Not Being Sure Creates the Tension.

Ironman races usually for me are planned as much as a year in advance. Some time ago, it was pointed out to me that it is best to make hard decisions about any future Ironman race long before the days leading up to the next Ironman itself. Otherwise it would be like “trying to balance the moral equation of being in high school and deciding if you’re ready to have sex while in the back seat with your pants off.”

Turns out, I needn’t have worried. Last year the only thing I kept thinking over and over again as I approached Ironman Couer d'Alene was, “Oh thank god I won't be racing long again this season”. Even the morning after, during our usual breakfast stop post-race, I couldn’t help but think how glad I was to have done it and how glad to once again be able to call myself an Ironman, but I was also ridiculously happy to not have to think about doing it twice. I have had seasons where I have been blessed with multiple Ironman start lines but not having more then one this season was a blessing.

It’s been said that courage is simply the accumulation of many small steps.

This year that may ring especially true because I have committed to something that’s going to take a whole new courage; completing another two Ironman season - Ironman World Championship in Kona Hawaii, October 8 and Ironman Arizona, November 22.

It’s been a lot of small, disjointed steps that have gotten me to this point in my racing journey, not all of which I’m probably aware of. But I can tell you exactly where the turning point was, that point where a notion of a season like this was born and a place in time that has, in some part, gotten me here.

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It was just another day in October. Having drinks at The Viking with a few friends. Reveling in the afterglow of an Ironman season when talk inevitably turned to Ironman and it's lifestyle. While truly enjoying the company, I looked about the setting. I could recognize the faces of patrons that stop by on a regular basis and I realized I too were one of them. A clairvoiant moment.

As we spoke about a few of the details of that years Ironman, the majority of my friends were in agreement: Doing an Ironman? Crazy! What in the this world would ever posses anyone to do such a thing? As I sat I knew I needed to move forward in my racing lifestyle, if for no other reason then the bartender knew what beer I drink without my ordering. Not good.

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After all these years and all these races, why do I continue to sign up?

For this, I drift back to 2003 and 2004 while standing on Sherman Avenue in Coeur d' Alene Idaho. I expected to see ripped, superhuman athletes pushing themselves further than any average person could ever conceive of doing, which I did.

But I also saw so much more.

I saw average people; Butchers, Bakers and Candlestick Makers, young and old, thick and thin, all accomplishing something they might have never before dreamed of. I saw athletes cheering on athletes. Bystanders cheering on strangers, sometimes running along with an athlete they didn’t even know because he or she looked like they needed some extra support. I saw a racer, her husband walking with her, children in tow. She was bawling her eyes out because as she stated "I just can't do it and I'm letting us all down." I watched as her husband walked with her, encouraged her and gave her a gentle push only because he knew something in that moment she could no longer see. I took note of her race number so I could later check the results. She did finish - for all of them. I saw all that is good in people playing out on that one day in that one race.

Standing alone in a sea of people that had gathered on Shernman Avenue, I watch, I got chills and I cried.

Maybe it was the bigness of the Ironman, the almost-insurmountability of doing it while trying to maintain a job, or a family, or any semblance of a life. Maybe it was the dedication, not only of the athletes, but of their friends and families. The dedication evident in the signs they hold and the pride in their eyes as they recount endless stories about getting their team to the start line. Proud of the fact that they were out there on the day too, as part of a team that picked up groceries or cleaned the house or did any one of a thousand things throughout the year so their athlete could do a two hour run or a six hour bike or both. Maybe it was all of this combined that had gotten them to this exact moment.

Whatever it was, it stayed with me and the next year I found myself again standing on Sherman avenue at 11:55 PM. The last hour of any Ironman always moves me. Again, I got goosebumps. Again, I cried.

The next year, I signed up. I was one of more than 2,000 people to register for Ironman Coeur d’ Alene. This was a big undertaking. Huge.

It was my very first, very small step with many more to be taken in the coming years.

Fast forward to the hear and now -

This year has not gone according to script. I have been a bit bruised, battered and even a bit broken. A lower back niggle in early May left me pulling out of two 70.3 races. Races designed not only to test fitness but to road map progression to Kona.

Shortly after getting back to a regular training schedule a recovery ride fall on the mountain bike left with me a broken hand and issues in both shoulders. With the hand you can mark it on the calendar, 4 to 6 weeks, but the shoulders can be a different animal for sure.

And yes, in case you were wondering, I have now been banned from the mountain bike. I'm greatful that Bootsy hasn't thrown this particular bike in the lake.

So I’m terrified, nervous and constantly wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. But I’m also incredibly excited. This is going to be an adventure for me and for my entire team. A team who have all signed on and will be there in Kona to cheer me on.