Confessions of a first time Ironman (pt.1)

It’s 1982.  Little fourth grade Stephen is watching the Hawaii Ironman triathlon on “ABC’s Wide World of Sports”.  Back then, marathons were something only crazy people did, while triathlon was pretty much unknown in the sporting consciousness.  Here they were, showing the craziest of triathlon of all.

Swim 2.4 miles in the roiling ocean.  Bike 112 miles over lava fields.  Run a 26.2 mile marathon.  All in one day.

It even had a cool name!  Ironman.  As I sat there transfixed by the drama unfolding on screen, my little brain struggled to comprehend those distances.  These athletes seemed superhuman.  I don’t remember who won the men’s race, but it was the women’s finish that branded Ironman in my mind forever:

It takes a special kind of sickness to watch that as a little kid and decide this is something you want to be able to do one day.

December 2009.  I’d already completed several triathlons of ever increasing distances that summer, maxing out at the “Olympic” distance.  I had a Half Ironman lined up for the following March, but making the leap to the full distance was still something I hadn’t yet seriously considered.  There were too many reasons why not.  The distances were mind boggling.  I’m a crappy swimmer.  I’d never run more than 6 miles in my life.  I didn't really know what the training involved, but I’d probably have to give up hiking, camping, dancing, and vacations in order to make time (yep, yup, yes, and... yeah).  The distances *still* weren’t getting any less mind boggling.

It might seem strange to hear this, but completing your first Ironman is actually relatively easy.  The hardest part?  Signing up.  You need to be in the right state of mind to be able to decide 10-12 months in advance to plunk down the $600 (in some cases $1200) non-refundable, non-transferrable entry fee.  Injured?  Too bad.  Pregnant?  Too bad.  Once you’re in, you’re in.  You're essentially making a promise to yourself to BE at that finish line.  For the longest time, I just wasn’t able to do that.

I felt my state of mind shift one morning while having dim sum with a table full of Ironman finishers.  People often ask me why I do triathlon.  I like to say that I fell in with the wrong crowd.  Well, this was the crowd.  People who schedule multiple marathons like social events.  Others with multiple IM finishes.  Still others who were racing multiple IMs in the same season.  Nobody actually tried to talk me into signing up for anything.  But what struck me was how normal everybody was.  Guys and gals of all different ages and body types, some of whom you'd never have guessed were IM finishers unless they told you.  I started to think that maybe I could do this too.

Dim sum with the wrong crowd.  One week before I signed up.

More dim sum with more of the wrong crowd.  One week before the race.

That night, I chatted a bit with my friend from high school who also had just completed an IM.  I needed one more push.  Just do it, he said.  No matter how many more shorter races you do, it’s never going to get easier to sign up.  Once you’re committed, everything else will take care of itself.  Two days later, I took the plunge.

11 months after that, I found myself jumping into the 61 degree waters of Tempe Town Lake, wondering what I had gotten myself into.