Ironman Me

Scott C.

It’s a morning that I’ve looked towards with a potent mix of excitement and anxiety, it's an ever-constant display of multisport behavior that’s a product of months of training and focus that has lead up to this one very special early morning.

My friends all wished me well in the days before, my family as well, though I suspected an undercurrent of thinly disguised indifference that bordered on the opinion that I am insane.

The pent up emotion, stress, obligations we carry and deal with on a seemingly constant basis now get mixed in with the pre-dawn darkness, the queasiness of trying to keep my breakfast of oatmeal, bagel with peanut butter and coffee down, the eerie early morning calm and the quiet contemplation deep inside of what is ahead today as I head out the door toward the lake, towards my destiny.

I say a silent prayer that I hope this thing will somehow work out for me.

Where has this journey taken me? Where will this journey take me today?

I’m scared.
I’m prepared.
I’m ready.

I have talked the talk for months now and with about a minute to go before I hear the thunderous boom of our starting horn, I will now need to walk the walk....or at least start swimming and sharing precious real estate in this pristine, calm lake with 1,800 other people who, like me, want out of this water and to be reunited with our bikes.

I deserve to be here next to you, fighting the good fight for a little space in crowded water so I can validate my training, my thinking, my own beliefs and convictions, whether they’re good or bad, realistic or beyond expectation.

There are genuine moments of pure bliss when everything works; I've never felt better, never felt stronger! I am supremely confident, I am gliding and I own this swim. There are also moments of chaos, of fear, and there are thoughts of panic that are quickly dismissed and overcome with that sense of quiet determination honed through months of shredding my body, investing the hours in the rain, in the cold and in the heat just to get here today.

And then I can see it, off in the distance, the swim exit that I've had my sights on since the beginning, so I pick up my stride, I have a finishing kick and I use it!

Before I know it, I am being pushed to the ground, helped out of my neoprene body armor by not one but two race volunteers who shout at me to go and run to T1, get my bike, and move quickly to the second discipline.

Five to seven hours is a long time on a bike, but maybe others feel differently. It’s not just about riding but the extraordinary focus it took to keep me on the bike, to keep me hungry, to keep me thinking, to keep me eating, to keep me drinking, and to keep me thinking more.

After the hotfoot, with sweat stinging my eyes, just one more discipline remains: the run.

I try to run and discover that I am a worthless, pitiful physical wreck who would really just like to get into a nice hot shower for three or four hours and lie down for an hour or a month.

But I know all to well that I need to be my own hero out here today and do something really big. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to step up and do something extraordinary, something I know I will remember and hold onto tightly and with pride.

So I run, or would run/walk or “iron shuffle” through the dark moments, the moments littered with an undulating mixture of pain, fatigue, self doubt, and the belief that I can overcome and manage my day and my life in a different way.

I started my day in pre dawn darkness. I started my day with a nagging fear of the unknown, but I did so with a big heart and a deep conviction in my noble undertaking. I was a sense of self determination that I would never trade for anything.

I ended my day in twilight, putting one foot in front of another on a long red carpet. I heard a lot of people screaming. I heard a man with a great thunderous voice calling out my name, but I’m not sure because those last few precious seconds as I crossed the finish line border on the surreal.

The “hurt” was present and even though I knew I was physically running, my feet, my legs, and grueling aches suddenly felt insubstantial. My mind was numb from the hours of intensity and focus an event like an Ironman requires but it’s a good mix. I’ll take it. I can work with it.

And because I can't have this moment forever, I just want to feel this way until it comes time to train for the next one. - Scott C.