Trim Tram Donovan

Make a Bridge

Still trying to figure out what I got out of it. Making a chip on my shoulder and, eventually, an endurance event that would become something defining for a while.

Ironman Wisconsin made for a long day. It made for a long five years. Many things had changed for better and worse. I'm still trying to make some sense of it, if there's anything I really need from it.

These days, I'm pretty lazy. Running is at a new low and I've swam only once since that day. I've felt some tug to work out, so I've turned to yoga (thanks, Groupon!). It's a hot yoga studio where I sweat under 95 degree temps and typically flow through movements, building strength and stretching out my body. I will typically attend classes on Mondays, Fridays and sometimes Sundays. 

I know I'm not the demographic but it doesn't mean that it won't help me. There's usually only one or two men in the class. As one man once told me, "Yoga should be a spectator sport!" It's challenging and new. I'm pushed in ways that I would never be pushed in running or triathlons.

They have names for different movements and poses. They have different types of yoga for different body effects. It's all very 'inside baseball' when it comes to talking the talk. The only people who talk yoga poses or movements ("Down Dog", " Asanas", etc.) are yoga teachers. Nobody leaves class and says something like, "That Gomukhasana really stretch out my legs somethin' fierce!"

It was only until we come to the end of a hot flow yoga class at night when the instructor uses one word pose that resonates with me. She tells us to try to make it into Wheel Pose (aka 'Urdhva Dhanurasana'), "and hold it there. Let your breath fill the parts that are hurting and fill them up. Those who are not in Wheel Pose, make a bridge." This meant that all those who are incapable of making a Wheel Pose, should lift their butt, so it easier but still working.

She tells us, "Stay in the bridge. If you're not in Wheel Pose."

This coming year of 2012, I'm making the pact to commit myself to being a yogi. It is supposed to feed into my training as a runner. As I recommit to certain aspects of run training, I hope yoga will help supplement my training. I have no doubt that it give great fodder for conversation all next year.

 

 

 

 

The Ironman Wisconsin: Miss America is Crowned

A year ago, I got into a drunken argument with Shawn Killebrew. After a "happy hour" turned into a "happy night", he told me that he would be on the Ironman Wisconsin course all day long to see me finish. This was after he caught a glimpse of The Trucker Cap.

The Trucker Cap is a hat that I don't wear. It has an Ironman logo emblazed on a black front and a white mesh back. "That is a sweet cap," he said, inspecting it, "Just think. You'll be able to wear this after you finish it. You can't wear it now. I can wear it. See? You want this cap? You want to wear it?" His devilish smile told me that if we were thirty years younger and we were on the playground, he would be holding it in the air while I kept trying to leap to grab it while he backed up. Taunting.

The beer and emotions behind that race that was a monkey on my back for so long brought tears to my eyes, "Shut up, Killebrew. Give it to me when I finish the race."

He puts it on, "Oh, I will." He slouched in his seat with the hat on, smiling. Raising his eyebrows. Laughs. Claps his hands. 

* * * * *

I rummaged around the shelves in the back stairwell at 4:20 on the morning of the 2011 Ironman Wisconsin. I found an old block of lemongrass soap. The thought occured to me on the very morning of Ironman Wisconsin when I woke up. Bruce and his wife Christina were on their way around 5AM or 5:30.

My hands lathered the soap and scrubbed my face with the suds; the day had come once more. I was more than convinced, "If I don't finish," I thought, "then I won't ever try again. It's only right." My hands rinsed under the water and then splashed onto my face.

I realized that the smell was gone from the soap. All that "good juju" from lemongrass was gone.

My bike and transition bags were already at the race site. They were placed in rush of yesterday's drop off period. All night they sat patiently, quietly like the mice on the night before Christmas. The moon was waxing to full and dew collected on the seat of my bike.

Bruce sent me a text from outside, "Here."

I woke up Franny and told her to get up so Ian didn't wake up alone. I hugged Franny and told her I would see her out on the course. Franny had become invested in my Ironman experience and she was ready to stay out on the course all day to see it through.

Aimee was coming over soon to take the kids to the starting area to see me off.

We arrived downtown and walked up the street to the square. We threw the last of our bags into the bins and directed ourselves to the Monona Terrace starting area. We split up for a bit and I walked around the water line alone while the competitor and spectating crowd began growing.

The sun was trying to come up and I peered at the water. How many times did I hate this water? I contemplated it for a moment. How many times did I have to get into this water to meet this challenge? What changed inside of me from 2007 to 2011? I went outside this race and studied myself...out of body experience. I was so confused by it and lost that I looked at my watch, "Ooo!" It was getting later. I wondered how the heck to get to the information desk where Bruce and I planned to meet. There was no time for an out-of-body experience.

Inside, Bruce and Christina were at the meeting point along with Franny & Ian and Aimee & Holly. It took my breath away to see them all there together. They all looked up at me. If they were flavors of ice cream, it would have been a huge, delicious banana split and Ian, in his bed head and smile, would be the cherry on top.

I pictured 2007--Bruce and I sat in this very spot quietly and listened to music delivered in headphones or the thoughts that rushed inside the quiet of closed eyes--alone. Today, it was a stark contrast with so many there who wanted to be there. 

We had a time, 6:30AM, when we were going to walk down the winding cement drive to the start. Bruce asked me if I was ready to go. "Sure," I answered. My wetsuit was on halfway (my legs) and I carried only a bag of dry morning clothes, race swim cap and clear lens goggles. I gave hugs and kisses in case we lost each other.

Killebrew showed up before our walk. He asked if he could carry my very last drop bag. I'm usually someone who doesn't like others to take work from me. This was one day that I thought it was ok to take advantage of that.

As Shawn was sort-of behind me, Bruce and I led a small parade of our most loved people down into the ground level of this lake, meandering through the concrete hallways of this parking garage. The light brown of the structure was glowing orange as the sun was still rising on our way down.

Person by person by person by person, I found friends all along this concrete slide. High fives, cheers were echoing everywhere. I thought I wanted anonymity but this felt like it could help me. All of this love was amazing because I need to be reminded that I'm loved. I need to be held by the shoulders--shaken--yelled at--reminding me that I am loved by people whom I love and trust.

And, in the end of the twirl to Lake Monona, Bruce and I said goodbye to them as we joined the exclusive parade into the starting waters. Bruce moved a bit to the front right of the 2,400 people while I moved a little to the back right. We looked at each other like we were walking away from a heist. The grins were knowing and smart. 

The canon blasted and jumped. We went. And I got this before I reached the start line:

1. Elbow

2. Fist

3. Elbow

4. Pushed under

5. Elbow, then kicked 

6. Elbow

7. I swam for a little bit

8. Elbow

I was incredibly surprised that people in the far back right would be so agressive. I looked up to sight for the first time and I saw that I was just crossing the start line. The crowd was there but I wanted only to see green water and sighting buoys.

Time was not my friend. Racing the clock was something that I had to achieve but it could only be achieved with piece of mind. Ironic. Before the race, I put my watch under my wet suit so I couldn't check on any splits. Time is not my friend. It only makes me anxious when I'm swimming. Anxiety makes me less efficient.

As I found my space, only a few people messed me up. There was the occasional 'drunk driver' who would swim back and forth, pushing you aside or cutting in front. I promised myself that I would not hit legs or arms or heads intentionally and I followed through with that. Tempting though. One guy was swimming and he was rubbing up against me like he was a cat in heat. My Irish temper wanted to knock him so bad. 

As I turned for the finish, my arms were strong and ready for speed. I ran down the very stretch I had swam so many times before (in Open Water Swim class) into the Ironman Wisconsin finish. It was clear and ready for me. The threshold was bright red and volunteers stood there, almost bored. They were waiting for me! I came up on the rigid footing!

I jokingly got on all fours and pretended to kiss the ground and the volunteers picked me up by my arms. One yelled at me, "YOU OK?" 

YES! I'M OK! I laughed. I got up running and yelling, smiling, "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAA! YEEEEEEEEEES!" I pointed to people who I wanted to tell, "Thank you."

Famed Ironman announcer Mike Riley even took notice when he spoke over the loudspeaker, "Here's one guy who's happy t'be out of the water! Steve Donovan, Madison, Wisconsin!"

I ran up the circular cement way to the first transition. Many of the people walked. They were winded and wonder why I was screaming and yelling at everybody there.

So many people stuck around to see this part of the race. I was glad they did. I gave them a show they'd never forget. Laughing, running, high fiving were all part of it.

I remember that when I walked up this helix in shame four years before, there was only one woman with whom I gained eye contact. In no way is this fictional--but she was there. She looked at me. This time, she was smiling and clapping and cheering. And my fists were fists of joy in the air.

Swim: 1:52:57

My swim was so slow that very few spectators were left on the helix up to transition 1. If you held a 'don't know steve' magnet onto the crowd of the start, it would have left only these people watching me fly up the circular drive. The only people left seemed like my friends. And they were all in their original spots. Did the Rapture happen while I swam? I didn't care when I ran up that thing. Other swimmers were confused why I was so excited. They didn't understand. But I did. My friends did. Franny did. Aimee did. Ivens did. Breanne did.Ken did. Lauf did. Sherman did. So many people understood what was happening here. I flew up that helix.

I knew nothing about the transitions of the Ironman Wisconsin. I got into this large room with adequate seating and was served by someone who was very attentive. 

"Can I dump out your bag?" he asks. What am I going to say? No?

T1: 9:17

"DON'T MOUNT IT!" She told me. I called out my number for my bike like it was my trusty horse. When I found it, I wanted to just get on it and get going. She reminded me loudly, "DON'T MOUNT IT! Wait until the Bike Out."

I rode John Nolen Drive. How many times have I witnessed people getting on bikes for this race on John Nolen Drive...! I was (emotionally) heading to the finish line but reigned in some of those feelings because I had finished only a very, very small portion of the race.

But, in my mind, I had finished a very big piece of the race.

70 Year Old Male. Michael. Bike Jersey with the word, "Ireland" on it. Like.

29 Year Old Female. Lindsay. 

35 Year Old Female. Dawn.

On the bike, slow swimmers have the advantage of passing slow bikers who are fast swimmers. As you get closer, you see their age written in marker on the back left calf. Their name is printed on their bib number.

"Nice job, Robert." I pass.

"Nice work, Jim." I pass.

Soon, my stomach rattles and yearns for a porta potty. Each station is about twelve miles apart. I'm basically holding my cheeks together to ellude any disturbance. When I made it into the bathroom, I tried to mentally coach myself into not rushing it. "You have all day. Calm down. You have all day." But after a while, I have to cut my losses and exit the bathroom--hoping that my body will understand that I'm done with that.

The boy holding my bike hands it back to me to be mounted once again. I zoom off.

45 Year Old Male. Jim.

49 Year Old Female. Alison.

I occasionally asked bikers off to the side of the road, "You ok? Need anything?" There's always a possibility that they need a tube or CO2 air cartridge and I could potentially help save their race.

One woman off to the side yelled at me as I asked, "Yea, I'm waiting for the SAG wagon," in hopes that Ironman Wisconsin's bike course mechanics would find their way to her while there are close to 2400 bikers still pedaling on the course at that time. I noticed that she had a tire lever turn backwards in an effort to change the tire. That was my sign. I could at least spend a few minutes to get her tire changing started. My bike slowed down, turned around to meet her on the side of the road.

"I can't seem to get the tire out!" She was frustrated.

"Do you know how to change a tire tube?" I asked.

"Yes!" She stood there while I got the lever under the tire and buckled it to the spoke. 

I looked around, "Where are the other two wrenches?"

"That's what I had," she quickly replies as she continues to search from her spot for a SAG wagon. I look down on the ground and see the other two wrenches in a little yellow plastic case. I grab one and put it under the lip and start opening up the tire's tube-filled cavity.

She was so high strung and I believed she could finish if she just calmed down, I decided to make small talk while I finished the tire, "What's your name?"

"Dawn."

"Is that a family name or did your parents just like the name?"

"My father's name is Don."

I started putting the new tube's valve into its aligning hole and turned the securing nut.

"What's your last name?"

"Johnson."

He. He. He. Dawn. Johnson. "Really?" I ask as I stop reparing the wheel.

"Yes!" She finally got around to looking me straight in the eye. I saw over her shoulder the SAG wagon and I stood up and waved it towards us. A kid with a plaid hat jumped out and I told him where I left the tire.

I got on my bike and told her, "Good luck, Dawn Johnson." I rode off.

56 Year Old Male. Timothy.

39 Year Old Female. Vonda.

27 Year Old Male. Daniel.

Oh, boy. My stomach had some unfinished business before I got to the three big hills outside Cross Plains. I turned into Bourbon Road just outside Cross Plains where the street was decorated with a Luau theme street and costumed vounteers at the aid station. I stopped my bike for the porta potty and a young woman held it for me when I ducked into it--to try to finish the job.

The decorations from the Luau theme continued inside the portable bathrooms. Pictures of macaws were cut out and taped up while Hawaiian leis hung off makeshift hooks. The colorful fixtures were all over but had been abused by the frantic athletes who trampled through here. Mysteriously, odd substances made their way onto the decorations and they sadly drooped. They were ready to fall to the ground.

The downside to being in the back of the race pack: everything you visit on the course has been used a few times. In the porta potty's case, it was more than a few times. When I sat down on the toilet seat, I noticed a see through sandwich bag that contained, what seemed to me, somebody's feeces. I kept looking because I kept thinking, "That can't be...is it? No! I think it is..."

When I came out of Oscar the Grouch's answer to a Magnum P.I. Fecal Matter Tribute Party, I only remembered one other bathroom that bad. It was in 1995 at the HORDE concert in the Poconos. At the end of the night.

I got up to the hiliest part of the race where most of the spectators were waiting with costumes, noise makers, EZ Up tents and drinks-in-hand. I got up to the top of the second of three major hills. People were at the crest, jumping and woohoo-ing and claping. High fives were easy to get. There was barely space for me and my bike to make it through on that first lap. I want to especially thank the man, who was dressed in Native American headress and a speedo, for running up the hill with me.

My bike coasted for so long. My allergies were difficult and I continually shot 'snot rockets'. I tried to stay on my nutrition plan. Salt tablets, Gu Chomps, Clif Blox, bananas, Powerade Ironman were on the menu along with water for a drink.

Eventually, my gastro-intestinal issues passed and my stomach no longer felt like it wanted to push a watermelon out.

The second loop of the Ironman Wisconsin bike loop got lonely. There were people sidelined by the high number of steep hills. There were people sidelined by cramps when the temperatures became hotter than expected. At first, it was making my ego only bigger to see people off to the side. Their underestimations were helping me feel like my training was not in vain. 

Then came mile 100. It was around there. My legs were getting tight and fatigued. I took Tylenol and a salt tablet with hopes of elluding cramps and extreme pain. I also needed a cure for boredom as I began the solitude of riding back to town. There were no aid stations. Nobody spoke to each other, though I tried.

29 year old female. Lindsay.

"Nice work, Lindsay." I told her as I passed. 

In order to not get a penalty, all bikers must remain in a straight line, with a bike length apart. I am somebody who tries to follow rules. So, I would pass Lindsay, the only person for miles around me, and slow down. While we passed each other, we would talk. This went on for a few miles. It helped me for a while until her friends showed up on this leg of the bike.

"OH MY GAAAAAAAD!" Lindsay squealed as she saw her friend drive up with her male companion in the passenger seat.

Her friends were intent on cheering for her in the car and out of the car. Driving down the road or stopped. I realized that I should just leave. So I took off. I picked my butt up off the seat and started pumping the pedals and heard Lindsay say as I left, "You guys are so sweet!"

My thoughts turned to focusing on nutrition and strategy for the run.

39 year old male. Sanjay.

"Nice work, man."

"Thanks. Let's get this over with."

"Yes."

A sudden feeling of something came over that I had never felt. As Sanjay's words told me that we're going to finish, I denied it and reminded myself that I had a marathon left to run. I didn't want to give myself the satisfaction of thinking that I had almost finished this.

I made up my mind a long time ago that I would respect the distance. And that's what I intended to do.

Bike: 7:56

There was a different feeling to the next transition when they seperated men and women. Maybe they seperated us after the swim and I just didn't remember. At the very least, my mindset was very different. I was beaten down and now the day had gone into 5:00PM. For me, this was right about the time I would open a beer. Today, it was when I was starting a marathon. 

I was aided by a man who asked me, "Do you need this?" Typically, my answer was no.

Coming into running was like going home for me. This where it started. This is where I like to be. This is my skin. 

T2: 8:04

I ran out and had two things in mind: Run 4 minutes, walk 1 minute and take care of yourself. If I could run 4 and walk 1, then I could carve enough time to finish in time. I kept chipping away at it.

The sun was blazing and, internally, I begged for it to go down. I needed it to cool down so the sunburned areas of my body found some rest. Though I fed my body and took care of not taxing it too much, it still felt like a raisin versus the lucious grape that popped out of the water eight hours earlier.

Once again, my stomach turned against me only a few short moments into the run. It felt like a cinderblock and objected to any solid food.

I reached the first few miles and there was a great amount of support while the sun was up. Including Shirley and April, who seemed to pop up everywhere yelling my name, "STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVE! STEEEEEEEEEVE!" The smile wiped off my face during most of the run but their screaming always managed to bring it back again. Franny ran with me. Aimee ran with me. Jessica ran with me. Will was yelling from a patch of grass on his old cruiser bike, "STEVE! KEEP GOING!"

"NICE RIDE!" What little sarcasm I had left, I used poorly on his bike.

"THAT'S WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT YOU TOO!" he yelled back. Laughing at his own joke.

I had a reply back ready, "THAT'S WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT YOUR MOM, TOO!" but decided that there were far too many kids in the crowds and I fell silent, laughed along.

More often than not, Clint rode his bike beside me. Typically, this is a big no-no during the race. But he had a media pass and took photographs before the race, during the swim, during the bike, during the run and at the end. He worked not just as a photographer but as somebody who just talked and reminded me gently from time to time what an amazing thing this is. The distance was long and the years have stretched. 

The sun started to set as I came to the second loop. At this point, you get to see the finish line but you are told to run 13 more miles before coming back to finish. My legs had lost just about everything and I resorted to walking 4 minutes and running 1 minute. 

Clint rode beside me in his old Surly bike. Two large lens cameras hung around his neck and torso, making a large black canvas X on his chest like a superhero. Sometimes we would talk and sometimes we would not. Our conversations had very little to do with this race. Then it would go back again to the race and my training.

Killebrew biked right up to me along with Clint. As I slowly jogged, they chugged along. Will found me again and jogged up and talked with us as I crawled along. It had suddenly become a boys' club stroll in the night.

As they fell away and went to other places, I found for the first time today that it was quiet. No noises while I tried to get up Observatory Drive. The slight chill told me that I was getting close. I was incredibly tired and wanted nothing more than to sit down and fall asleep. My stomach was terribly angry at me by now.

I believed that this was the appropriate time to reflect on the past year as well as the past four years. It's hard not to feel like a failure when you're struggling financially as a divorced father. I tried not to focus on that but on what I've accomplished in this. But when you're tired and sick, you can't help but feel bad things. I cried because I was about to finish this race as a person who is categorically losing in the most generic terms of normal. What I am is not what I was raised to be. And that's what I've always been doing. Bucking the system over and over and over again. Everybody lets me. I let myself do it. Simply because I think it makes me fiercely independent. In fact, breaking rank is, for the most part, only breaking rank. It is what it is. Maybe it's time for me to be boring. To accept more than things than not. Limit my social life. Stay at home. Worry about my things and my bills. I cried. I cried. I wept. And walked.

I came up behind the Overture Center, nearing State Street. I looked over my shoulder and I saw a firefighter handing a racer a flag to carry to the finish line. I read the runner's lips, "Thank you." He unrolled it and began to jog. I started up running again to keep with him and his flag. We turned up State Street where the people sitting out in the warm evening were cheering with their drunk voices, "USA!" or "Never forget!" They started singing up the street the nation's anthem.

I stayed with him and we got to the square where he slowed down and looked down then up at me. He said, "They're right."

A pause from him gave me enough time to prepare myself for the moral of this fifteen hour, forty minute less that will be spilled out from this flag bearing fire fighter on the tenth anniversary of 9/11. He looked straight ahead, "The square does go uphill here."

SINGLE FILE. SINGLE FILE. EVERYONE LINE UP SINGLE FILE. The man yelling at us was trying to organize us.

The firefighter told me to go ahead and I crossed into the finish area. I didn't cry and didn't get the chills.

RUN: 5:33:32

FINISH TIME: 15:40:22

I was happy to relax. Surrounding me were good friends who worked for the race. I received my medal, my finisher shirt and my finisher hat.

I held onto Franny very tight. I hugged Aimee very close. 

Killebrew delicately held The Trucker Cap in his hands. I told him to put it on my head like it was a tiara and I was crowned Miss America.

Bruce put his arms around me, "You did it." 

PHOTOS, COURTESY FOCAL FLAME PHOTOGRAPHY

Prayer

The sun is rising later. The sun is setting earlier. I used to get so excited by this prospect--the Autumn coming. This year, I am in denial and keep claiming that Fall is, "coming so quick". When, in fact, there are curtains being pulled that I chose to ignore. Though the kids head to school, I wave my hand, "Puh shaw. School starts so early any more."

The reality is this: my destiny with this race comes soon. Now, I'm scrambling to prepare through 'oh, yea' moments. I had to get my bike cleaned. I had to buy nutrition for the race. 

And I've started writing thank you notes. Thank you notes to those who brought me here: a place where I actually think I'm finishing the Ironman Wisconsin. This may be my last entry before September 11, 2011. 

*****

I surprisingly found myself praying right before the MOWS 2.4 mile swim race. Mumblings and iterations of wishes. Random. Scattered. My eyes darted before I got into the water. 

For the race that will be held in ten days, I have organized my thoughts and laid out a prayer. It's a combination of prayer/song lyrics/trivial wishes/thoughts to keep.

 

God, forgive me. I've usually a sinner rather than good. But I think I'm good and something tells me that you think so, too. You brought me to face my fears and I have not turned away.

Mom and Dad, thank you for everything you gave me. I'm sorry for everything I messed up. I had a habit of doing that. I recognize that. But you loved me through it all.

Brother and sisters, thank you for holding me close. We are family as well as friends. 

Son and daughter, you make it worthwhile. All of it.

Friends, surround me today.

Sunday, bloody Sunday. The trench is dug within our hearts. 

One Night can change everything in your life, one night can make everything all right, one night can turn all your colors to white. One night-it's easier said than done.

You open your mouth and I know what you're going to say.

Out on the road today I saw a deadhead sticker on a Cadillac. A little voice inside my head said don't look back.

Damn, here we go again. Everything I'm not, made me everything I is.

Amen

 

I Swam 2.4 Miles and I Didn't Perish

I was getting sick again. Riding my bike to the Monona Terrace, I kept looking out the water, craning my neck back and forth. I believed that varying degrees of vision will help me better understand the water or what was going on out there. Today was the Dairyland Open Water Swim Clinic. 

The Ironman Wisconsin swim course was set up and registrants could swim whatever they liked. You could swim 1.2 miles or 2.4 miles or just swim out and back onto shore. My choice was 2.4 miles because I had to swim this distance next weekend for the Madison Open Water Swim race (aka "MOWS"). More importantly, I needed to swim that distance on Ironman day.

Biking along that bike path into Monona Terrace and Law Park, I was sick again like I was going one of those first classes in swimming. I was nervous and wanted nothing less than to throw up. I saw the far buoys and my stomach deepened in sickness.

After I got my wetsuit on and I was standing next to two men who were as ready as I was, I followed them into the water. They started their watches and I followed their swim. Soon, I lost them in that big lake. I was going to take an angle toward the far rectangle's turn buoy.

There was a moment when I stopped near the turn buoy and I was still nervous. I remembered this is where I stopped on my swim at the 2007 Ironman Wisconsin. The ending of my Ironman story then, ended here. It could happen again. It could not. It could end in a way that is victorious and I finish. It could end in an ugly way more than I could ever imagine.

Today, though, I'm finishing this swim. Before I knew it, I was on the back end of the rectangle. I'm swimming next to a blue kayak and he yells at me, "You're drifting off!"

I look around, "I know!"

"Get back closer to the buoys!"

"I'm trying! I just looked up for Christ sakes!"

"Well sight more often. Like every two or three strokes."

"Don't you think I know that already, boss?!" I left to swim.

If you don't know it already, 2.4 miles of swimming is a long stretch. I was out there for a long time. As I found later, I got a swim cap sunburn from being out in the water too long. As I got to the second lap, I was actually getting a rhythm down and feeling pretty good.

I got to the back of the loop and saw the blue kayak again. He yelled over, "Looking better."

"Thanks boss!"

I kept on and found myself at the last turn buoy. It was a short run, so I made a break for it. Picking up the pace, I was at shore in no time! The guys who were right in front of me at the beginning were there again and they had my finish time: 1:40. 

Next week, I competed in the MOWS 2.4 mile wetsuit race. Much more crowded and delivered a much more closer representation of what it would be like on September 11, 2011. And I got a medal in the shape of a rubber duckie. It's hanging off my rearview mirror.

Somebody asked me last week, "Somebody told me that you conquered your fear of the water."

I told them, "No, I learned to live it."

 

Avoiding the Turtle

The swim's been improving dramatically. Just when I think that the fear is there, it makes room for bold choices as well. It's like fight or flight, stripped away from impulse. I've been delivered rocky roads and rough water, then I reminded how Jessica told me to ride it out. She pointed to the duck on the water as the waves came in and the duck just rested with the waves that pushed it up and down. My bike rides over bumps and scrapes on the roads and I think about welcoming the changes as part of the ride. As I swim in high tide, I think of it as part of the natural order of this water. 

The natural order came at me--out of the weeds--as I ran through the Arboretum. There's a part of the 10K loop where you're fully exposed to sun and the wall of vegetation are the only thing that stand between you and Lake Wingra. Out of that stretch of green growth, a turtle stuck its front half out at me. I yelled the Lord's name and ran around him. As I circle around him while he hissed at me, I gave three to four feet of space between us. I'm not sure if there was a fear that he would leap at me, but I gave him the space to jump just in case he wanted to lurch at me.

One Open Water Swim Class challenged me to take my wet suit off. Swimming with the wet suit is a bit like swimming with a floatation device. It keeps you more buoyant as well as warm. It was after I took it off and swam in the water with just a pair of shorts when the fear came back to me. The feeling had the same taste and noise from all those fearful years. The open water and its depth still threatened my existence. I was going to drown and die. 

When my breathing slowed for a moment, so did my legs. Then my arms slowed down. I swam out to the buoys, came back. I stood up and let my heartrate go down again. I got back into the water and swam out to the buoy again.

Jessica was swimming along with us and she saw this. I wondered what she thought when she saw this fear come back to me and I worried that she would worry. And thought she would worry about how I was worried.

Instead, she told me how far I've come and what a great job it was.

In honesty, I have beginning to feel the idea of a wetsuit is a crutch. It keeps me warm and helps me stay afloat. As I've been training, my riding has come to welcome the bumps and scrapes on the roads and I think about welcoming the changes as part of the ride. As I swim without a wetsuit, it's part of being the natural order. Even when it jumps out of the weeds and hisses at me. I keep moving on where I wanted to go.

 

 

The Instinct

It's orange and blue and black. The armpits have this resilient, stretchy fabric. It reads on it "IRONMAN" and "INSTINCT". It was the first wetsuit I owned. Bruce sold it to me for $100. Pretty damn cheap for a wetsuit. He said he got too fat for it.

On Father's Day of 2008, I got a gift card to purchase a new wetsuit. I went to Fleet Feet and, rather than handed a wetsuit and asked, "Does it fit?", they asked me a number of questions to fit me into a suit. I ended with a Blue Seventy Synergie. Hate the name. Love the suit.

The Synergie--er--um--can I call it something else? The Blue Seventy is incredibly efficient in its thickness versus buoyancy. But the thin material makes it suscepticable to easy rips. Two openings came undone around the chest and I gave it to Brodie to fix. For a short three days, I was left to the old wetsuit--The Instinct--while The Syner--er--Blue Seventy was being repaired.

I haven't worn this wetsuit since Ironman 2007. I haven't worn it since I failed at a race that has fed spite that fueled rage that drove me to sign up for this Ironman Wisconsin.

As fate would have it, I was swimming with this wetsuit in the same lake where I failed four years ago.

As fate would have it, I was swimming in the water with the brother of the man--Ryan Griessmeyer--who helped me develop my first breakthrough in swimming.

As fate would have it, I was swimming this day on a Tuesday.

As fate would have it, it was, as we Irish Protestants call it, "The Twelfth".

The next day, I was swimming again. I have employed every single friend and stranger to help me swim at least five times a week until Ironman Wisconsin. This couple was kind enough to let me tag along in Lake Monona with them. They told me, "Don't worry about being slow. We will see you, swim back and swim out." They circled me like sharks.

Coincidentally, my old wetsuit has cuts on the crotch that resembled a sharkbite. 

The day before, Ryan and his wife-to-be Lauren saw these marks. "Tough place to have rips," Lauren told me. 

"A shark bit at me," I joked. Then I put my body in the water and remembered why I got a new wetsuit. Those rips sure do fill up my nether-regions fast.

The couple who swam the day after, asked me if I was comfortable in the water. In order to avoid a long story about how I am not but I'm better now, I said, "Yes, I'm comfortable in the water." I surprised myself by saying that out loud. I have a tendency to go on about things...

They asked me how I wanted to go or how did I usually go. I pointed out to the water jump ramp and over to the end of the Monona Terrace. The very corner where I dropped out of the Ironman Wisconsin in 2007.

Wearing that old wetsuit and putting it on my body for the first time in many years, I smelled the same smells. The day before this, I put it on with Ryan and Lauren and we went out. I arrived where I once dropped out of the race.

I imagined that boat was still there. The man in the boat shoes and sunglasses was ready to help.

To my left was Ryan and to my right was Lauren. They swam on and so did I. My swim had changed from those days in 2007. And we made it about .75--maybe .80 miles off until we turned around.

In my swim session the next day, I swam even faster in that distance. The swim back had many waves and it felt like I was fighting the lake at times, but I made it back.

After I got the Blue Seventy back, the Ironman Instinct made its way onto Craigslist for sale. There is someone coming tomorrow to buy it. It's had lemongrass soap, sweat, tears, lake water, ocean water, piss, and throwup on it. I would never tell its tales but I would just tell the buyer, "I got too fat for it."

 

 

Man Without a Country, Berated

Training for Ironman Wisconsin, I was led to believe that I should just keep biking the course so it just becomes commonplace. And it has. I'll make my way there, bike part of it and bike home. I'll bike just the course. I'll bike the course over and over again. When my miles go up, I'll bite off more and more of the course. The bike portion of the Ironman Wisconsin is 112 miles--possibly the bulk of the time will be spent on a bike. Training for that second portion of this triathlon is essential to surviving/finishing the race.

I'm biking enough that I see other cyclists out and they give the nod. As we pass, it's a quick hello to fellow passers-by who are on two man-powered wheels. The difference between me and them is that I don't enjoy this biking thing. It's boring. And I still have this thing about cyclists who don't acknowledge runners. There's no community among bikers and runners when it comes to 'the nod'. I've tried time and again to give the nod/wave to cyclists while I'm running, but usually I get nothing in return. I feel no affinity to the cycling culture even while I'm biking. Cyclists pass by the opposite direction and say 'hello' or nod but I ignore them. I'm not them. Yet, here I am--biking among them--on their courses.

As Brian and I were biking an easy 40 on the Ironman "Loop", we moved through many small communities. Like Cross Plains, where I slowed to halt at a stop sign.

While my bike was at a stand still, waiting for the car across from me waited, the driver looked me down and waited like we were playing chicken. I turned the wheel left and right to balance while she sat. A moment passed and she turned left. As I began to pedal, she stopped her car right in front of me, rolled down her window and waved to me to approach the car. This is what she said:

I'M SICK AND TIRED OF YOU PEOPLE NOT STOPPING AT THE STOP SIGN. THERE IS A STOP SIGN. YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO STOP. YOU KNOW, THERE ARE KIDS IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD WHO SEE YOU *BLOW* THROUGH STOP SIGNS AND THEY THINK IT'S OK, SO THEY BLOW THROUGH STOP SIGNS TOO. THINK! THINK! I'M SICK AND TIRED OF IT. 

She drove away in black Toyota Camry on Monday at approximately 11:45AM, leaving me with no response. She drove down the road. At my fight or flight, I was left to wonder if I should bike towards her, so I could respond in some way.

Now I'm being lumped in with cyclists. Just great. I'm like a man without a country. 

 

 

 

 

It's Bubble Day, We Forgot Bubbles

When my face came out of the Lake Ripley water, it was like I was waking from a dream. I felt like I didn't know where I was or where I was going. I thought I had been transported and it was spinning. My right foot picked up and planted so I wouldn't collapse. This would be a good time, I thought, to end Bubble Day.

Earlier that morning, I was driving down Monroe Street while I turned completely around to look Ian square in the eyes. I spoke and reassured him, "I will bring the bubbles," he likes nothing less than a step-by-step account of how you will get done what he needs done, "I will drop you off at school, drop Franny off at Mom's, go get stuff for bubbles and drop it off at school. I won't forget this time." My recent incident when I forgot to return to his school with this library book left him disappointed with a chip on his shoulder. That's why it was necessary to look him in the eye and assure him that I wasn't going to forget.

Today was a good day to run on such errands since I had the day off. I have taken every other Monday off to help train for Ironman Wisconsin after I have the kids for the weekend. Target's population during an early Monday morning is very low. I could practice my shopping hunter skills with great precision with no browsers in my way.

I arrived at the bubble section. There were more bubble choices than I anticipated. Five types of bubble guns, twenty different types of simple bubble bottles with wands, three types of bubble making machines and even the foam bubble alternative in four different delivery methods. My eyes glazed over at the many choices. I tried to visualize which one would win Ian's confidence back or maybe there was one that would really appease his bubble appetite or another one that would make his the focus of attention among the kids at school. Would the school frown on bubble guns? After all, they're guns. No school, no matter how much fun it is, likes guns. So, what's better than that? A very large, over the top size container of bubbles. I purchased a 64 ounce jug of bubbles that is held in a space age container. The wand is so large that it dwarfs his head.

I check out and return to Ian's school where I drop off the bubbles. As I walk in, I explain to the strange glances, "It's Bubble Day. We forgot our bubbles."

I explain again, "It's Bubble Day. We forgot our bubbles."

Another odd stare, "It's Bubble Day. We forgot our bubbles."

"Hey Ian. Here you go buddy," I hand him the "Gazillion Bubbles".

His friend is in disbelief in what's happening. His stare along with gaping mouth only with one thing to suggest, "Ian, let me help you put that away! Let me help you!"

As the bubble crisis is averted, I head home to begin my 60 mile ride, followed by a short run. The day begins to heat up and I load up on nutrition and salt tablets as well as water and gatorade. I realize that I haven't pumped my tires in a while and I fill them up. 

I get on my bike and start the first few miles in the Arboretum. I pass a runner and I nod to him. As a runner, I don't notice any cyclists nodding 'hello' to runners. I make a concerted effort to break that cruel streak. 

He doesn't return the salutation as I pass then my tire fires off a BANG. The tire completely blew out. As I change it, the runner jogs closer to me. "I haven't heard one that loud in a while," I lighten up with him.

He replies, "Yea, well it scared the crap out of me." He continues on his way. 

As the tire gets changed, I continue on my day long trek. It's a long, hot ride. The course is hilly. I try to take care of myself the best way I can.

When I reach home, the bike gets put away and I slug the end of the gatorade. After getting a taste of the air conditioning, I decide to cut my run from 30 minutes to 20 minutes. 

By the time I hit the shower, it's after 2PM. I have some time before the 6PM Open Water Swim class at Lake Ripley.

I left early for class to pick up a new swim cap. All three of my swim caps are very camoflaged. Jessica told me to bring a brighter cap so she can spot me. Today, my choice of swim caps has a bulldog boasting the school name "Chelsea" in day glow yellow. 

As I sit in traffic, I begin to become frustrated and irritated. My iPod really isn't giving me much to distract me. By the time I got to Lake Ripley, I had been in the car for about an hour. Class is already ten minutes into it. I felt like I was going to kick into scurrying dad again, "It's Bubble Day. We forgot our bubbles."

The buoys are set up 100 yards apart. Swimmers are going clockwise. It's a day when you perform five full exhales in 'dead man' pose, then swim for 1 then 2 then 3 then 4 laps. 

The thought of traffic and blowing up bike tires drift away, I'm looking at the bottom of the lake as I swim. The sun beating down and the water so cool, this swim becomes refreshing and tranquil though a dozen people swim around me. What usually drives my anxiety to stomach-churning levels has become something that has calmed me. My stroke and breathing feed into each other like a factory line, delivering me from buoy to buoy with little effort.

Jessica reminds me how much work I did this morning on the bike and run--to insure that I don't cramp up. I go for another lap or two to finish. I wanted to make sure that I felt this way as I finished the swim tonight.

I swam back to shore, not even sighting. When I did stop to look, it was like I was waking up from a dream. I didn't know where I was or where I was going. It was amazing. 

 

 

Timber Lane

The first thing that gave me flashbacks was the stench of cow excrement. Actually, NO, that wasn't the first place where I had flashbacks today, biking. When I rode the Ironman Wisconsin bike course today, the smell cow dung just brought back all these memories of 2007, riding this course over and over and over and over and over again. Today's ride was the first return to the Ironman Wisconsin course since training four years ago.

I also remembered those rides four years ago when I forgot my bottle for the bike. I was left with no regular form of liquids for the ride, so I purchased Gatorade like I had done some many times before.

When I arrived at Fireman's Park, I started suiting up for a solo 40 mile ride. Putting the costume on, it went in this special order that only echoed those days in 2007. 

Here I am again, I thought. Here I am again. It's been years since I ridden this course. It's been years since I trained for this race and here I am again.

There were much less roadkill this year.

Somebody's marked the course really well.

The turns are the same, so when I lost my directions, I was nervous. But I relied on my memory. 

The downhills are much steeper than I remembered. It was important for me to trust that pulling the brakes were only working against nature. Flying down the hill was important to staying safe, contrary to my instinct to brake on downhills.

Trust that you know the directions and that the downhills I'll be safe. Maybe then I get through this course faster and better than so many years ago. You can't help the cow stench. The other stuff can be controlled.

 

 

Blank White T

"58 Did you say?"

The old woman looked at me like she was imitating Jack Nicholson's role in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" after he received shock therapy. Her mouth open, eyes off into space but not fixed on anything. Then she came back to me, "Yes, Fifty Eight Fifty One."

"Expensive Stink."

I usually pack my workout bags perfectly. The last workout of the day is at the bottom. The first workout is on top interior. Hygiene products in top pocket above clothes. All goggles, sunglasses and fragile items are on the pocket on the top exterior.

When I got to the gym, my bag was packed for a gym workout then a swim later. That would mean gym clothes on top, swim clothes on bottom. I had only one shirt inside the bag. When I pulled it out and started pulling it over my head for the workout during lunch, a horrible stench came from it. 

I had to immediately take it off. I balled it up and put it up to my nose. That only concentrated the stench, "Awwwww. Ohhhh." I shook my head and squinted my eyes, "This shirt stinks."

The only other guy in this small locker room looked over and seemed to miss my disgust. He was in boxer shorts (really? they're still around?) and a t-shirt, "Is is really warm out, like shorts and a t-shirt?"

"Yes, shorts and a t-shirt. This shirt stinks!"

"That happens. I throw away shirts constantly."

"But this is really bad."

"Yea. I throw away shirts--ALL. THE. TIME." Where he was going with this topic wasn't helping me.

I was wearing one of my golden boys. There are shirts that are go-to t-shirts that stand the test of time and it remains a reliable piece of clothing. [This terms origins date back to what I call the "Seinfeld Era" when Jerry Seinfeld tried to explain this phenomena in his show "Seinfeld" to Elaine (another character in the show).]

This golden boy shirt was my only alternative today at the gym. I either stunk up the place or I wore Golden Boy. I chose Golden Boy.

Today's workout was intense and it pretty much beat me up into a labor that was intensive and sweaty. After that hour, my pit stains were pretty damn bad on Golden Boy. I wondered if ol' Goldie has seen its last day. But, in the more immediate future, I wondered what shirt I would wear.

Today's shirt was drenched in sweat and the workout shirt smelled like Sex Panther. I showered and put on my pants, then zipped up my fleece jacket over my naked torso. I left the gym to walk to the local Walgreen's. 

Finding new t-shirts is like finding a needle. Not just in a haystack but anywhere. Needles are hard to find. So are blank white t's.

As I search all over the store, I start finding things I need. They had this incredible small umbrella that would fit perfectly into my glove box. Of course, I needed two. One for each kid. And one larger one for me. That goes in the truck because I need a big umbrella. I picked up candy bars and put them back. I picked up sport drinks and put them back. I needed some things back at the house but, I'll just get them some other time. I don't have a shirt on and I need to get back to work.

I brought the shirts and the umbrellas to the cash register.

She rings me up, "Fifty Eight Fifty One."

"58 Did you say?"

The old woman looked at me like she was imitating Jack Nicholson's role in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" after he received shock therapy. Her mouth open, eyes off into space but not fixed on anything. Then she came back to me, "Yes, Fifty Eight Fifty One."

"Expensive Stink."

"Uhhhh." Her eyes roll as she hands me the bag. I wondered what that reaction meant.

I'm walking around the office this afternoon with a blank white t that has a huge fold in the middle.