Ironman and the Human Condition

This was written nearly a year before I did my Ironman, but I never posted.  I’m not sure why, but I thought I would put it out there for all of you training for Ironman.  It’s really interesting to reflect on how I was thinking with the race hanging over my head and I think I would have probably written it the same today. 

We all want attention.  We all want to be understood.  We all want to be loved.

When I signed up for Ironman Wisconsin, somewhere inside I was shouting those concepts to everyone in my life.  But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.  There is nothing like preparing for an Ironman to both give you strength and make you feel extremely fragile.  And somewhere inside of all that is the meaning of spirituality.

For me, having an Ironman in the distance is omnipresent.  The process of attacking a clear, life-changing goal affects the way I think about everything I do, even though my target is thousands of miles away.  The way I react, eat and explore is enhanced.  Good and bad are more vibrant.  Decision making is more centered and concrete.  But, there is a lot of time between now and next September, and today’s finish line is just as important.

Doesn’t it sometimes feel like life is as simple as being around people that understand and compliment our thoughts?  Is this why millions of people dress up every Sunday morning and go to church?  So they are safely surrounded by others with the same beliefs?  Is this why some feel more comfortable with gangsters or republicans or yoga practitioners that flow naturally with who they are?  Or prospective Ironmen who have committed to chase the same goal?

There is genuine comfort in communion.  Last night three of the Fab Five gathered to watch Ironman Kona and it just felt right.  We were meant to be in the same room digging for inspiration to be our best, not only at Ironman Wisconsin, but in everything we do.  We will each take our own road, but the ultimate goal is the same.

Nothing will be perfect, but it still feels like perfection.

Ironman Pain and Recovery #IMNOLA

The morning after Ironman Wisconsin I laid in bed and took inventory.  I lifted my arms, circled my ankles, and stretched my legs.  I’d never done anything remotely close to 140.6 miles, and getting out of bed scared the shit out of me.

I sat on the edge looking down at the floor for about 5 minutes.  Should I try to walk, or just fall to my knees and crawl to the bathroom?  I decided to trust my legs, and what happened next was just short of remarkable.

Other than stabbing heel pain and a general tenderness, I felt fine.  Sure, I moved slowly, but that’s no different than most mornings.  I was physically drained, but the very next day I felt great swimming a 1,000 meters in Turtle Lake.  It’s just weird, and quite amazing, how much the body can handle.

This brings me back to Sunday in New Orleans.

From mile one of the run, I felt like my body was done, cooked, stewed in a Cajun goulash.  I just “couldn’t” run the entire 13.1 miles.  I was weak, battered, beaten.  But somehow, I completely ran the last 4 miles after intermittent walk/runs.  Then came the morning.

It felt exactly like Wisconsin.  I limped toward the bathroom, but after 10 minutes, I was fine.  I walked all over New Orleans that day and the only tough part was getting up after sitting a while.

On Tuesday I drove 8 hours back to Nashville and was full of energy that night.  I literally forgot I had just raced a Half Ironman.

All of this got me thinking.

Obviously my body was “ready” for 70.3 miles, but somewhere in there my mind convinced me it wasn’t.  I couldn’t find a “reason” to push through the pain.  I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that I hadn’t been writing about training much.  I hadn’t been thinking about how I would deal with the stress of the race, or why I wanted to do it in the first place.

I was also training alone.  I didn’t surround myself with like minded people to inspire and push me.  Group training is great for accountability, but I think its biggest advantage comes from keeping your head straight.  It creates mental momentum and helps you believe.  It’s very hard to live alone on an island.

Moving forward, I have two commitments to make.  One is writing more, the other is working out with friends and groups.  So much of this is mental and if you try tackling a full or half Ironman without being focused, you are sunk.

Don’t get me wrong, there are hundreds of variables regarding recovery that include nutrition, rest, training, etc, but I think most of us can get a huge advantage from simply being mentally prepared for what you’ll face before, during, and after the race.

The day after Ironman New Orleans, I joined my mom and her friends for a paddle boat ride.  I sat in peace, gazing at the swirling water, taking in the glory of the Mighty Mississippi.  But I kept having a strange thought, what would happen if the boat sank?

Hysteria.

Hundreds of people scrambling for their lives.  I calculated the distance to the shore, and plotted how I would save those around me.  Hauling one on each leg like a pull buoy, using the current to guide us to the nearest plot of land.  It gave me an eery confidence.  I had a plan and felt good about it.  I visualized what it would take, and I was ready.

We would not sink.