What inspires?

Inspiration can come from anywhere and be nurtured by anything. It comes in an endless array of shapes and forms. But you have to choose to see it. The enclosed photo is to date my favorite portrait of myself within the realm of triathlon. It's a photo taken by Bootsy in the latter stages of Ironman Arizona. I posted the picture to facebook where a friend, unbeknownst to me, capture the image and had a poster style print made of it. That print is headed to the framers and then on to the wall. Thanks Rick-O!! 


Never lose sight of inspiration. Ironman Arizona 2012

The fact that this image of a young girl moved others to either like it on FB or actually have it printed got me thinking I should expand on what inspires me and why.

All Iron distance races are grueling. It's the nature of the race itself and frankly part of what keeps me coming back to the start line each year. Iron distance races are arguably the toughest single day endurance event on the face of the planet. When you swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 and then run a marathon there are going to be highs and lows. There just are, there is no getting around it. Bootsy and I have been fortunate in the fact we have been able to choose Iron distance race venues where friends and family are in attendance. Except for one, Ironman Wisconsin 2011. In most aspects of the race, swim excluded for obvious reasons, I look to the crowd for inspitation in both times of trouble and times of triumph. The times of trouble seem to stick in my mind a little better then times of triumph.

We have the best race day friends ever. Period! These crazies know how to work a race from a spectators point of view. They are popping up everywhere and anywhere on the course all day long. And if you're out there deep into the night, so are they. The knowledge that they are out there waiting absolutely makes it easier to run from place to place, from face to face.

When we signed up for IM Wisconsin in 2011 we knew we would be traveling and racing alone, just the two of us. I quickly realized for that reason it would be a different race for me and my ability to draw from the crowd. On race morning, Bootsy was a little more eagar to get into the water then I. She wanted a warm up, I did not. Sliding to the side of the shoot to stay out of the way of the other athletes pilgrimage to the water, there were families with small children being held so they could see over the fence. You see this at every race. The children had there arms extended in an effort to get a hand slap or "high five" from the passing athletes. I took the images of my high fives with those kiddos with me the rest of the day.

Not knowing another soul in Madison that day I wondered about the latter portions of my race. Where would I look for help, for inspiration? I found it in the children of Wisconsin. Be it on the bike or the run, if there was a child with a hand out looking for a high five, they got it from me. It is my guess these children were collecting high fives from the athletes. What these kids may never know is they are giving more then they could ever receive. At least they are giving to me when I race.

Iron distance racing strips me down. I can get to places within myself that I can only get to on race day. A pureity exists in the eyes of a child that embodies some of these places. There are sacred moments within a race that surprise me; they come without warning or prompting; they simply visit, then vanish, leaving me with peaceful joy or bliss that is beyond my ability to express or describe. These types of experiences were more frequent in my childhood but have become rarer as I age and cynicism or doubts jade me and separate me from these places. I draw peace, strength and inspiration from the out stretched hand of a child.