112 Miles, No Quads

A frustrating Monday of having to actually go to work was capped-off by a drive home filled with people in giant trucks with big exhausts driving like idiots. By "idiots" I mean people with less-than-average intelligence driving toys that overcompensate for other things that are lacking in their lives spinning their giant tires in a KFC parking lot. This is neither here nor there, but I had to vent. It is my blog (with one follower! Thanks Murph!), and I will do what I want. In any case, I need to return to a simpler time, like Saturday afternoon.

After a long morning of shoveling snow, doing Ab Ripper X, and riding my stationary bike in the basement, I settled in to watch the Ford Ironman World Championship 2009. I watch these races with a new appreciation now. I also watch with an eye for details. I look at how the athletes mount fluids on their bikes, how they transition to the bike from the swim, what kind of bikes they ride, and how the bike shoes are already attached to the cleats when they begin the ride. I will take pointers and tips wherever I can get them at this point, but this is not why I watch every year. I watch to see the stories of the age-groupers and the champions.


I watched to hear Rudy Garcia-Tolson and his mother tell his story. I was amazed, as a person and as a PT, that he could ride 112 miles using only his gluts. I was tired after just over an hour in my basement with quads, gluts, hamstrings, and every other muscle in both of my legs. He propelled himself only the with gluts and just missed the bike cutoff. I cried huge tears for him as he is comforted by Ironman volunteers.

Then there is Chrissie Wellington who has won the past 2 years. She seems to have a permanent smile on her face. I think I might have a huge smile on my face if I had the drive and ability to win three Ironman World Championships in a row. There is no doubt that she is working harder than anyone out there, but she makes it look as effortless at 140.6 miles of non-stop activity can look. She is truly amazing.

I like to think about the other 1800-or-so participants and their stories. I love that the course and the standard is the same for every last one of them, from the winners to those who miss the cuts on the swim, bike, or run. I can think of no other professional sport, apart from running, where amateurs compete on exactly the same surface as the best-of-the-best. It would be like your company softball team playing at Busch Stadium (or Fenway Park, if you like that sort of thing). Oh, and maybe you would be playing against Pujols and Ichiro.

Even three days later after a lot of shoveling and two semi-miserable days at work, I am inspired. I also feel honored and blessed beyond words that I have the opportunity to even attempt this feat. I may not make it past the swim cutoff. My legs might fail me on the bike. I have a feeling that if I make it to the run, I will be able to finish, but this may not be true either. Some of the greatest athletes in the world have gotten dehydrated on the bike or cramped up mid-run and not made it to the finish line. I may suffer the same fate. One thing I can guarantee is that I will keep moving toward that finish line until I cross it or they force me off the course.