing reports of potential storms. Bring it on!
Last night I didn’t have control, and this morning I couldn’t be happier about it. I’m gonna carry that attitude into Sunday and accept whatever Mother Nature delivers. I’m kinda even hoping Ironman adds a little burning coals section like those Spartacus races.
I had only been running for about 8 months, I had done one Sprint triathlon, then watched Ironman Louisville. I registered for Ironman Wisconsin two weeks later.
Now, I am back to where it all began.
I remember the first time I looked from this angle. Jim pointed to the Island just beyond the white bridge pillar and I just thought that sounded ludicrous.
“You swim out and around that island, then back to here,” he said with first hand experience.
I love moments like that because it truly seemed impossible to me. I was so excited to see people do it in front of my eyes.
Today, I walked up to the same place as bib number 379 and stared into the distance again. It’s funny how much difference a couple years make.
It still seems far, but I could feel my blood boiling inside. It was all I could do to stop from jumping in just to feel the water on my skin.
I also remember the first time I saw this bike transition full. It’s the kind of site that drops your jaw.
Today it was eerily silent. Patiently waiting for frantic activity the next two days.
And there was this. That strange, indecipherable gear-bag area to those who don’t understand. It was a tad muddy, but I’m certain it will dry out by Sunday.
And yes, I am checked in. Thursday is totally the way to go. It took about 5 minutes to get my chip, which they tell me I will need at the practice swim on Saturday.
So now it is time to rest. I’m pumped to see everyone tomorrow. Please say hi if you recognize me.
Technically there are still 3 days left before Ironman Louisville. I’ve been counting down, but keep forgetting to add the hours, and occasionally, like now when it says 23, that number is substantial. Hope I haven’t been freaking you out by leaving out a day.
Then again, many scientists argue that time is an illusion. Which makes me wonder, if there is technically no countdown clock, what is the real reason we’re racing Ironman?
Slowly, I think I am figuring that out.
Last year I was racing for many of the “wrong” reasons. Namely, I was trying to impress everyone, except myself.
I launched like a rocket at the moon, but when I got there, I didn’t have a plan. I celebrated for days before realizing, all that drive and energy was burned seeking a symbol. A time, a conquest, a medal.
I wanted to be an Ironman.
But then, I was an Ironman, and, that alone didn’t open my world to happiness and satisfaction. I’d forgotten the real reason I signed up in the first place: to break up the plaque forming in my veins.
I wasn’t going to do another Ironman this year. I didn’t see the point in all the suffering. I suppose, that is proof that I was learning.
But I kept working out on my terms and started to find joy in the training. It was no longer “workout until I can’t move,” but exercise to unleash more energy.
Eventually, I registered for Louisville, but it still wasn’t for the right reason. The “glitz” is what ultimately drew me in. I wanted to be a part of the parade. I wanted to matter.
Now, just under 3 days from the shot of the cannon, I am looking at racing from a completely different perspective. I have accepted that I am simply excited to test my mind and body.
Ironman is one day and simply another in a long list of life’s deadlines. It’s a test to see if we can finish what we’ve started. A metaphor for all of those projects and dreams we want to complete. The more we finish something difficult, the easier it becomes to fold your laundry.
Have you thought about why you are doing an Ironman (or marathon or whatever)? There can only be one reason. We do it because we enjoy the challenge, and ultimately believe the process will help us get closer to the person we haven’t quite uncovered.
