The passing of time has brought even more pride and joy to my accomplishment. It doesn’t register with the same triumphant feeling of crossing the finish line, and there isn’t the same sense of achievement as I felt during the tide, the ride and the stride on July 24th – but that is also a good thing.
If a person could get that feeling any other way, nobody would sign up for a 140.6 mile race. As I said in my last post, the great things I have felt since finishing are membership, the fight against cancer and pride.
Membership: I am now part of a club comprised of an elite group of men and women who have the honor of being called Ironman finishers. I’m sorry if that comes off as arrogant or snobby (really not my style), but this is an instance where I have earned the right to do so. For nine months I studied for the entrance exam, and after nearly 16 hours, I passed!
This wasn’t a feeling a expected, although I’m not sure why I didn’t. For the past year, whenever I saw a 70.3 sticker (the distance of a half ironman) on a car, I thought “hey, met too!” …It only makes sense that this brotherhood would extend – even more so – to 140.6… I still need to order that sticker!
There are more new doctors each year than Ironman finishers.
A greater percentage of people qualify to be members of Mensa, than become Ironman finishers.
A more people are struck by lightning each year, than finish their first Ironman.
The fight against cancer: As you probably know by now, and may be sick of hearing, I try to leverage my athletic efforts (especially the seemingly crazy ones) to raise awareness and funds for local cancer treatment through LIFEcycle, the organization I co-founded in 2008 with my wife (then fiancé), Dani.
This most recent escapade, in combination with my participation in the third annual Ride ‘Round Rhody, has resulted in nearly $2,000 being raised to support our neighbors in their battle against this awful disease. Dani and I set a goal to raise $3,011 for cancer treatment this year, through LIFEcycle, so we’re well on our way.
Having “UTIAC” temporarily tattooed on my arm gave me strength and inspiration during some of the more difficult (LONG) moments. Until There Is A Cure… it really did feel like I was going to be racing until that happened – I wish it was that easy. The race may be over, but the fight continues!
If you are able to take a few moments, and spare a few dollars, there are people who really need your help, both in terms of improved treatment and the psychological boost of knowing the community is in their corner. To make a contribution, please visit www.firstgiving.com/trijacob.
Pride: To say that I proved to myself that I did something unimaginable doesn’t do the term “that’s an understatement” any justice. When I made the decision to participate in IMLP, I had no doubt that I’d be able to do it. During the first 3 months, when everything was going great and my endurance was building nicely, I had no doubts. Following the Rev3 half iron race in June, I had no doubts. There was a period of about two months in the middle, though, when I worried that I may not be able to get myself ready in time. Those couple months, though, are not what I refer to when I say this was an unimaginable feat.
On September 21, 2008, I weighed more than 280 pounds. I had put on an average of 10-15 pounds each year for the previous decade. Sometimes I’d go on a diet or start exercising and lose maybe 20 pounds, but it always came back – with company. I started cycling in late 2006, and during 2007, I actually lost as much as 40 pounds… I wasn’t working at the time and was going to the gym twice each day – but it was worth the effort to start seeing results and getting in shape. But within a few months of ending the two-a-days, it was all back, and then some.
I had high blood pressure. My knees and ankles always ached. I was pretty active for a big buy, but I couldn’t even leg out a double in my charity baseball league without getting out of breath and needing to ice after the game.
On September 22, that all changed. That’s the date I had gastric bypass surgery. During the next year, pounds came off. I had to eat a very restricted diet for the first few months – and still have trouble with some things to this day. But, as the weight came off, my body began to allow me to be as active as I had given up wanting to be quite some time before. The following spring, I started running again (having not since junior high), and while watching Dani train for a triathlon, I caught the bug and the rest is history…
During the past nearly three years since the surgery, I’ve heard the occasional “easy way out” comment. It’s usually said in jest, and never spoken by a person that knows what actually goes into having bariatric surgery – because it is by no means easy. But with those comments are the spoken or implied question: “You couldn’t do it on your own?” …well, no. I obviously couldn’t do it on my own, or I wouldn’t have had major surgery with lifelong implications. But, just because I know the answer, doesn’t me I don’t sometimes ask myself the very same question. Was I not strong enough to do it “on my own?”
The Ironman was my personal response to the naysayers, and to myself. Accomplishing this unthinkable physical feat was my mental test. If I could do this, I deserved my new weight/health/fitness. Surgery did not give me the determination or willingness-to-sacrifice that I needed for this endeavor. The surgery helped take off the weight, but did not help build muscle, increase endurance nor develop better stamina. I did that.
As a matter of fact, the surgery actually complicated the race, because it added a significant challenge. Most of the nutrition people take in during endurance events is sugar-based, in various forms. Too much sugar, either at once or accumulated during the day, does not work well for people who don’t use their stomach to digest. I didn’t take in nearly enough calories for the final 4 hours of the race (which may have otherwise been 2-3 hours). Sort of fitting that something that was needed to jumpstart my triathlon journey was also the final obstacle in achieving the biggest milestone of that journey. My lack of stomach also made training difficult, because it was challenging to each the volume of food I needed to take in enough healthy calories each day to avoid losing too much weight or not recovering properly.
Sometimes, in my head, I still feel like I weight more than 250. Sometimes, where I’m not in front of a mirror, I still picture myself with a 40” waist. I still often find myself thinking about things in those terms (especially when I’m ordering at a restaurant… talk about your eyes being bigger than your stomach!). To be able to put myself in check by reminding myself that I did an Ironman… that’s pretty cool. To know that not only am I physically fit and healthy, but that I was able to finish something that most people cannot wrap their head around starting… that’s pretty cool. Knowing that I am in control, that even though I needed help to lose weight, I own my body now… I maintain it, I keep it healthy, I push it to the limit – and beyond – all on my own (with the support of my wife, family and friends, of course – but I think you know what I mean). There is no easy way to swim, bike and run 140.6 miles. Any route you take to the end of an Ironman is the hard way, and nobody can deny that – not even me.
High fiving my father-in-law while running down the chute to the finish line. Shooting my Iron Man (comic character) guns while crossing the finish line. Hearing my wife call to me from the sideline and seeing her tears of joy. Being handed that finisher’s tee and hat. My mysterious sun rash. My lingering shin pain (x-ray tomorrow afternoon). The photo of me posing with my finisher’s medal.
“2.4 miles swimming! 112 miles biking! 26.2 miles running! A lifetime of bragging!”
Pride.
No comments:
Post a Comment