Initiated into the Ironman Family
Thursday July 29th 2004
So, here I stand, on the other side of the Wall. After nearly 15 hours of grueling, constant motion, I am one of 800 newest members who were inducted into the Ironman family at the Lake Placid Ironman USA 2004 race this past Sunday, the 25th of June. Yes, I can now proudly, surreally say that I am an Ironman.
Whoah.
It's difficult to begin to talk about the race. For days I've regurgitated the basic timeline of events that occurred, from the overwhelming mass swim start, to the debilitating abdominal cramping that consumed 80 of the 112-mile bike ride, to the last 13.1 light-footed miles of the marathon run. I've recounted the struggles of my training buddies, and how we each spent some portion of our race taking care of one another, whether it was handing off Tums & salt tablets while cruising at 25 mph, or keeping each other company for a quarter-mile walk while we fueled up and rested before another push forward. But somehow the words always fall short, perhaps as they always do, in attempting to convey the feeling of power and accomplishment this race revealed to me. And I'm awarded this high not just at the finish line, but at all points inbetween--with every step or pedal stroke or swim pull I made forward, beyond each passing moment when I thought it might be my last. Feeling like I want to quit is the ordinary part of this race; pushing through that feeling is the extraordinary part. . .
But after 15 long hours, and 16 long weeks, it all ends with the flash of a camera as we each cross the finish line. We're done. It's over. We're now Ironmen, which means we're no longer chasing the dream of Ironman. . . Now, we live it. This will take some time to settle in I think. All I can do right now is dream of the next race; check the calendar for the next long bike ride; keep my goggles near for the next swim. It's a relief to be beyond the race, but it's sad that it's now gone forever.
But in the end, I rejoice, and I smile quietly. Only I know what my race experience was like, so only I know the pains and doubts I overcame. I've been asked a couple of times what the hardest part of the race was, and all I can come up with is, keeping going even though it hurt so bad. It wasn't about the hills on the bike. It wasn't about the crowded, choppy swim. It wasn't about an endless 26.2 miles after an already 10-hour day. It was the pain, and the doubt, and the struggle to overcome.
And when I do that, I truly believe there is nothing out there I can't conquer. . .