8.28.2013

Ironman Canada 2013 :: A Narrative Essay

Just over a year ago, on August 8, 2012, a week or two after Ironman Lake Placid, I was in a collision with a car while riding my bike. The injuries were pretty significant. A partial list of injuries would include six broken vertebrae in my neck, broken jaw, broken nose, facial lacerations, TBI, nerve damage and memory loss. My medical providers felt the best course of action would be to keep me hopped up on muscle relaxers and painkillers for the foreseeable future. I didn’t disagree. 

However, while it was in this state, bloodied, bruised, broken and mentally foggy that Ironman announced (with the help of Challenge and the city of Penticton) that there would be a new venue for Ironman Canada. They had settled on Whistler, a place I love, and therefore I had settled on competing in that Olympic venue. At that point, I didn’t know much about what my recovery would be like. Honestly, it was unclear whether I would ever have full range of motion in my neck again, but I committed to making it to the start line. Racing an Ironman was a decision I had made every year for the last six. There is momentum in the cycle of race and recovery. I was swept up in that cycle like nothing had happened. I didn’t see why this year would be different.

It is hard to say whether I would have still made that fateful decision to register if there hadn’t been 100 Kona slots available. Having been so close to grasping that goal before, I assured myself that no matter the obstacles that may lay ahead I could make it back to a level of fitness that would allow me the opportunity to toe the line in Kailua Village.

It is even more difficult to say whether I would have registered if I would have known how physically challenging, frustrating and mentally exhausting rehab would be all the way leading up to that moment, treading water at 7a on August 25th in Alta Lake, would be.

Maybe I underestimated the extent of my injuries. It is possible I overestimated my own resolve. Most likely it was a combination of both that made this the most challenging 12 months I can remember.

Ultimately, I didn’t get that Kona slot. In fact, I wasn’t even close. In any normal year, I would have been very disappointed. However, given the circumstances, I’ve never been more satisfied with a race performance. It was through the process of getting there, executing a plan on race day and crossing the finish line I learned more about myself this year than I have in any single year of my life.

I pretty much knew where my fitness stood. I knew the course would be difficult. When you train efficiently and purposefully, when you have a plan and execute it, you know how race day is going to go. Normally, I could give pretty exact times for when I’d be finishing. Dacia asked several times when she could expect me coming into transitions or passing through town. This year, I couldn’t even give her an estimate. I wasn’t confident. That is a bad place to be before an Ironman. It is scary.

So, It was a couple days before Race Day and I decided to pop in one of my favorite movies of all time, A River Runs Through It. I’ve seen this movie no less than one million times, but this time, one quote struck me. Norman, the narrator (voiced by Robert Redford so when you read the quote, read it with his voice), is establishing the dichotomy between he and his brother Paul when this little gem slips in:

I knew I was tough because I had been bloodied in battle. Paul was different. His toughness came from a secret place inside of him. He simply knew he was tougher than anyone alive.

It struck me because the relative concept of toughness can be applied so well in endurance sports. Sure there are a few that just know they are tougher than anyone else. They are fitter, can endure more. They are often faster. The rest of us are always in that quest for our own toughness. It doesn’t mean we can’t race fast, even faster than the tough ones. But it does mean we have to search for the that secret place inside where toughness comes from in hopes of finding a vast reserve we had not yet discovered. In the process, although we may never make that discovery, we do get the opportunity to test our resolve, test our toughness on race day.

This was my opportunity to test my toughness, not my speed. This thought carried me through the race. This was the culmination of an imperfect process and I was going to take the opportunity to grind out a personal victory.  It became I mantra with each pedal stroke, with each step.  I will not yield to the pain.

I was testing myself against the tough ones, those that probably had trained more efficiently, more purposefully. Against those that didn’t suffer weakness from the nerve damage that makes your arms shake violently from about mile 80 to the end. Against those that probably didn’t have a knot of fire in the middle of their neck starting half way through the swim that still hasn’t gone away.

No. The long-term goal was not achieved, but the short-term goal sure as hell was. There are enough proverbs to last a lifetime that could be applied here. Namely: That which does not kill us…but that has never quite served my purpose in relation to endurance sports. I tested my fortitude, not my strength. I tested my toughness not my speed. So in the end, it wasn’t my fastest day, but rather my most satisfying.

10:04:31, 30th AG, 97th OA.


As always, huge thanks, to my wife and best friend, Dacia. I could never have been there without her support.