I don’t write about my training as much because talking about prolific exercise is exhausting at best and damn near unbearable in most other instances. That being said, it’s a huge part of my life and if I didn’t brag about how mediums slow I can do races, would you even know I’m alive?!
Next weekend I’ll be heavily participating in Ironman Florida. It will be my third attempt at this race. So far, I’m 1-1. The good news is that unless there’s some catastrophic reversal of fortune, I should be 2-1 by Sunday.
For 18 years or so, I’ve been exercising heavily and it has formed my life. Everything I do has evolved around it and I downplay it because, to me, once you realize you can do it, the luster starts to wear off. Yet every year. I sign up.
I sign up because it keeps me from mailing it in and it’s a part of the “brand” I’ve built. That sounds about as douchebaggy as talking about Ironman, because it is. But it’s also true. Without the possibility of a colossal bed shitting hanging over my head, I’m likely to just “go jogging” sometimes and maybe not get in the pool and swim for 3 months. What kind of exercising brand is that? So every year, I sign up.
One of the cruelest things I ever figured out was that with marginal preparation, I can fake my way through Ironman. Exercise enough and you build up a lot of endurance. Stay out there moving long enough and I should finish. Faking my way is a terrible approach but it’s an option. This realization made me under-prepared for the last couple I’ve done. What’s the freaking point in that?
This year I vowed to not do that. I buckled down a little and hired a coach. I amped my exercising up. And this weekend, I’ll see what the difference between faking and preparing is. Ten minutes? Twenty? Shit, I may go 10-20 slower. You just never know. I think the value has been in keeping me honest for 4 months. Regardless of outcome.
So this Thursday, I’ll drive to Florida and pick up my stuff as fast as I can and wait for Saturday.
Race mornings to me are always the same. I never feel prepared for what’s at hand and it never feels tangible. You spend all this time practicing and then on race day you jump in the ocean to swim. The difference between the pool and an ocean is well, exactly that. The first 50 strokes are like “what the actual fuck are we doing?” Then I look for sharks. There are Jaws like sharks out there and they can eat you. I’m really not afraid of them since I’ve never seen them and you’ll likely never see the one that kills you prior to the strike and I’ve only met one person in all my years of triathloning who got attacked by a shark. He has 1.5 arms now and is the statistic that scares the shit out of people.
The rest of the day is like waiting for your birthday when you’re a kid. It’s a constant state of hurrying as best you can and getting through the next thing because then you’ll be closer to being done and the discomfort you feel will be over. The thing about discomfort though is that I’ve discovered that it goes away damn near immediately when you’re done. Like it feels like you just want to stop and sit down. Then you do and your like. “That barely was even hurting. I should do some more.” That’s how you get tricked into signing up again.
To me the finish line is anticlimactic. I love watching others finish, and love what it means for them, but to me it’s just another part of the thing. Like tying my shoes before running. This is kind of a damn shame in some ways. I think I’m supposed to celebrate. To revel in myself and what I’ve accomplished. Maybe I need to push myself harder because these days finishing is just the period at the end of the sentence. Then you write another sentence and another and another. Then you’re looking for the cold pizza that may be there and may not.
If this all sounds smug and like an act forced self efficacy please know that I do respect the notion of Ironman as well as understand that if I were doing it to the best of my ability that I may feel a little differently. Maybe if I poured more in, I’d get more out. But I don’t have that kind of time and its already as close to a purely narcissistic act as there is. Some levity won’t outweigh that. Maybe I’m cynical and just try and ruin everything. Maybe I’m just envious that I’m not better. Probably all of it.
I’m not downplaying what it may mean to others, of their path and struggles and journeys. I’m telling you what it has come to mean to me not what it should mean to you. Maybe I need to do something I’ve never done before. I’m pretty sure that I’d end up right here though.
I do love the sport of triathlon. I love what it has brought me. I love the people it has brought into my life and I do love the daily. The daily is why I do it. To get up in the dark and run alone. To squeeze in a swim during lunch. The now occasional ride with friends. Day In day out. It defines me. Just maybe not how you’d think.
The Ironman brand is a company that is great at marketing that has created a thing that people crave. That they are better people than who they were through accomplishing it. This actually is a great motivator. If it helps a person be better in any way, then dance from the rafters and tell the world, because that is real. I hope they are better.
There were many great smaller races that weren’t able to create the mystique that Ironman has but if it’s about the distance then it shouldn’t matter. But to most. It does. If I had a dime for every time I’ve heard “but it’s not an Ironman.”
The message of Ironman is also great. “Anything is possible.” It’s true. Any one of you reading this can do and finish an Ironman. Period. Just remember, it’s about more than a finish line at the end of one race. It’s about today’s finish line. Or maybe today’s starting line. And the next. And the next. And the next.
You define you.
#hugsandhi5s