“But Dada…why do you have to do your Ironman races?” This was asked of me by my youngest son, Jeffrey (5), just 3 days prior to my first ever triathlon. I found myself in the uncommon position of not having words to explain why "I had to” do this race. At that moment, it felt like time stopped. I had no response at all! The best answer I could think of was, “When I was young, I watched the first ever Ironman, at your Great Grandpa’s house. Everyone was kinda freaked out by what they were seeing, but I was just sort of sitting quietly...wishing it was me! I've wanted to do this for my whole life, so now...I’m gonna do it!” The deeper, more telling answer certainly wasn't on the surface. It was deeper. It must have been! But I just wan't aware of how deeply I’d have to dig in order to find the real answer, but I found it. In short, I don’t "have to" do an Ironman. Ironman; the event, the medal, the emotion, all of it, is really the reward. The truth is that the training, the pushing, the breaking down of barriers, the will, the alone time on runs, loneliness on rides, and quiet mind numbing hours staring at the black line at the bottom of the pool, have made me, and continue to make me a better man. I guess that's why I keep trying. Suffering: It forces you into places where your ego can no longer survive. It strips you down. It forces you to be raw; to be authentic; to be “you.” That is why I love this sport so much. The personal evolution or pilgrimage allows me to stand a bit taller! Not taller than someone else, but taller than I had before. And, not because I finished an event. Thousands have; hundreds of thousands have! It's not for the medal around my neck. There are more valuable medals! But because it brings me peace, or rather…it helps me find it. In my training, and in the Tri lifestyle, I’m finding balance and peace: Two things that had eluded me for most of my life. And, yea, it’s pretty awesome to receive those medals too! I was born and raised in California, just east of San Francisco, in 1966. My Mom and Dad busted their tails for us. Dad worked tirelessly, and Mom raised four kids virtually on her own. We never wanted for anything. We weren't the ‘rich kids’, but we had all the toys we needed, great holidays and vacations, family get-togethers, and nice homes with all of the modern conveniences and luxuries. We had it all. Personally, for me, (please known there is no conceit in this) everything was easy in my life: making friends, academics, sports, playing music, and on and on. In fact, I never read a book until well after I earned my Masters Degree in Education. (Ironic, isn’t it?) With virtually no effort, I was still in all the ‘gifted’ courses and earning high marks. Growing up, it was uncommon for me not to have been the fastest, the strongest, or the ‘brightest’ in the group. This is absolutely not something I'm proud of. In fact, those memories are most often accompanied by shame of the opportunities that a squandered. That said, these were my circumstances, in spite of myself and in spite of my lack of effort. But with all of these blessing, why did I feel such an ugly hole in my “self?” Why, from my earliest memories, did I carry around insecurities and sadness that ultimately undermined my entire life. Whatever the cause, I often felt myself unconsciously seeking attention. I found it in less than the healthiest ways. I was that “X-Games” kid, long before there were X-Games. I often found myself looking down some ridiculous flight of stairs, or a steep hill, with a mountainbike or a skateboard, thinking to myself, “This could go one of two ways. I could make it, and everyone would go crazy…again. OR, I could crash and burn, in which case everyone would go crazy…again! Either way, it was OK with me.” These destructive activities increased in frequency and intensity until I felt like “Customer of the Month” at our local hospital. It wasn’t until after a pretty disastrous motorcycle racing accident that I realized that if I didn’t come to grips with whatever was wrong; whatever drove me to do these 'stunts', I probably wouldn’t be around long enough to enjoy them anymore anyway! Ironically, it was in training for motorcycle road-racing (a sport that I’m still fanatical about) that opened the door to a new kind of suffering. Cycling! This “means to and end” was actually socially acceptable! Now I can have my cake and eat it too! I can, for all intents and purposes, punish myself, and not get looked down upon for it! Maybe someday I can even get myself to Kona and do the Ironman! That’s got to be the most beautiful event planet. So I started dabbling in Cross Country Mountainbiking, then Downhill. I SUCKED! Always in the back half of the field. Well, downhill was easy! Go as fast as you can! I’d been doing that my whole life! I was competitive right off the bat! (Top speed on a hardtail: 59.5 MPH, Mt. Hamilton, San Jose, CA. 1999), Cross Country, on the other hand, was really, really hard. I tried for years, and was just never, ever any good! That "I'm not very good at this" feeling was something new; something I wasn't accustomed to. I’m really busting my ass and getting nowhere! I'm struggling to be any good at all. No, I’m actually really struggling to simply not be completely laughable at this sport! And so began my love/hate relationship with endurance sports. To make a long story even longer, I registered (albeit idiotically) for the Scott Tinley Adventure Race, to be held in California in October of 2001. Looking back, I now know I’d never have finished. But, like always, failing would have been epic in itself. So how did it go? I couldn't tell you. I didn't quite make the starting line. Instead, I ended my motorcycle roadracing “career” just two months before the Tinley race was going to start. In a flash, I was done. I felt, quite literally, that God was asking me, almost rhetorically, “This was what you wanted, isn't it? A challenge? Now let’s see you get to Kona, tough guy! Are you going to grow up? Are you going to show me what you’re made of? Are you going to accept yourself for who you are, or are you going to continue to sabotage your life? It's up to you!” I now found myself at the start of a new challenge: Healing. How did I hold up after falling of my Suzuki? Simply put…I didn't break my feet. In greater detail though, I did break two metatarsals (fingers) and all of the metacarpals (hand bones) on my left hand, my left radius and ulna (wrist), spiral fracture of my left femur, collapsed cervical vertebrae C5 & C7, and thoracic vertebrae T5 & T7, displaced fracture of right clavicle with a type 3 shoulder separation, 5 rib fractures (2 displaced) and a closed head injury. The truth is that it couldn't have happened at a more important time. It was well beyond time to grow up, and this was gonna do it. Fast forward a couple of years. I’m running again, cycling and swimming too! My shoulder wouldn’t handle the work load, so we had it fixed. Restabilization, SLAP repair, rotator cuff, etc. Good as new. A couple of years later, now with kids in tow, I'm still trying to reach a fraction of my former self. I ran myself into the ground, necessitating Achilles replacement. Two steps forward and one step back never rang so true.. But this time, with wisdom and continued growth. This time it’s with the support of my bride, and the drills and coaching I receive from my MaccaX team mates. At this point, in my 40s, I not only have a purpose, but a duty to model living rightly. I have the two most precious boys on earth and I'd be devastated to have them live the life that I chose to live. What's my ultimate goal? To be well. What would be the icing on the cake? A Kona slot! So I will keep Tri-ing! Game on.
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