Friday, September 5, 2014

The Test

Things starting coming apart race week and seemed to continue right on through the event. The first thought was that this is a sign that I am not supposed to do this. But I can’t remember every feeling good about following and obeying those alleged “not suppose to do this” signs . Doing the “safe,right and judicious thing” was always followed by an empty echo feeling - a sort loss of self respect for not pushing long enough; not trying hard enough; listening to the “can’t” and “shouldn’t” voices instead of believing more.

The temptation to use difficulties for an excuse came swarming at me, it seemed. Early in the week my shifter to the rear cog set stopped working. Luckily, the front shifter still worked so I at least had two gears to go with. For a couple of rides I made do my two speed bike. Then, that front shifter started throwing my chain off. This got scary a few times and at the very least it messed up my momentum, not to mention greasing up my hands from the chain work. My white bar tape began to look real nasty. So, I took my 11 year old bike off my indoor trainer and did a couple rides to make sure it was a viable option. Not sure about that viable option thing. The headset was in bad shape . The bike was sketchy to steer. Which ever way I turned the handlebar, it wanted to stay there.

I can do this. After all, the bike leg on the event is only fourteen miles. Additionally, the bike is pretty small for me. Without the stability of it being on a trainer, getting a water bottle out of the bottle rack while dealing with that unstable front end was risky business. But again, I only had fourteen miles that I had to go.

Traffic in and around the big city was horrendous, especially for someone living in the country where a traffic jam is five cars waiting for a red light. It seemed we stopped on the freeway about every mile. Then the traffic would clear, and we would go another mile before we came to stopped traffic again. People were changing lanes, making quick stops, cutting us off, and generally driving aggressively. Stress levels were peaked. Finally, after many more stops on the freeway, we came to our exit. We turned onto a street where we went from traffic light to traffic light with traffic backed up. Finally, we arrived at the hotel and the venue. I was pretty well spazzed out; not the way I like to be the day before an event.

The rest of the afternoon I lay in the hotel bed, starring at mind-numbing TV. I realized, I guess, it could be worse. There are worse things than heavy traffic on the way to a triathlon. I could be sentenced to a life of forced viewing of daytime television. That would be much worse. Naw,! Not so bad, fighting traffic and doing triathlons. The pressure started coming off and I started preparing for the event. Fitful sleep and awake at four AM. My swim wave didn’t started until 7:54 AM but ----. Got there early to set up for transition and all the other stuff. Wait, wait. It is already hot. Barely daylight and sweat is already dripping off my nose --drink, drink.

We congregated at the end of a pier which was obviously a shoring bird roosting area. Puddles of white poo were everywhere on the pier. Footing could be slippery in most spots; not the place to sit down to wait for my wave to start. Standing and waiting were the order of the day. I started to go for a practice swim, but something smelled wrong about the water. No sense getting in that stuff until I had to.

Finally, it was our turn to get in the water. I eased off the pier but my head still went under the water: YUK!The water smelled nasty, like pollution or worse. Other participants were affected as well. One hoped he wouldn’t get sea sick from the smell. Another hoped no one would light a match for fear the water would catch on fire. Seems like forever we tread water waiting to start. Finally, we were off. I couldn’t bring myself to put my whole face into that water, so I swam with my head sticking up for the most part. No problem sighting in this swim. But, despite my poor body position in the water, I was hammering this swim - I wanted out of this stinky stuff. At the end of the swim we had to climb straight up on 8-10 foot ladders to get out of the water. Thank God, I was out. But my tri suit smelled like that water later in the day, the more I sweat.

The smelly water was a matter for trepidation, but the bike was my greatest fear. The tires weren’t all that great. The front end was a mystery. And, who knows what will come off or come apart on a bike that old. Right away, even before I was out of transition, a brake started dragging. Stopped, fixed that. I didn’t use a bike computer because I didn’t really want my spirit threatened by knowing how slow I was going. Out of transition and on the course, I moved nicely along; doing well as long as I kept both hands on the bars and stayed alert. I only had 14 miles to do and be out of the danger zone.

About two miles in I heard a tickey-tickey sound on my bike. Maybe my race number blowing in the wind; held the number but the sound continued. Oh my, something was on my front tire. Something on my front tire was hitting my front brake every time it came around. Looked like a tack, a roofing nail- couldn’t tell. Didn’t want to stop. What would I do anyway? Pulling a nail out would deflate the tire. I had less than 12 miles to go. So I kept on. The miles keep being consumed and the noise continued, as I expected any moment for the tire to go flat. I didn’t push the pace, but kept a nice cadence, only wanting to get through with the bike ride.
Steering around corners was a little scary and I tried to set up the turns without anyone around me. When only about four miles to go, I reached for my water bottle without checking to see if anyone was coming up on me – mistake. The small bike made me double up like a pill bug to get the bottle out of the holder, and the unpredictable steering pulled me to the left. Whosh! Another bike buzzed by barely missing me. That was close. Cadence had dropped during all that, and I needed to pick it back up. So, I stood up to get the momentum going. Oops! My foot slipped off the right pedal. I wobbled around trying to keep from falling over or dragging my loose foot on the ground, and finally got my foot back on the pedal and righted myself. Scary. I have never had that happen before in thousands of miles of riding.

My nerves began to calm a bit when I saw the hotel on the race venue in the distance, and knew I could at least run the bike in from there. Life was good . The bike would soon be over. I must have been grinning from ear to ear coming into transition. In and out and on the run course. I had made it on the bike – yes! Later I found that the thing on the front wheel of my bike was only some tenacious sticky back paper – thank God.

The run was terribly hot and humid. Feeling blessed beyond measure to have gotten through the bike, I decided just to do a walk/run and not get over-heated. It was a good run. I poured cold water on myself at the aid stations, talked to the volunteers, enjoyed myself, and cruised on through the short run. I had survived the smelly water; the scary bike leg, enjoyed the run, and coming down the finishers chute I was all smiles. It was over.

My performance had not been all that awesome, except the swim, where I swam my fastest time ever for that distance - no surprise there. The bike leg was surprisingly good considering my tentative effort. And, I got first place in my age group: the only one in my age group. I think I was the oldest participant in the sprint triathlon that day.

I have been doing marathons and triathlons and such for about three decades, but even aged warriors such as I need continuing education courses on certain aspects of this lifestyle. This CEU was about keeping on. Demons will come at you - accept that, bear up, stand in, keep moving forward. Training is like that: ironman is like that: life is like that. Then too, this whole thing could also have been a small test to see if I have a few basics of what it takes to push through to an ironman. I don’t think the test was so that God would know if I can: it was so that I could know that I can. All I have to do is obey, put one foot in front of the other, stand in, and overcome the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” and “run the race that is set before me” to the Glory of God.

Monday, July 21, 2014

I Lied

Never venture on that Ironman road again. It is over. Right. Sure. Giving it up. Last blog. Oh? With those kind of misrepresentations, I should go into politics, maybe. But, no. I am just a regular folk; nothing special. Not going to put a spin on this; and so I say it right out: I lied.

Basically, I am not naturally a "giver-upper." I knew that when I said I was giving up on ironman. Sure, I knew that once the pain of personal defeat subsided, the phrases, "maybe," or "perhaps try again," would have to be dealt with if I were to be successful with giving up.

Trying my best to give up was sort of bizarre, it made me different; a different I didn't like as much; a person I didn't like as much. And, the people around me probably didn't like me that much either. Bless them for puttting up with me. Life took the color of grayscale print. It was a deep funk trying to do something that seemed terribly unnatural; something like amputation of a part of my spirit. I felt disabled.

And so I prayed and prayed. Day by day it got easier. Easier to give up? No. It became easier to accept myself and all my ironman failures; to come face to face with the realization that I had been lying not just on my blog, not just to those who support me, but ultimately to myself. There is no other good choice because I truly believe NOT giving up is God's first choice. So, I am convicted. OK. I lied. I repent and: I am going to give up giving up.

Ironman Texas in 2015.

Never give up on something you can’t go a day without thinking about.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Moments: A Hundred Years Old

Moments: A Hundred Years Old: Ellen Dittfurth – Age 100 Born 7/18/14 – a few weeks before World War I and about six years before women had the right to vote. She was...

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

How Much is a Picture Worth?

A picture is said to be worth a thousand words. That’s great, unless it is a picture you don’t necessarily want to see. If it is a self-revealing picture, perhaps a few words would suffice and we could go deeper into denial and self-delusion.
That is particularly true with weight and body shape. I think that because the scales say I weigh about ten to fifteen pounds more, than I should and my pants fit a lot tighter, it is simply me putting on muscle. Muscle weighs more than fat: tired, tired, very tired and lame excuses.
But there was no denying the truth in my photos from the triathlon I did last weekend. I am close to being fat. It is no wonder my running suffers and going up hills on the bike is harder than it once was. Probably, my swimming improvement was enhanced by my increased ability to float because of all those fat cells. Oh it not muscle and it is not only aging up. It is not all that complicated. I eat too much. Sure eat good foods: enormous quantities of them.
My wife took a movie of me finishing up the run. My guppy-like appearance is hard to take. So, I have a plan. Every night, when I shouldn’t be eating anymore (but I have in the past), I will watch that movie of me looking like I am pregnant. It is easier to say yes when there is a burning yes inside.
And, it isn’t good use of the body God gave me. It isn’t good use of the opportunities God has placed before me. So, I will be watching my fat moving and praying for strength to resist and overcome my poor eating habits. Perhaps through having to choke down my own dose of personal reality, I can be more patient and understanding of others who yield themselves and lessen their lives, giving in to other temptations?

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Don't Think. Jump

A fellow triathlete training for a big event wrote that it was hard to adapt to getting out early to train. It was good to hear that because that is probably my number one problem in training. And now with summer on us it is even more important to get out early. There seems to be an inertia to be overcome. There are tendencies and downtime habits that have permeated my own response to the morning. I want another cup of coffee. I want to watch the birds feed or that deer. I like the time to be at peace in a peaceful setting. to rummage through my thoughts like going through a cluttered closet. It’s fun. It is satisfying, but it is killing my training time in the cooler part of the day. All that peace and tranquility in the morning is good stuff, but as Stephen Covey wrote, “the enemy of the best is the good.”

The first week into training and I haven’t even set my alarm clock yet. I am still doing normal things until ten or ten thirty at night; and if I ever hope to get out of the bed earlier, I must get in the bed earlier - no-brainer. My Dad was a fireman and he told me of a saying at his firehouse about getting to fires: “You can’t make up the time on the road that you lost in the firehouse.” Point is: it is hard to recover from a bad start on a day.

I know what has to be done. I know how to do it. Set the alarm. When it goes off: get out of bed. Have the gear ready from the night before. Get moving, get myself and everything together, and get out of the house. “Don’t think. Jump!”
Funny but that is same thing I told my granddaughter as I encouraged her to jump off the edge of pool into the water. “Don’t think. Jump.” I had told her as she hesitated. “you’ll never learn to swim up there out of the water. I am right here to catch you."


“Then, don’t think. Jump”

And I have been served the same lesson in getting out the door in my training as well as in my faith walk. When I know God is in it: when I know He wants me to go on and get in the game and get wet: why I am hesitating?

"I am right here to catch you. Don’t think. Jump”

"Yes, Lord."

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Waiting to Hear From Heaven

No more, I said. The game was over. Time to be a normal person. Do regular stuff. You are too old. You have too many other family obligations. You have worn out knees. You weren't that good to start with. Maybe God has taken me right where He wanted me to go.

It is hard to believe I am even thinking about getting back on the ironman training wagon. And perhaps ironman is not what He is taking me to. Perhaps, God knows that the ironman failures - despite my best heart and effort -have seasoned me sufficiently to follow some other calling He has for me. I am praying about this.

But, ironman keeps coming back. Seldom a day goes by without reading some report on Ironman Texas or researching training or nutrition tips. There is a quote that goes something like --never give up on something that you can't go a day without thinking about. If that quote is the standard, then I should do the ironman. Ironman haunts me like a live-in ghost. I pray and pray---for others, for discernment, for honesty with myself, for strength, for courage, and for the will to go for the ironman.

So I wait to hear from heaven. Dear God: is the journey really over? Or, do you want me to go on?

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

"You Are NOT An Ironman!!"

Toward the end of the movie, “Saving Private Ryan” the character played by Tom Hanks was lying in the road, wounded, and shooting his pistol until empty at an approaching German tank? That fruitless, heroic , yet pathetic effort, made my heart wrench. He was doing all he could, but the tank was impervious to his efforts to stop it.
After a year and a half of struggling against the tank of my own personal injuries and enemies; after firing all my rounds at the approaching ironman distance event; after all that: I lay on the ground, spent, empty, impotent. Today, I feel that same heart-wrench that I felt in watching that movie scene.

The Miles of the Journey to my ironman effort have lead to failure – one might call it a heroic and courageous effort , but the tank still rolls past me and my dream. Sure I paid the price. Day after day, week after week, month after month, I was out there, battling the self, taking the pain, pushing past, and overcoming. Yet, at the end of the day - today - I am at the end of my journey. Today, the last vestige of hope oozed out of me despite all the “never quit” platitudes, the great plans, the high hopes, the prayers, the vision of a finish line in tears of gratitude to God, the ironman tattoo with a cross over it - no, not to be. I am out of bullets, out of energy, tired of fighting, tried of swimming upstream, and I just want to lie down and let the ironman tank go on past me.

Who knows where I went wrong. I have made a lot of mistakes; failed at this so many times over the years. (see It’s hard to tell where the final damage came from . It takes a pretty special person to make it to the ironman starting line. Perhaps , quite simply, I am not an ironman; never cut out to be one. Perhaps, I was overmatched to begin with: the enemy had a tank and I had a handgun. As surely as a finisher is told at the finish line, “you are an ironman,” I am being reminded that I am NOT an ironman. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but It is the truth.

No more wars for me- that is - no more ironman quests. The stinger has been taken out of the bee, meaning ; I am not sure what this defeat will leave me or what future is down the road. But I doubt I will ever again possess that wonderful passion that my ironman hopes had. So there it is. This is where the Miles of the Journey have taken me. This will be the last past on this blog.
Yet, there is a certain satisfaction even in failure. I made mistakes but I know I truly did my very best. My best just wasn’t good enough, but it was all I had. And perhaps God is not as disappointed about all this as I am? No doubt He knows how much I poured into this. No doubt he saw me shoot my last bullet at the approaching ironman tank. Perhaps, He will say after all, “well done my good and faithful servant. You gave all you had. “

"I fell hard because I reached high."