It's been almost 3 months since my first ironman and I've progressed through the whole gamut of post race psychology, from thrill, to regret over not going faster, to depression, to not caring to ever do that again, to being very interested in doing that again.
My earliest memory of IronMan was as an 11 year old kid, driving with my family through the lavafields while on summer vacation on the big island of Hawaii. My parents talked about how the bike course went through where we were driving. I remember thinking how utterly terrible it sounded to swim miles through the rough ocean, bike over 100 miles through the heat, and run a marathon. What kind of tough, mean person would do such a thing. To me it was akin to walking on the moon, something mortal men never do in their entire lives. I had not even a hint in my mind that I would ever attempt it.
Alas, 14 years go by. A classic triathlon gave way to a half marathon, gave way to olympic triathlon, marathon, half ironman then what's next. The body gets stronger and the mind more curious about what it might be like to go farther.
So it came to this. It was a nerve racking time, preparing over the course of 6 months, over-training and getting sick and injured and getting discouraged. The mental game is relentless. Right down to the wire. Even the journey, driving the 1200 miles from soCal to CDA, trying to get there in time for the 4:00 pm packet pickup cutoff time on Friday, after only leaving on Thursday morning. I didn't plan that so well.
Heading out to my first ironman was the most exciting thing since waking up on Christmas mornings when I was younger than 10. I very much looked forward to spending all the daylight hours moving across the surface of the earth.
I was too restless to sleep much the night before the race and around 3:00 am it was raining and thundering, with only 4 hours until race start! Memories surfaced of how awful the LA marathon was during the storm in 2011. An ironman would be a bigger mess still. By the time I left the house it was no longer raining, and by the time I was on my bike, the roads were dry. That's how the weather is in the Pacific Northwest.
The memories are vivid all the way from driving to the starting line in the morning wth my parents, listening to The Killers' "All These Things" on my ipod, powering through the swim feeling way better than expected, pushing through the bike ride - never been so happy to get off the bike and run, to wanting oh so much just to walk or lay down in the shade for a spell (and I did lay down in someone's shady lawn once until the lady who lived there asked her husband to ask me if I wanted the hose), but pushing on for the goal of the finish time and from the spirit of the race, the other racers and the crowd to push cheering me on. Go Spartacus! The sandal runner.
The most depressing moment was when another racer passed me while I was walking and asked me how badly did I want it? And I realized that in spite of wanting so much to finish under a certain time, at that moment I didn't really want it all that much. I was beat in that sense, but really my spirits were high and I was certain I would finish. There was never any doubt of that. It was just a matter of walking vs. running. So I walked quite a bit. I alternated between barefoot and huaraches. My throat became parched from the breathing and the electrolyte drink. My leg muscles began to fail. I was undernurished. Learning.
I was passed at my run mile 6 point by Jason Lomheim who told me he didn't want to see me walking except at aid stations. Well, he was at his mile 20. Gerardo Barrios asked me if I wanted some shoes, Cynthie Cuno said hi and Ray Barios gave me a hug. I passed by Jon Nathan who was my carrot on the bike, but he kept coming back and passed my 20 feet from the finish line. It was a great day.
Coming in just under 13 hours, I was kind of surprised at how quickly I had finished. Though my original goal was 12:30, my diminished spirits during the run, and the fact that I was walking so much made me expect a 13:15 - 13:30 finish time. It kind of made me wonder if I had pushed a little more, maybe I would have met my 12:30 goal. On the other hand, I don't regret not pushing because I had fun doing this, and pushing it would have only shaved at the very most an hour from my run time, and made me suffer. I wanted to savor taking it kind of easy, because I knew I had not trained properly for this distance, and I knew I have another IronMan race in New Zealand next year, and for that one, and all that come after it, I will not walk.
Part of me felt depressed after the completion of my first ironman. It's like a mixture of feelings about having worked so hard and focused so much and not having that anymore. It's missing how great it felt to be a rock star on race day. It's not being able to do my workouts because I have to recover. It's people doubting, and especially my own self doubting that I can ever qualify for Kona. It's like an identity crisis. Part of me wants to stop trying. But that's what this is really about, isn't it? This is the struggle of the ironman. This is where the real pain is endured. And I love it. Never give up.
Still, it's utterly bewildering how much faster I need to be to qualify for Kona.
I do believe that completing an ironman triathlon is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself. It is gratifying for me to look back on the photos and know that I did this, and to remember thinking how scarry it was when I first made that commitment, and that I stuck to it over the long haul and made it all the way to the finish line, in good time, and in good form. Then you can watch videos of ironman races and be able to relate to what you are watching. You know what is involved because you went through every mile.
As challenging as the ironman is, it somehow is not enough. I am convinced that a 24 hour run, or a double-ironman is the real test of not only the body, but the mind. I look forward to experiencing this for myself. The most satisfying thing in all of this has been that the more I do the more I want to do. I biked through the Pyrenees in France just 3 weks after my ironman. 7 days, 350 miles, and 45,000 feet of steep climbing on the bike at a pace faster than I had ever done before. I came back and did a 16 mile run through 100 degree heat, a 5 mile ocean swim, and a 31 mile run in 5:19 running in a combination of sandals and barefoot 1 weeks later, again with tons of climbing, my first ultra. I'm more in tune with myself and more confident. This sport is my yellow brick road, and I'm off to see the wizard.
