Ironman: Kalmar Pt. 1 "What and Why"
As it is a triathlon, I would like to summarize my experiences in three (or four) parts. What and Why. Where. How.
So what is an Ironman? A triathlon consists of three legs, swimming, biking, and running in that order. There are many distances for triathlons, but the Ironman lives up its name with a 2.4 mile swim (3.9 km), a 112 mile bike (180.2 km), and a 26.2 mile run (42.2 km). It’s a race that happens all over the globe, with tens of thousands of competitors a year. It takes “casual” competitors between 10 and 17 hours, with professionals running between closer to 8 or 9.
After learning what an Ironman is, a lot of people would ask why someone would willing spend and hundreds if not thousands of hours training much less hundreds if not thousands of dollars just to wake up at 5am for a long and uncomfortable day.
Fair question.
For most athletes in endurance races, the hardest part is getting to the starting line. For me that was a long and difficult road, but it really started nearly 20 years ago, when I began swimming for a team. I would continue this parentally-mandated-activity until it’s ultimate conclusion in America, graduating college with 4 years of Division 1 competition.
Earning my varsity letter ensured that I would continue the upkeep for this eclectic skillset, honed to a mastery. The natural transition was to triathlons. A 33.333% edge over the class was easier than relying on my hand-eye coordination to kick in at age 30.
But I had another reason to grind through the training.
Traumatic stress reverberates far beyond any accident. Biking home from a friend’s house. On the Dekalb avenue bike lane. It’s a protected lane. And it’s a straight shot home, all the way to the end. A car gunned to make a red and I was laid out on the pavement. In retrospect I should have jumped off my bike. The mental part is tough, but the physical distress was more apparent, the lump of collarbone under raised skin. My bad habit was to press down on it, not painful but a manual manipulation in vain attempts for normality, even if it only lasted a second after releasing the nub. I would see it creep upwards, the unbalance of strains and stresses of my muscular system on my skeletal frame. The ligaments that controlled for this unevenness were torn out of my shoulder. This misalignment was not the intention of this physical body but it was the result of 2 tons of blunt force via Honda Sonata. The goodie bag included 6 stitches, a concussion, an ambulance ride, and an overnight in the ER. But the two doses of morphine almost made the whole experience worth it. Even hell gives you a drink at the door.
I was running, no, hobbling slowly between doctor appointments and insurance meetings and lawyer calls, a level of in-between so bureaucratic and mind-numbing that it solidified my future emigration to a civilized country. One with universal healthcare and zero chance of my kid dying in a school shooting.
I was religiously devoted to my physical therapy appointments, a fervent hope that it might correct my shoulder. Lacking of any other way to rewrite the chapters of my story, I settled for 3 sets of 10 for 3hrs a week.
Just kidding.
I stretched my trice weekly appointments to an hour and a half, and I would practice myself every day, twice a day, morning and night. The strengthening of minor supporting stability and balance muscles is a tiresome, repetitive, and mundane practice. But I literally had no other choice.
There was progress. First regaining range of motion and then building strength. At least I am alive. Repeated ad nauseum between sets, sweating profusely just to lift a bar above my head. I ran away in my head, comforting myself in promises of grandeur. Twice a day for one year would make 70 or 80 percent. a year and a half for 90. two full years and I'll be so close it would be indistinguishable from before the accident. I would cartwheel again. I would practice handstands. I wouldn't have this disgusting lump protruding from my collarbones. Prominent bones I was once proud of. Vanity is a sin. I’m only human. I wish I was more, desperate prayers to unknown gods for anything beyond the guarantee of this mortal coil. That is strictly limited in these three dimensions. All of us are the same stardust so if you find in a fire, a spirit that gives you inspiration or envy, be fearless for it only exists to light the light in you. I live a life I love. I live a life that at its very core is to ignite the commonality of humanity. I'm only human and so are you.
