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.
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