The Ironman



Aaron had signed up for his first Ironman, and I was jealous. Just like those hardcore cross country guys in high school, this was big time hardcore. I mean, this is the race you see on ESPN where some of the most seasoned of athletes are reduced to crawling across the finish line. When it comes to endurance races, this is the end-all-be-all. The equivalent of earning ones doctorate degree in endurance racing. Or a doctorate in pain, one or the other.

I knew myself too well to know that it was now or never. Mentally, I believed in myself and knew I could do it. I did the race in my mind, and finished it. As strange as that may sound, it’s a tough thing to do. There’s a lot that separates someone that is blown away by Ironman distances, and someone who accepts them as long, but do-able. I knew I could train at that level for one whole year, but I wasn’t sure about 2. The chance of getting burnt out like I did in high school was too great, so I had to do it now or never.

I started training for Ironman Florida, which happens in November of 2001, as early as 11 months before, in January. It made it easier to run in the bitter cold, knowing that it was for such a worthy goal. Mentally, I was right where I needed to be.

I scattered a bunch of small triathlon races throughout the year to keep things interesting, and to measure my pace. These races that seemed so painful last year, were now fun rest stops on the road to Ironman city. Orthotics had long cured the pain in my knees, and I was feeling good.

I did the Baltimore marathon almost one year from the exact day that I promised myself I’d never do something so blatantly stupid like running a marathon ever again. I ran it in 4:29.

I’d go out for 100 mile bike rides on a Sunday, and not think much of it. My friends were amazed, but in truth, the hardest part was giving up the other parts of life that one becomes so used to. Staying out until 3am with friends, hangovers, weekend getaways, sitting on the couch doing nothing, working on my car, building things, going on dates, you name it, it all gets sacrificed in the name of training. If you’re not out killing yourself on a sunny Saturday, you’re inside recovering from killing yourself. Mentally, this was the hardest part for me.

I think this all finally took its toll on me around October, just when I knew it would. I once again began to despise running. It was getting in the way of my life in a big way, and was now something that I HAD to do. I didn’t like that feeling in 12th grade, and I surely didn’t like it now. One day after work, my roommate had cooked some great smelling salmon and offered me a piece. As I got out a plate, I remembered I had to go running first. You can’t eat, then run. I threw a fit. The salmon was just the straw that broke the runners back. One of a hundred little things just like that. I ran, and came home and ate cold fish, reheated in the microwave and I sulked.

By the time the race had come on November 10th, I was glad to be getting it over with. Scared as hell, but glad to be getting it over with. Aaron, now an Ironman himself, told me not to think of it as an immense race, but rather as a celebration of all the work you’ve done all year. He said “you’ve done the hard part for the past 11 months, and this is just the party.” By golly, he was right. Thinking back on all I had done the last year, that was such a great way to think of it.

So off I went a few days before the race in my trusty 4-runner, and headed off to do the ultimate test of endurance racing. The Ironman.