"Time heals all wounds".
It's been 4 months since my DNF at IMC last August, where I spent 1 hr 20 mins in T2. I was dumbstruck, I couldn't comprehend what happened to me on the bike, and I feared what might occur on the run. "To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom." Fear won out, and honestly, I was relieved to DNF.
The Chairman of the Board might croon "Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention..." but the sting of DNF still lingers. In that moment, in that place and time, it was the right thing to do. Life is made up of a multitude of such moments. And with the passage of time, I look back on the movie of my life, from a perspective not known to me last August. Reviewing A day in my life.....
"I read the news today, oh boy
About an Ironman who had a rough day
And though the news was rather sad
Well, I just had to laugh
There was no finish line photograph"
I should have left T2, and tried to finish what I started.
"Time wounds all heals."
I lived to see another day. Hopefully, "another day" will be IMC 2012, when I'll participate in my 14th consecutive Ironman Canada, and look for my 13th finish.
In previous Ironmans, I might be disappointed how slow I was, or how difficult it got for me. I'd cross the finish line half hearted, not appreciating the accomplishment.
But next August, the Tri Gods willing, I will respectfully redeem my awe and humilation of the event. I hope to defeat the demons of my DNF, even if it takes finishing past midnight.
My friend Kevin says there are 2 kinds of pain: The pain of discipline, and the pain of regret. The pain of my DNF still stings, and likely will until I cross that line next August.
In 1999 I was proud to join the Ironman finisher's club. In a way, I'm equally proud to be a member of the Ironman DNF club. Experiencing my DNF put Ironman Canada in perspective for me. As I get older, and slower, there will be a day when I won't be able to finish under 17 hours.
"And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive"
I bled that day in Penticton. But I'm alive, and I choose to Tri again. See you next August.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Taper, and apologies to Stephen Hawking
Ironman Canada in 3 weeks. My lack of training wishes it were 3 months. Can't do anything about that now, it's officially "The Taper".
With apologies to Cosmologists, one could say IMC is a black hole, and the taper the event horizon. Months ago, IMC seemed distant, light years away. Now, not quite visible, I know it's out there, I feel it pulling me in. It looms ominously, I'm caught in it's gravity, and there's no turning back. I'm on a collision course with IRONMAN.
From 3 weeks out I'm in the safety of the taper. Things still seem fairly normal. But with each day's dawn, I'm nearer to my fate. The taper will stretch my wits, and challenge my sanity. I'll feel lousy and out of shape. I'll reduce my training, and have extra hours each day, as if time itself were slowing down. Then I'll idle in doubt, anxiety, and temptation to do more.
It will peak in Penticton when I see the chiselled bodies of disciplined training. The figures fast and aero on machines of carbon. Runners fleet of foot, an effortless display of fitness. Like Hubble, I view the pure Universe of Ironman, seeing images of beauty and awe. "Starstuff pondering the stars" (Carl Sagan).
As a species we're on the shores of the Cosmic ocean, just dipping out toes. But we exist, we ponder our existance, and we seek to find answers.
What happens in a Black hole is theoretical; it's secrets revealed only from first hand experience. So too with Ironman Canada. Some secrets you'll discover, others Ironman Canada will keep. What you learn from Ironman Canada, is what you learn about yourself. And to find these answers, you'll have promises to keep, and miles to go, before you sleep.
With apologies to Cosmologists, one could say IMC is a black hole, and the taper the event horizon. Months ago, IMC seemed distant, light years away. Now, not quite visible, I know it's out there, I feel it pulling me in. It looms ominously, I'm caught in it's gravity, and there's no turning back. I'm on a collision course with IRONMAN.
From 3 weeks out I'm in the safety of the taper. Things still seem fairly normal. But with each day's dawn, I'm nearer to my fate. The taper will stretch my wits, and challenge my sanity. I'll feel lousy and out of shape. I'll reduce my training, and have extra hours each day, as if time itself were slowing down. Then I'll idle in doubt, anxiety, and temptation to do more.
It will peak in Penticton when I see the chiselled bodies of disciplined training. The figures fast and aero on machines of carbon. Runners fleet of foot, an effortless display of fitness. Like Hubble, I view the pure Universe of Ironman, seeing images of beauty and awe. "Starstuff pondering the stars" (Carl Sagan).
As a species we're on the shores of the Cosmic ocean, just dipping out toes. But we exist, we ponder our existance, and we seek to find answers.
What happens in a Black hole is theoretical; it's secrets revealed only from first hand experience. So too with Ironman Canada. Some secrets you'll discover, others Ironman Canada will keep. What you learn from Ironman Canada, is what you learn about yourself. And to find these answers, you'll have promises to keep, and miles to go, before you sleep.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Ironman Canada run course
Original post Aug. 5, 2009 slowtwitch.com:
One of many special things about IMC is the out and back run course. By mile 5, you're out of town, away from the crowds, little or no shade, with a glimpse of OK Falls in the distance....for me, that is where Ironman slaps you in the face. You have lots of time to think, as the layers are peeled away, exposing your soul. Now it's just you and the course, one step at a time, with miles to go the finish line. It's here where you realize it's been a very long day.
It's also here that you realize Ironman's are hard! The swim is a distant memory. You vaguely recall how good you felt early on the bike. You look forward to the oasis of the aid stations. You see the next mile marker, but can't believe what your watch says your pace is.
Sure there are distractions, like the runners coming toward you, heading back to town. Or you look out across Lake Skaha, the sun's rays sparkling on the surface. Way across the lake you see where you biked down from Yellow Lake, and you wonder how many bikers are still out there. You strike up conversations with other runners and shufflers. Afterall, misery loves company, and no one should suffer alone. You struggle, you're experiencing the lowest of the lows....... And then come the hills.
Ah, but if you can persevere, block out the pain, and keep moving forward..... If you can will yourself to run just 10 steps more, and then another 10.... to get to that tree, or the telephone pole, and now the big crack in the road. Next the walker up ahead. Before you know it, you've reached the top of the hill. It's a big deal!, but your only reward is to keep on keepin' on. You elate in these little victories, until you're able to make it to the turnaround. Now, you tell yourself, with every step, I'm getting that much closer to the finish!
Yes, you are talking to yourself. You're hearing voices, maybe even foaming at the mouth. Who cares. This is Ironman baby! And the voice you hear is that of your Ironwill.
This Ironman has beaten you up, but it hasn't beaten you. This Ironman might leave you broke, but it hasn't broken you.
You're in Penticton British Columbia, and you're doing Ironman Canada, and you WILL finish what you started. So stop feeling sorry for yourself, and haul ass to the finish line.
Finally you're on the outskirts of town, back from the abyss, back to familiar territory. Back to civilization, back to the belief that you're going to make it. The pain of each step is now masked in the joy of what's to come. Groups of spectators are cheering for you, as you reach the cobbles of downtown. Wall to wall people now, you feel energized, renewed, reborn. You hear someone say "Congratulations", and you burst into tears. Yes, it got ugly out there, real ugly, but here you are, just a couple miles from the finish, and you will be an Ironman!
You hear Steve King in the distance, and that's where you want to be. You turn on Winnipeg, the atmosphere is electric. You don't even see the 25 mile marker, it's blocked by the exuberant throng. You know enough to turn left, away from the finish line, away from the crowd, the noise, the excitement. . . back into the dark. . . abyss. . . NO! This is just a reminder that great rewards are earned. You run to the Siccamous, and make the turn in virtual obscurity. But soon, in a moment you'll remember forever, you'll be running on the carpet, between the bleachers, amid the flashes of cameras, with all your senses on overload.....
One of many special things about IMC is the out and back run course. By mile 5, you're out of town, away from the crowds, little or no shade, with a glimpse of OK Falls in the distance....for me, that is where Ironman slaps you in the face. You have lots of time to think, as the layers are peeled away, exposing your soul. Now it's just you and the course, one step at a time, with miles to go the finish line. It's here where you realize it's been a very long day.
It's also here that you realize Ironman's are hard! The swim is a distant memory. You vaguely recall how good you felt early on the bike. You look forward to the oasis of the aid stations. You see the next mile marker, but can't believe what your watch says your pace is.
Sure there are distractions, like the runners coming toward you, heading back to town. Or you look out across Lake Skaha, the sun's rays sparkling on the surface. Way across the lake you see where you biked down from Yellow Lake, and you wonder how many bikers are still out there. You strike up conversations with other runners and shufflers. Afterall, misery loves company, and no one should suffer alone. You struggle, you're experiencing the lowest of the lows....... And then come the hills.
Ah, but if you can persevere, block out the pain, and keep moving forward..... If you can will yourself to run just 10 steps more, and then another 10.... to get to that tree, or the telephone pole, and now the big crack in the road. Next the walker up ahead. Before you know it, you've reached the top of the hill. It's a big deal!, but your only reward is to keep on keepin' on. You elate in these little victories, until you're able to make it to the turnaround. Now, you tell yourself, with every step, I'm getting that much closer to the finish!
Yes, you are talking to yourself. You're hearing voices, maybe even foaming at the mouth. Who cares. This is Ironman baby! And the voice you hear is that of your Ironwill.
This Ironman has beaten you up, but it hasn't beaten you. This Ironman might leave you broke, but it hasn't broken you.
You're in Penticton British Columbia, and you're doing Ironman Canada, and you WILL finish what you started. So stop feeling sorry for yourself, and haul ass to the finish line.
Finally you're on the outskirts of town, back from the abyss, back to familiar territory. Back to civilization, back to the belief that you're going to make it. The pain of each step is now masked in the joy of what's to come. Groups of spectators are cheering for you, as you reach the cobbles of downtown. Wall to wall people now, you feel energized, renewed, reborn. You hear someone say "Congratulations", and you burst into tears. Yes, it got ugly out there, real ugly, but here you are, just a couple miles from the finish, and you will be an Ironman!
You hear Steve King in the distance, and that's where you want to be. You turn on Winnipeg, the atmosphere is electric. You don't even see the 25 mile marker, it's blocked by the exuberant throng. You know enough to turn left, away from the finish line, away from the crowd, the noise, the excitement. . . back into the dark. . . abyss. . . NO! This is just a reminder that great rewards are earned. You run to the Siccamous, and make the turn in virtual obscurity. But soon, in a moment you'll remember forever, you'll be running on the carpet, between the bleachers, amid the flashes of cameras, with all your senses on overload.....
The edge of forever
Spring is the season of hope. Nature begins anew, and we too long for a rebirth. A do over. It's a glorious time when anything and everything is possible. Grand thoughts scheme in our brains. This is the year I .... Climb that mountain, run that marathon, break that record, etc.
But aren't we supposed to act our age? The embodiment of Spring is renewal. A forward looking attitude to Life, to the unknown, to the undiscovered country. This is not for people my age, who should reflect backward, in the safe (and often inflated) reminisces of past glories, right?
Spring is a time to embrace Life! To bleed to know you're alive. To not go gentle into that good night! To break free from the doldrums of mediocrity. Oh me! Oh Life! To let the World know "I was here"! That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
As I lace up my shoes for another Season, I am thankful that Life is still giving me more things than it takes away. I'm excited for what lies ahead. Until my Springs are taken away, I stand at the edge of forever, anxious to take my next step...
But aren't we supposed to act our age? The embodiment of Spring is renewal. A forward looking attitude to Life, to the unknown, to the undiscovered country. This is not for people my age, who should reflect backward, in the safe (and often inflated) reminisces of past glories, right?
Spring is a time to embrace Life! To bleed to know you're alive. To not go gentle into that good night! To break free from the doldrums of mediocrity. Oh me! Oh Life! To let the World know "I was here"! That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
As I lace up my shoes for another Season, I am thankful that Life is still giving me more things than it takes away. I'm excited for what lies ahead. Until my Springs are taken away, I stand at the edge of forever, anxious to take my next step...
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Twin Cities Marathon 2010, stunning beauty, surprising weather
A frosty morning gave way to a brilliant sun rise, and temps quickly heated up, catching many a runner by surprise. Abandoned clothing littered both sides of the course, as the sun beat down on the weary joggers. A palette of colored leaves, glistening in the sun, dancing with the wind, against a crystal clear blue sky. Running along parkways so green one would think it was Spring. This is the Twin Cities Marathon, "the most beautiful urban marathon in the country". (Runner's World)
My first marathon ever was TCM, in 1991. The 2010 version was one of the finest. Famous for dedicated spectators, the cheering crowds made sure you heard them, as they celebrated with the runners. I struggled from the start with tight, sore legs, but a steady, slow pace saw me to the finish without incident.
Next up, on Sept. 23rd, is the inaugural Mankato Marathon. Looking forward to seeing old friends.
I hope my legs feel better!
Time 4:33.28 It's not about the time I got. It's the time I had, while getting the time I got!
(Steve King, 2010 IMC Award's Banquet)
My first marathon ever was TCM, in 1991. The 2010 version was one of the finest. Famous for dedicated spectators, the cheering crowds made sure you heard them, as they celebrated with the runners. I struggled from the start with tight, sore legs, but a steady, slow pace saw me to the finish without incident.
Next up, on Sept. 23rd, is the inaugural Mankato Marathon. Looking forward to seeing old friends.
I hope my legs feel better!
Time 4:33.28 It's not about the time I got. It's the time I had, while getting the time I got!
(Steve King, 2010 IMC Award's Banquet)
Monday, September 20, 2010
My Ironman Canada Wristband
(I posted this on Slowtwitch.com a week ago, but felt it was more appropriate to my blog.)
I'm still sporting my IMC wristband 2 1/2 weeks after the race.
2010 was my 12th banding at IMC, but I'm finding it hard to part with this year's flourescent green reminder. Maybe I'm trying to prolong my IMC experience, hoping to stave off the post traumatic IM doldrums. Maybe I'm just too lazy to find a scissors. Maybe I like neon green.
But neon green is not subtle. So, the cynic might say it's my subliminal eddy sucking the unsuspicious into an Ironman "all about me" conversation ad nauseum. Maybe.
My yearly pilgrimage to Penticton is the celebration of a lifestyle that allows me to participate in something bigger than myself. I get to don the costume of an Ironman, and sate in the accolades of ten thousand cheers. My joy graciously on loan vicariously to those nameless faces. So akin to the last mile of IMC, vicarious is a two way street. And I reap much more than I sow.
The patience of the volunteer at registration, working a double shift. The innocence of the little kid asking for my glowstick, then shyly asking for my autograph. The respect from the old folks sitting for hours, with bodies betrayed by time. Their barely audible cheers are deafening to me, and it is I who now betrays them, as I shuffle by, my pained acknowledgment and labored thank you belying my true gratitude. The Spartan volunteers at Yellow Lake, aka Ice Station Zebra. The awe, wonder, apprehension and fear on faces of Ironvirgins. The excitement of the finish line, building up to Midnight.
And the humbling experience afterward, while walking to my car along Winnipeg, as the crowd emptied onto the course. Up ahead I hear the din of excitement, I see the horde part, and a lone runner emerges from the darkness. People gasp in amazement, stopping to applaud and cheer what they are seeing. She is determined to cross the finish line, still over a mile away. I'm honored to celebrate her triumph, and overwhelmed with pride to witness her determination, as she passes me by. You go girl. Congratulations. You are an Ironman.
So I've got this plastic wristband that I haven't taken off yet. I think I'll keep it on just a bit longer.
I'm still sporting my IMC wristband 2 1/2 weeks after the race.
2010 was my 12th banding at IMC, but I'm finding it hard to part with this year's flourescent green reminder. Maybe I'm trying to prolong my IMC experience, hoping to stave off the post traumatic IM doldrums. Maybe I'm just too lazy to find a scissors. Maybe I like neon green.
But neon green is not subtle. So, the cynic might say it's my subliminal eddy sucking the unsuspicious into an Ironman "all about me" conversation ad nauseum. Maybe.
My yearly pilgrimage to Penticton is the celebration of a lifestyle that allows me to participate in something bigger than myself. I get to don the costume of an Ironman, and sate in the accolades of ten thousand cheers. My joy graciously on loan vicariously to those nameless faces. So akin to the last mile of IMC, vicarious is a two way street. And I reap much more than I sow.
The patience of the volunteer at registration, working a double shift. The innocence of the little kid asking for my glowstick, then shyly asking for my autograph. The respect from the old folks sitting for hours, with bodies betrayed by time. Their barely audible cheers are deafening to me, and it is I who now betrays them, as I shuffle by, my pained acknowledgment and labored thank you belying my true gratitude. The Spartan volunteers at Yellow Lake, aka Ice Station Zebra. The awe, wonder, apprehension and fear on faces of Ironvirgins. The excitement of the finish line, building up to Midnight.
And the humbling experience afterward, while walking to my car along Winnipeg, as the crowd emptied onto the course. Up ahead I hear the din of excitement, I see the horde part, and a lone runner emerges from the darkness. People gasp in amazement, stopping to applaud and cheer what they are seeing. She is determined to cross the finish line, still over a mile away. I'm honored to celebrate her triumph, and overwhelmed with pride to witness her determination, as she passes me by. You go girl. Congratulations. You are an Ironman.
So I've got this plastic wristband that I haven't taken off yet. I think I'll keep it on just a bit longer.
Friday, September 3, 2010
2010 IMC, The best of times, the worst of times
This year's version of Ironman Canada featured cool temps, rain, sleet, and strong North winds.
Swim: Cold & Slow 1:28
You reap what you sow. Notorious for my lack of swim training, I did even less this year, and it showed.
Bike: Steady pace 6:40
More bike miles this year (3500+), and it paid off. Didn't go faster, but felt strong and in control all day.
Run: Into the Abyss....and back! 5:19
Felt like a runner, had to slow my pace down in early miles, my legs felt great. Started to get tight around mile 8, the beginning of the meltdown.
Got to the turnaround in OK Falls, and walked up the big hill out of town. Tried to baby step jog, but my legs said no. Walked about 1 mile with a guy who was having more trouble than me. (I'm on the edge now, looking down). Saw him to the medical tent at the next aid station, then tried to jog again, but instead fell directly into the abyss.
Yes, I fell into the abyss, and I like it. This is a nice place, I didn't want to leave it. I knew it wasn't my happy place, but in this warped reality, I was in la la land. I was feeling sorry for myself, thinking I was suffering so badly, I wanted to quit, and the darkness of the abyss offered me refuge. I could stay here, and everything would be just fine. Misery loves company, and I was lonely. Then a funny thing happened.
Coming up to mile 18, my brain told me it was 19. I knew it was 18, but wanted to believe it was 19. I couldn't yet read the mile marker, and squinted into the distance. Is that an 8 or a 9? It better be a 9, I told myself. Soon I could read the numbers, and seeing it was only 18, I got angry at the mile marker. I was really ticked off. But my anger helped me out of my funk, and I began to climb up from the darkness. I realized I wasn't suffering any more than anyone else, and I should stop feeling sorry for myself.
I begin to get mad at ME! I use this to get to mile 19, where attempting the math, I thought maybe, just maybe (if I was seeing my watch right), I could finish just past 14 hours. I'm climbing up and nearly out of the chasm now. It took the next mile to clear my head, and at mile 20 I more accurately evaluated my situation. I had 6.2 miles to go, and 1 1/2 hours to 14 hours. Can I run a 10k in an hour and a half?
As you can see, I was getting my wits about me, and now I had a goal. The last 10k was the most gratifying I've ever run. My will to finish strong, and my determination to hit my new goal, was very satisfying. This fueled my desire to finish strong. Rather than trying to survive the run, I embraced it, and went for it. Again, I felt like a runner. By mile 22, I ran the long incline just past Skaha Lake beach. I made the turn onto Main. This impossibly long uphill stretch went by effortlessly. I crested the rise, and lengthened my stride. I was back in town, feeling great, and felt like I was flying.
Turned left off Main, then right onto Winnipeg, and saw the mass of people lining the course. Did the last left turn of the night onto Lakeshore, only 1.2 miles to go, and I was going to enjoy every step. If you've done IMC before, you know the nasty trick of the finish line so near, and yet so far. 1k to the Sicamous, do the u-turn, then the final 1k to the finish. This usually is a difficult section. Not this night, not for me, not after what I'd been through.
I hear them screaming and clapping. I hear the pounding from the bleachers. I see the faces, they're as excited as I am. This finish is my celebration from the abyss. My celebration of the power of the human spirit, which when called upon, can lead anyone to great things. I once was teetering on the brink, I now have strength. I once felt pain, I now feel euphoria. I once had doubt, I now am in awe. Ten thousand voices escort me to the finish line, and it's over. The abyss, there and back again.
Swim: Cold & Slow 1:28
You reap what you sow. Notorious for my lack of swim training, I did even less this year, and it showed.
Bike: Steady pace 6:40
More bike miles this year (3500+), and it paid off. Didn't go faster, but felt strong and in control all day.
Run: Into the Abyss....and back! 5:19
Felt like a runner, had to slow my pace down in early miles, my legs felt great. Started to get tight around mile 8, the beginning of the meltdown.
Got to the turnaround in OK Falls, and walked up the big hill out of town. Tried to baby step jog, but my legs said no. Walked about 1 mile with a guy who was having more trouble than me. (I'm on the edge now, looking down). Saw him to the medical tent at the next aid station, then tried to jog again, but instead fell directly into the abyss.
Yes, I fell into the abyss, and I like it. This is a nice place, I didn't want to leave it. I knew it wasn't my happy place, but in this warped reality, I was in la la land. I was feeling sorry for myself, thinking I was suffering so badly, I wanted to quit, and the darkness of the abyss offered me refuge. I could stay here, and everything would be just fine. Misery loves company, and I was lonely. Then a funny thing happened.
Coming up to mile 18, my brain told me it was 19. I knew it was 18, but wanted to believe it was 19. I couldn't yet read the mile marker, and squinted into the distance. Is that an 8 or a 9? It better be a 9, I told myself. Soon I could read the numbers, and seeing it was only 18, I got angry at the mile marker. I was really ticked off. But my anger helped me out of my funk, and I began to climb up from the darkness. I realized I wasn't suffering any more than anyone else, and I should stop feeling sorry for myself.
I begin to get mad at ME! I use this to get to mile 19, where attempting the math, I thought maybe, just maybe (if I was seeing my watch right), I could finish just past 14 hours. I'm climbing up and nearly out of the chasm now. It took the next mile to clear my head, and at mile 20 I more accurately evaluated my situation. I had 6.2 miles to go, and 1 1/2 hours to 14 hours. Can I run a 10k in an hour and a half?
As you can see, I was getting my wits about me, and now I had a goal. The last 10k was the most gratifying I've ever run. My will to finish strong, and my determination to hit my new goal, was very satisfying. This fueled my desire to finish strong. Rather than trying to survive the run, I embraced it, and went for it. Again, I felt like a runner. By mile 22, I ran the long incline just past Skaha Lake beach. I made the turn onto Main. This impossibly long uphill stretch went by effortlessly. I crested the rise, and lengthened my stride. I was back in town, feeling great, and felt like I was flying.
Turned left off Main, then right onto Winnipeg, and saw the mass of people lining the course. Did the last left turn of the night onto Lakeshore, only 1.2 miles to go, and I was going to enjoy every step. If you've done IMC before, you know the nasty trick of the finish line so near, and yet so far. 1k to the Sicamous, do the u-turn, then the final 1k to the finish. This usually is a difficult section. Not this night, not for me, not after what I'd been through.
I hear them screaming and clapping. I hear the pounding from the bleachers. I see the faces, they're as excited as I am. This finish is my celebration from the abyss. My celebration of the power of the human spirit, which when called upon, can lead anyone to great things. I once was teetering on the brink, I now have strength. I once felt pain, I now feel euphoria. I once had doubt, I now am in awe. Ten thousand voices escort me to the finish line, and it's over. The abyss, there and back again.
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