Some folks will tell you that what it takes to be an Ironman is the ability to swim 2.4 miles in the open ocean, ride 112 miles on an unshaded asphalt trail in the blaring sun, and run 26.2 miles -- a full marathon -- in total darkness after you've completed the first two. All three, of course, in the same day and, in fact, in the span of 17 hours, from 7:00a to midnight. That, they say, is what it takes to be called an Ironman.
I have just returned from Kona, Hawaii, where the Ironman 2010 World Championship was held. My son was participating in the Ironman for the second time. He has had four separate cancer diagnoses, a hip and shoulder replacement, and a heart transplant.
The first time he competed (in 2009), he was pulled off the course because the 2.4-mile swim took him seven (7!) seconds too long. Not only must you complete all three events in 17 hours, each individual event is individually timed.
So my beloved son, who faces down all odds, trained and trained and trained. This time when he competed he shaved 20 minutes off of his swim time, emerged from the ocean to a cheering crowd, showered and changed, and headed off on his bike. All of this we could see. The joy was overwhelming. So was the anxiety about what still lay ahead of him.
The rest of it we didn't, couldn't, see.
He got about to mile four on his bike (with 108 miles still to go) when he gave in to wooziness, sat down by the side of the road, and waited for the dizziness to pass. As he sat there, two medics approached him. They took his vitals and found his blood pressure to be 80 over 60 (when it is usually 130 over 85). They laid him down with his feet up for ten minutes, then took his blood pressure reading again. Nothing had changed. He went prone for another five minutes, during which they debated with him about whether or not he should leave the course and give up his 2010 goal.
He didn't want to. They did want him to.
Eventually he was given no choice. He was pulled off the course. We found him in the medical tent, receiving intravenous hydration.
He is supremely disappointed. He feels he has disappointed others. He is sorry for the ruckus. He devoutly wishes the end had been different.
I think he was an Ironman before he even entered the race in 2009, and that he would go back and face it all down again in 2010 just reinforces that truth.
Of course, he didn't let others (or himself) down. But, that's what he feels, and that's what's relevant. I'm reminded of 3 great runners, Bannister, Decker and Ryun, each of whom had mishaps in important races. Dr. Bannister said, years later, that, after his time of disappointment, he "dug deep" to find out wat he was really made of. Each came back to succeed even though a trace of disappointment remained. Hopefully, Kyle will dig deep (again) and erase the current sharp edge of disappointment.
ReplyDeleteWe followed, prayed, and cried, too.
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