Ironman
A good runner leaves no footprints. Lao Tzu
Doing an Ironman was not a part-time endeavour. The race was for the six to nine months that I trained for, the guiding force in my life. I spent many hours each week training. And I spent even more hours each week thinking, dreaming, talking, reading, and surfing the Internet in pursuit of everything Ironman, Ironman had consumed me.
My life revolved around training, sleeping (going to bed by 9pm), food (researching the best fuel), and drink. My social life revolved around 5am Masters swims, sometimes Saturday rides with dnots, and Sunday runs. Some of these bonds were invaluable as my tent mates of the Sahara and Desert Cup run. My wife, kids, family and friends were extremely patient and my colleagues couldn’t figure what all the fuss was for.
I brooded over my training program, my race goals, gathering training and racing tips from experienced Ironman finishers and tri mags, and figuring out which of the tips I should accept. I was consumed by equipment and technology. I asked essential life questions, such as “Can aero seatpost make me faster?”…”700c or 650c?”, and “What is my favourite energy bar?”
I obsessed about the minutiae of triathlon. I rented videos on swim technique. I read the latest research on Ironman nutrition. I looked forward to going to my local REI, bike tri-store, hoping there is something I forgot to buy that I absolutely must have. I made lists of what I needed in the Ironman, what I should put in each transition and special-needs bag, and what I have to do the day before and the day of the race.
I lived for my daily workouts. I had trouble falling asleep because I couldn’t wait to get up the next day and train. I compulsively recorded every detail of my training program in my computer: distance, time, intensity, heart rate, splits, strokes per length, miles per hour, minutes per mile. I tracked my progress. I at first wondered how a person can enjoy swimming 100 laps in a 21.88 yard pool and riding a bike for more than seven hours and then came to understand how. I reveled in completing my first two-mile swim, 100-mile ride, and 20-mile run. I added “brick” to my vocabulary and used it proudly. I extrapolated my training and shorter race times to my Ironman (bad idea!) I added up my weekly volume every Sunday and was happy when I approached 20 hours.
I had at least 10 water bottles at some point in a never-ending cycle of Ironman life; on my bike, in the sink soaking with soapy water, in the dish rack drying, or taking up an entire counter in my kitchen poised and ready to return to my bike. I experienced more emotional highs and lows in one day than I usually felt in a week. I felt excitement, frustration, hope, anger, despair, doubt, awe, sadness, and inspiration. I questioned the meaning of my life and why I was doing an Ironman – and I came up with different answers every time. I smiled with joy at the thought of being an Ironman and cringed at the thought of not finishing.
Six weeks before the race, on a training ride on Sierra road with Raminder and Ambarish, I had an accident. I fractured my right collarbone, broke two ribs and suffered a mild concussion. In the subsequent weeks, I struggled to cope with the pain and stress. I drew inspiration from the story of Tyler Hamilton who had just months earlier in the Tour de France 2003 won the most grueling mountain stage while riding with a double-fractured collarbone. I resumed training on a stationary bike. I asked my YMCA lifeguard friends to show me swimming strokes using only the left hand. A month later, to the sounds of the Hawaiian chants and drums, I was off the starting line. I began the swim with one arm in the sling, kept ahead of the swim, bike and run cutoff times and completed the race in the sling. I arrived at the finish line on Ali'i Drive to a cheering crowd an hour before the total cutoff time of 17 hours. I had become an IRONMAN, despite the odds!
