Hell In The Water

7:00 AM


BOOOOOM!!!

That cannon will strike fear into the heart of any IronMan would-be, and I would think many of the veteran athletes as well. I have been in the artillery and infantry for 7 years, and I have never jumped at the sound of a cannon. I think I got a good 2 feet when that 2nd one went off. This was it. I was now walking in the line, headed toward the water. My heart was pounding. I was trying to fake it, and I couldn't believe I wasn't crying.

I remember hearing the words of a buddy of mine that did IM Louisville in 2009 as his first IronMan, "You won't be nervous as you head down to the water".  HA!  Bullshit man.  I could feel my heart beating in my throat.  I have never been more nervous in all my life.  Not in all the firefights I have been in, not in all the times I have seen soldiers shot, or burning, and near death.  I was prepared for that.  But just as no one can ever predict how they will react the first time they are under fire, I truly believe that you cannot predict how you will react when you are in your last few minutes on land before your first IronMan.  I don't care how badass you are...IronMan is badder.  It will bring you to your knees, whether you admit it or not.  What matters is, will you continue down, and fall on your face?  Or will you lift yourself up, with all of your strength, stand tall, and say, "I can do this.  I KNOW I CAN".

An amazing thing happened. Once I jumped in the water, a calm came over me. "You can do this, man", I told myself. "You've trained, you're ready, you've got this. Just left, right, left, right...and get to the beach", I repeated in my head. I did this, and I felt a lot better once I had beeen swimming for about 25:00.  By this time, I was past the northern point of Towhead Island.

I had started at the southern point of Towhead Island, on the east side of the Ohio River, swam to the north of it by about 400 meters, then turned and headed south, with Kentucky to my left, and Indiana to my right.  The river was about 700 meters across, it varied though, sometimes as much 1,000 meters or so.  I'm not sure of the exact width, but it is wide.  As I swam along the western side of Towhead, where the massive cargo barges are, I could see the two bridges looming in the distance that I would be swimming under.  They seemed to take forever to come to me as I slowly made my way past the big orange Doritos.  I couldn't believe all the fast women that were sliding effortlessly past me.  It was slightly disheartening, but I knew I'd see them again soon.  "Just swim as fast you can, and get to the beach", I kept telling myself.

Under two bridges, which seemed miles apart in the water, and I was within sight if the SWIM OUT arch. "I'm almost there!", I told myself. Due to a slight (read major) miscalculation on my part, I ended up swimming farther than I should have, thus making my time a little longer than I had originally expected. But none of that mattered now, as I could hear the voices of the volunteers yelling for me to swim toward them. I was 100 meters away now. In my eyes, it was all over but the crying. I would smoke the bike and run, and claim my title. I have never been happier to feel a stranger's hand on mine, as the nice lady pulled me toward the metal steps, I clambered up, and took just a second to realize that I was on land! Happy time over, it was back to business. I took off sprinting over the timing mat, ripped my cap and goggles from my head and ran toward transition.

SWIM TIME - 2:00:34




This is me here.  The skinny guy with my goggles and swim cap in my right hand, and black cycling shorts on.

Never Quit

Other than the fresh ink on my leg, the soreness is gone. My life has returned to normal. Well, as normal as it can be. You see, last Sunday, 29 August 2010, at 9:35 PM, in Louisville, Kentucky, I became an Ironman. That was a moment that I can promise you I will never forget. A moment that changes each person who experiences it...forever.

No matter what happens for the rest of my life, I am, and always will be, an IRONMAN. It can't be taken away. A lot like becoming an Eagle Scout, an Army Ranger, a college graduate, or a President, becoming an Ironman is permanent. Once...always. There is a sense of comfort one feels when earning acceptance into an elite group, the entry into which is long, challenging, and rewarding. That's exactly what this is. When I looked into the faces of other medal holders post-race, we read each other's faces, and without a word, communicated thousands.

But I'm putting the cart before the horse, or this case, the run before the bike. Let me start from the beginning.

This Ironman dream started many years ago, but never become an actual tangible thing until about 3 years ago. I ran my first marathon in March of 2007, and from that moment, I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. With barely adequate training, which would come to be almost a trademark for me, I ran a 3:44. Two days later, on my 26th birthday, I decided I would run 30 marathons before I turned 30. I had tossed around the idea of running an Ironman before 30 as well, but wasn't sure. Could I do it? It seemed like a daunting undertaking, to say the least. By 2008, however, it became reality. I was going to run 30 marathons and 1 Ironman in about 3 years. Seemed fairly doable, given the amount of time I had left. Then, in late 2008, my dreams were dealt a crushing blow. I received notification that I would be deploying to Afghanistan, and full-time training would begin in January.

Needless to say, I was depressed. Leaving my family for a year, leaving the sport I love so much, and as it appeared, leaving my dreams to die along the way. But while I was overseas, a new sense of resolve came over me. The desire to succeed became much more powerful than the easy out. To quit...was not an option. I would go ahead with it. ALL of it. This would consist of 26 marathons and 1 Ironman in 51 weeks.

In April I returned from Afghanistan and began my training. I ran 2 marathons within the 2 weeks following my release. I was fairly confident about my abilities to get my running and cycling up to the level in time, but having never really swam more than a few hundred meters, I was somewhat worried about the training involved in the triathlon's first discipline.

In early June, I started my swim training. I BARELY made it 400 meters, about 10% of the Ironman swim. It goes without saying that I was nervous at this point. Over June and July my training progressed as rapidly as I needed it to, and thankfully I was soon swimming over 3,000 meters without stopping. I was not fast by any means, but about 40 seconds per 100 meters under the cutoff time, which was all that mattered to me.

As race day grew closer with each passing minute, it seemed, I became increasingly nervous. The 2 weeks prior to the race I could feel it in my gut constantly. This was huge. I knew it. Everyone that takes on this outrageous endurance event knows it. When it comes to extreme sports, it doesn't get any more extreme than this. You want adrenaline? I could have bottled a gallon of it in the hour before I got in the water.

RACE DAY:

Everything was meticulously planned, down to the minute. Transition had been set up the day before, I was all set to be there at 4:30 to fill my bottle and pump my tires, then head on to the swim start to be bodymarked. There were a lot more markers than I thought there would be, and the guy that marked me thought it was funny that I have the words "I AM" tattooed on my left calf. It read "I AM 29" after he added my age, and he showed some of the other volunteers who had a chuckle as well.  I told him that very soon I would be finishing the sentence.

After an hour of sitting around on the concrete in the dark, trying to keep my stomach where it belongs, we finally started packing the line in to get closer to the swim start. Another 30:00 of nervous anticipation, and I hear the opening chords of "Don't Stop Believin'". The hair on the back of my neck stood up immediately, and so would have the hair on the rest of my body, if I had any. I had been near tears at many times that morning. Had it not been for the dozens of hardened athletes all around me, all of whom it seemed had done more than their share of Ironmans, and my own hard core attitude, I would have dropped to a knee and cried like a baby. If anyone can seriously tell you that an Ironman is not a deeply emotional experience, I would question the existence of that person's character.  I can tell you with absolute certainty that I will never hear that song the same way again.

The victory of the day was not simply a goal for me, it was a foregone conclusion. I had to make it. After all, I'm doing this for my brothers. Those that laid down everything they had in service of our great country. The money I raise doing these races, goes to help, in some way, the families of those many brave men and women, as well as those wounded in action. So you see, in many ways, I never believed there was any other option. Come hell or high water, I would see that finish line, claim what is mine, and bring my brothers home.

Welcome to 26.2 for Soldiers!

Thank you so much for supporting me in my journey, and more importantly, for supporting the fine men and women who dedicate their lives to the service of this country.