After a year of racing in triathlons and road races of many distances, I decided that 2010 would be the year of the IRONMAN. Looking back on the last three years, I can say that this goal would not even be in my realm of being without many seeming mistakes and missteps. Of course there are also many "on purpose" things that have contributed to this journey, but even more situations where my lemons just happened to turn into lemonade.
A person I was speaking to on the phone once said, "First things, first." Sure, it's a common phrase. But his context made it relevant to me and the choices I make in life. I can plan, analyze, and over-program with the best of them, but ultimately you have to take care of what comes at you first before you can deal with anything you can speculate for the future. In this vein, I will start at the beginning.
In July of 2007, a very close friend said she was thinking of doing a triathlon and encouraged me to sign up. I thought, "Hey ya know, I'm only spending my days studying for the biggest test of my life (the BAR exam), so why not?" She broke down the distances in a way that I could comprehend, saying, "the swim is only one-third of a mile, that'll be less than fifteen minutes; the bike, just twelve miles, less than an hour; and the run, an easy 5k cool down." Sure, I'd walked a three day, sixty-mile fundraiser for breast cancer. But my motivation and fear of disappointing friends, family, and supporters kept me going. Not my own internal compass! And yes, I had technically completed a marathon (fortunately for me, it was one that didn't have a cut off, and they let me walk my happy self across the finish line nearly six hours after the gun went off). But this triathlon was different. This was something I had never done before and not something I had even considered. Sure I could move my two feet across a set distance, but my hesitation came from the essence of what a TRIathlon is. Swim? Bike? And only then do you get to run? Maybe...
I'd learned how to swim when I was eight years old so that I could go to sleep away girl scout camp without the threat of realizing my parents' fear of death by drowning. But I had never, ever attempted to move through water with the deliberate purpose of getting from point A to point B. This was new. Thankfully, my apartment complex had a kidney shaped swimming pool that allowed me to go about fifteen yards, round trip. It wasn't ideal, but it was enough to convince me that I could train enough to complete my two goals with swimming. First, don't drown. Second, make it out of the water.
I quickly learned that my Gary Fisher mountain bike that I'd just purchased for a whopping three hundred dollars wouldn't come close to cutting it on race day. Luckily, my friend knew a friend who had a spare road bike that I could use for the race. The day before the race, I showed up at his place of work, slipped on my borrowed shoes with cleats and did my best not to ruin his obviously expensive bike. Clipping in and out was tricky for any newby, but especially for one who totters through life, daily wondering when the next mishap will be. I climbed on, got my balance and successfully skated around the parking lot. Now, I was ready for the bike.
The run was what I looked forward to and what I was most comfortable with. My shoes were at least a year old and were probably lacking all the support I know now I would have needed. But I didn't care. This was the one part of the race I knew I could do. I wouldn't drown, crash, or look like I didn't even know this sport existed two weeks ago. Of course on race day, it's a whole different story. When she told me about the run, my friend failed to remind me that I'd be starting this little 5k over an hour into my I-can't-breathe-please-be-over race. The thing that I was proudest of in that run was that I made it three whole miles without music. I'd been too chicken to sneak mine into the transition area. It was probably the the longest run I'd done up till then sans my usual musical motivation.
When I rounded the last corner and saw the finish line down the stretch, I saw my friend. Later I learned she'd finished long before me. But in my race, she was right there at the finish line, cheering me on and pushing me across the line. My heart filled with pride because I was so happy to have shared this race with her. Not to mention the fact that I really could not believe what I had just done. And for that short amount of time, there was no bar exam, there was no job search, there was no life transition. There was only me, the distance, and the finish line.
A very wise man once said, "It's about having a goal. The goal gets you up every day and gets you to keep pushing on when you don't want to otherwise." I couldn't agree more, and for me, the Ironman, if nothing else, is the ultimate goal of what I can physically do. That first race showed me that I am capable of doing much more than I think, and the reward is the surprise itself. Can I make it all season? Can I finish the race? I don't know, but I sure am training as if I can.
