1 More Day

1 more day.  For 13 months, tomorrow has been the horizon towards which I have restlessly navigated.  For 13 months I have woken up at frightful hours to set out on another day of training.  Sometimes under dark skies.  Sometimes in temperatures below zero with fresh snow reaching above my wet and frozen ankles.  Sometimes in temperatures reaching to 100 degrees and beyond.  I’ve ridden my bike in the rain and in stiff winds.  I’ve trained in choppy waters and lakes as smooth as glass.  I’ve had setbacks.  I’ve been sick.   I’ve been injured.  I’ve been tired.  I’ve felt burned out.  I’ve had days when everything felt wrong and there was nothing I could do to keep my heart rate below the red line.  I’ve feared the water.  I’ve had panic attacks.  I’ve gotten swimming advice from my daughters.  Good advice.  “Daddy, you’re head’s not even in the water,” they’d demand.  But the tip of my nose was.  Isn’t that enough?

I’ve had great days.  I’ve felt strong and powerful beyond description.  I’ve floated over roads and trails and felt as if I could run or bike or swim forever.  I’ve gotten stronger.  I’ve gotten smarter.  I’ve gotten faster.  I’ve gotten fitter.

I’ve gotten more humble.  I’ve learned that the best intentions and the most well thought out plans get you only as far as circumstance allows.  I’ve become more flexible.  I’ve learned to adapt and to roll with the punches.  I’ve grown selfish and yet I’ve learned to make my self-indulgent pursuits benefit causes that help others.  I’ve learned to maintain a sense of humor no matter what. 

I’ve learned to eat and to drink right while running and biking.  I’ve learned to empty my bladder in the woods at the side of the road so quickly nobody even saw me leave the road.  I’ve learned to accept and embrace pain.  I’ve learned not ignore certain kinds of pain.  I’ve learned to make critical calculations when my body is tired and my mental focus is compromised.

I’ve learned to appreciate things and people more.  I appreciate the 4 pound bicycle frame that has sustained my body weight and my pounding legs for 1000s of miles.  I appreciate the inner tube that popped through my front tire on a long run but never punctured.  I appreciate the goggles that have given me the confidence to put my face and my entire head in the water and learn to really swim.  I appreciate the hydration belt that allows me to take enough fluid with me on long runs without having to actually carry anything.  I appreciate my GPS bicycle computer that has kept me from getting lost.  I appreciate my Pig Vomit apparel that has resulted in many inquiries, thereby allowing me to get up on my soapbox and advocate on behalf of CURED.

I appreciate my mother and her concerns, motivated only by her love.  When a young man dropped dead at the Chicago Marathon last year, she called and asked, “Do you really have to do this triathlon thing?”  A doctor recommended EKG confirmed that my heart was healthy enough, and gave my mom some peace of mind.  I appreciate my dad’s, um, sense of humor?  I guess.  That is, I believe, how he deals with some of his own concerns, especially when he told me not to bother training for the bike and run, as I’d never make it out of the water alive.  I appreciate my daughters who are, unwaveringly, my biggest fans, and sometimes my wisest advisors.  Just this morning Elly said: “If you get real sweaty during   the Ironman, you really should take a shower afterwards, before you go to bed.”  Would you dare argue with her advice?  And I appreciate my amazing wife, Rachel, not only for supporting me, but for putting up with me, for allowing me to follow my passion, for encouraging me to be who I am, and for agreeing to celebrate our anniversary in Madison, Wisconsin, focusing entirely on the Ironman.  I appreciate her patience and acceptance.

Tomorrow’s the day.  Tomorrow is the day we pack up the car with a small bag for my family and several large ones for me.  Bike.  Shoes.  Helmet.  Wetsuit.  Water bottles.  Nutrition.  Hydration.  Etc., etc.  Tomorrow we see the venue for the first time.  Tomorrow I jump into Lake Monona for the first time just to feet its water embrace hold my body about its surface.  Tomorrow I check in, I get my athlete wrist band, my bib numbers (#1602), my goody bags, and I begin to take it all in as I wait for the inevitable arrival of Sunday morning.

What would a 13 month journey to the starting line of an Ironman be if there wasn’t one last, final hurdle to clear? 

I’m injury free and feeling strong.  I was relieved to make it through my final long run without sustaining any aches or pains.  I have all my gear in hand and a well-established plan for pacing, nutrition and hydration developed by Coach Dan.  I have the fitness and the confidence I need to get me to the start line.  And I just hope I have the metal fortitude to get me to the finish line.  I also have one more thing…

I have a stomach bug.  After 2 weeks of business training in Omaha, I returned home late Friday afternoon to find Elly as sick as a dog.  When Rachel declared that she had been vomiting, I guess I didn’t do a good job hiding my fear.  “Don’t worry,” she said.  “I’ll deal with her.”

That was a selfless offer, but before I’m an Ironman hopeful, I’m a husband and a father.  Poor Elly spent much of the night being sick.  Saturday was better and by Sunday she was herself.  On Monday I was feeling a little queasy.  I ate very little and by Tuesday I felt fine. 

Then came Wednesday.  Yesterday was not a good day.  If you’ve ever prepared yourself for a colonoscopy, than you know how I was feeling yesterday and, so far, the first half of today.  Forgive the image, but at this point, I’ve kept no secrets and my body has become nothing other than an instrument, a machine to get me from point A to point B.  The week that was supposed to be spent feeding my body with healthy and proper nutrition and hydration has been spent, instead, just trying to hold on to any of it.

 I saw the doctor this morning because I felt desperate.  His pessimism about my participating in Ironman Wisconsin broke my spirit for about an hour.  And then I decided to let the Iron Spirit take over.  I didn’t spend 13 months of my life training to allow a little bug keep me from realizing this dream.  Ironman rules allow competitors on the final leg of the race to run, walk or crawl.  If I have to crawl, dammit, I will.

In Coach Dan’s final pre-race instructions to me earlier this week, he told me that somewhere around mile 18-20 of the run, it will hurt to walk slowly, it will hurt to walk quickly, I will hurt to run slowly, and it will hurt to run quickly.  So I may as well run quickly to get it over with as soon as possible.  I know Sunday is going to hurt.  I’ve trained myself to accept the hurt and keep moving.  Maybe this little hiccup will force me to arrive at the finish line a little later than I would have if I didn’t spend the week fighting to keep food and drink in me, but I will not let it keep me from getting there one way or another.

God willing, my next post will be written by a true and confirmed Ironman and still, always, the IronJew.  1 more day until I leave for the Ironman...