October 23, 2001: Waco, TX — 4:18am — 3 hours to race start
I am here. It’s race day. I’ve been up for an hour and have three hours until start time.
More than anything, I feel strangely calm. It’s possible the dark quiet of the early morning hasn’t allowed my nerves to set in yet. I think it’s more than that though. I feel ready. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I took no shortcuts. I didn’t attempt any “hacks.” I’ve done the training, all of it. I’ve embraced the suck when things were at their worst — stomach issues, back pain, dehydration, blazing heat.
I’ve also paused to enjoy the things that made me feel like I was on top of the world — the glowing orange sunrise, the beautiful mountain landscapes in different lights of day across different seasons, the satisfaction of achieving new personal firsts — like a 100 mile bike ride, a 20 mile run, or a 2.5 mile swim.
I’m ready. And, in some sense I feel like I’ve already won. I believe I’ll finish the race, but even if I don’t, I still feel as though I’ve won. One thing I’ve learned for certain is that I’m not racing against anyone else. It doesn’t matter who else I’m beating or losing to today. I’m not racing to be better than anyone else is today. I’m racing to be better than I was yesterday, and the week before that, and the month before that. And, I know that on a fundamental level I am better, not just as an athlete but as a person. I have made myself stronger, more present, a better father and husband, and a better human. I know this is true, even if I cannot quite articulate how or why quite yet.
Throughout the last six months, everyone has asked me some version of the same question: “Why are you doing this?” I’ve struggled to articulate a clear answer. But, on some level the answer is “because it’s really fucking hard.”
Even a year ago I wouldn’t have understood why anyone would choose to do something just because it’s hard. I don’t expect anyone else to understand it. I still can’t say I fully understand the rationale behind it. It’s not about being competitive in the race (I won’t come close to winning), or the money (there is none), or the glory (most people won’t know or care). It’s about knowing that if I put my mind and body to a task, I can achieve it, even if it seems impossible.
Some people, even people I truly love, have acted as though this goal is selfish. Maybe it is, but I don’t see it that way. I don’t quite know how yet, but I’ll use what I’ve done and what I’ve learned to help others and show them the raw potential they have inside them. I will share what I’ve learned about how this kind of struggle through pain and exhaustion can bring a lasting happiness and satisfaction that no amount of money ever could.
The reality is that this journey has been infinitely more rewarding than any job, house, car, I’ve ever had or any award or recognition I’ve ever received. I have tested myself, gone to new mental places, and felt new physical highs (and lows). I’ve learned that there is no substitute for this kind of challenge and the internal rewards it provides. In that sense maybe it is selfish after all.
I truly hope that I can pass these lessons onto others, especially my children. My girls (ages 3 and 5) are truly wonderful people, with immense potential. When I was a kid my parents said the same types of things to me. But, in their minds (and seemingly in those of all adults at the time) that meant the potential to become a doctor, or a lawyer (been there, done that, wouldn’t recommend it), to have a big house, a nice car, etc. That’s not what I mean when I talk about my kids’ potential. In my mind that type of potential isn’t all that important.
Instead, I’d like to teach my girls that those types of material possessions and status symbols don’t lead to happiness. In fact, from my own experience, I know that they often lead to bad decisions, sadness, or emptiness. The potential I’m talking about is the vision and drive to push yourself beyond what seems possible, to test yourself in difficult ways, to explore uncharted territory, to fail spectacularly, to learn the hard way, and to occasionally succeed. I know they can tap into that potential because I’ve now tapped into it myself. That is truly the gift that the Ironman (or at least the training leading up to it) has given to me.
In the process of testing ourselves with big, difficult, and at times quixotic, challenges we learn more than we could in any school. That’s because we learn about ourselves, how our minds work, and what it feels like to experience the deepest lows as well as the highest highs. We should encourage our kids to pursue challenges like the Ironman not because of what they ultimately achieve at the finish, but instead because of what they experience from the struggle along the way.
Too much of life today is consumed with empty noise — TV, internet, loud kids toys, museums with multimedia displays, smart devices, talking speakers, social media, and good old fashioned painful small talk. A big part of my Ironman journey has been existing for long periods with no outside noise whatsoever. In the silence there is a different type of sound — the inner voice of our own thoughts. At times they are a whisper, at other times they are a scream. At times they are an upbeat melody, at other times they are a staccato barrage of self-questioning insults. They are always, however, a window into our authentic self, the good, the bad, and the ugly.
It’s this time, in your our own head, facing our own demons that will teach us the most. In my experience the only way to turn on that dialogue is to face a seemingly impossible task. It’s that type of test and the struggle to pass it that will teach us who we really are, what fears we really have, what potential we can really achieve, and what we have to do to achieve it.
It’s time for me to get going for this final stage of my own test. As I’m heading out to get to the starting line, I’m honestly more grateful than I am anxious or nervous. I’m thankful for the lessons I’ve learned. I really do feel like I’ve already won. Now it’s race time.