Disclaimer: I have a penchant for explaining things with a degree of meticulousness only found in CSI forensics reports. For this reason, I have opted to create two parts, maybe even three, to fully describe the culmination of my Ironman journey. It's my blog, don't judge me.(Insert 'movie trailer guy' voice here:) One man will overcome adversity to achieve his ultimate dream. He will undergo a test of human endurance, a daunting 140 mile trial of mental and intestinal fortitude, one that may ultimately lead to his untimely demise, all for one thing . . . the M-dot tattoo.
(Normal voice now) You may think that I am joking, but I, like tens of thousands before me have spent hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars to earn the right to pay for that M-dot tattoo. And yes, the ridiculousness of it stems entirely from one simple fact, the M-dot, this so-called badge of honor, is a corporate logo. Let's face it, no one has taken a long road trip in their '86 Ford Taurus through a little rain and over a couple of rolling hills only to get the FORD emblem tattooed on their calf. Maybe the tattoo would be warranted if it was a treacherous road trip, with dangerous river crossings, steep off-road mountain climbs and a sand dune expedition. But it would have to be done in an hardcore vehicle, something like an army-issue Hummer. On second thought, that particular tattoo might give people the wrong idea.
Before I venture into the mindless drivel that I usually bore you with, I would like to express my eternal gratitude to my glowing pregnant wife and hands-down winner of this years World's Greatest Spouse award for her unrelenting love and support. I wouldn't have made it to the start line of this race without you Christi, let alone the finish. You are the single greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart (which is huge, by the way).
A special thanks also goes out to my family and friends who supported me along this journey. It has been a long year and I want you to know that I appreciate all of you.
Now, about that nonsense. After two weeks, I am starting to resemble a normal human being again. The hair on my body is starting to grow back, my appetite is no longer that of a woolly mammoth (scientific fact #1: The assumption can be made that the woolly mammoth had a large appetite, on account of their mammoth size, ha), and I don't need to sleep 23hrs a day. Other than that, I am as insane as I was 2 weeks ago. Fortunately, this period of no training has allowed a certain degree of self-reflection to occur. Now about that race.
Ironman day started at 4am. The race morning rituals commenced, first there was the anti-rain dance, then the ritual lighting of a lavender and rose incense candle, then the rodent sacrifice, of course. Without these, all my races would be a mess. Christi, her brother Justin, our kind driver for the morning, and I made our way down to the Ironman start line. The air was a little thicker this morning. Perhaps it was the weight of the healthy respect for the distance we were about to endeavor or maybe it was the looming threat of OgoPogo; Okanogan lake's fabled creature that has developed a taste for triathletes.
After the unmemorable announcements preceding the swim, 2800 seal skin triathletes set off on their 2.4 mile aquatic adventure. The swim start at Ironman can be aptly described as a couple thousand overgrown piranhas racing towards a feast with complete and utter disregard for each other. In this semi-controlled chaos you are lucky if you come out with a couple of bruises, a goggle lens full of water and bloody scratch marks on your legs. Surprisingly, at one point in the swim I actually felt comfortable, 'hey, this isn't so bad' I remember thinking to myself. That is when the phoenix rose from the ashes and unleashed her fury on a few hundred fish-like triathletes trying to round the first corner. As I was being pushed from all sides, kicked in the face, and all but dragged under the water I saw two dead men on the bottom of the lake. More about that later . . . The swim was fairly uneventful but needless to say, I was glad when I grabbed a handful of sand after 1hr 19min of swimming. What? More about the dead guys you say? Alright then. Brace yourselves, this could get grim. As a safety precaution, Ironman officials enlist the assistance of frogmen; SCUBA divers that are placed strategically in areas of high risk to mitigate the potential of, uh, death. Those two dead men I saw were frogmen. I thought I was hallucinating, but when one of them saw my eyes bug out of my head, he smiled and sent a friendly wave in my direction. That may have been a hallucination too.
Out of the water, on my left, Christi's parents, Mary & Joe, standing in knee deep water cheering me on. I managed a smile and a wave while I drunkenly stumbled my way into the transition area. As I crossed the SWIM OUT threshold, I was faced with a childhood playground scene. There were 70 gray shirts playing an odd, I mean Stanley Kubrick odd, game of Red Rover. While attempting to find the weakest and most feeble of the group I decided to make a run for it, but instead of running through, I fell to the grass directly in front of the 'Rovers' and offered my feet as a symbol of my truce. Instead of holding me captive, they stripped my wetsuit and allowed me to continue with what little dignity I had remaining. I picked up my swim to gear bag and off to the change tent I wandered.
Picture this, 1500 naked men simultaneously bending over to put on their bike shorts in front of you. Now picture this, me, trying to walk past these men with the precision of a mine-field technician. Good times.
I made it through the naked guy change tent mine-field without losing an appendage. Now, with my bike shoes & helmet I awkwardly made my way to the sunscreen girls. There were two people in front of me, one very large, very hairy man, and one very tall, very muscular, very not-hairy young man (scientific fact #2: Biting contrast of each other, if you didn't notice from the descriptions. You're welcome). The sunscreen girls greased up Mr. Sasquatch with expedited precision. One sunscreen girl on the legs, the other on the arms, shoulders, neck and ears. Off Sasquatch lumbered. As the girls moved on to Adonis, inspirational music started playing, an angelic glow appeared and time slowed. Two other sunscreen girls seemingly appeared out of no where and Brad Pitt's stunt double was being greased down with the attention to detail you would give a newborn baby prior to their first day at the beach. As the 5 minutes ticked slowly by and the girls eventually all but ran out of sunscreen the young man jumped on his trusty steed and rode into the sunset. My turn. Without going into too much detail, I was on my bike 12 seconds later. Ouch.
To be continued. . . (gripping place to end isn't it?)
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