My buddy and I were talking last night about why I do Ironmans and after a good amount of discussion, I think I came up with an analogy that, for me, sums it up pretty well.
Doing an Ironman in a lot of ways is like being in a bad relationship. You’re in love, but at the same time, you’re completely miserable.
During training, there are good days and bad days and most of the time, the good far outweigh the bad.
Races are a bit different though. Yeah, there are good times, but when the bad times hit, they hit hard and don’t stop until you’re done and it’s over.
For me, while doing an Ironman, all I want is to get out and have it be over and done with. I swear to myself “this is the last time.” I curse Ironman and I curse myself for ever being stupid enough to get involved with it in the first place.
After I’m done, I lick my wounds, revel in the fact that it’s over and I tell myself “Never again! This is it, I’m DONE!”
Then, after the dust settles, the wounds heal and the pain is long forgotten, I’m left remembering mostly the good things.
The bad times, while still in the corner of my mind, are tucked away in the shadows.
The highs seem so much higher and the lows, well, they don’t seem quite so low as they did at the time.
I start to think “You know, it wasn’t really that bad" and I begin to think about races I might want to do. I think about how I felt crossing the finish line and not about how I felt at mile 15 when I could barely walk. I think about that well of emotion that springs up when hearing those magical words by Mike Reilly and how there is nothing -and I mean nothing- in the world like it.
I'm not stupid. I know that sometime during my next Ironman, I'll curse and yell and spit and scream and swear I'll never do it again, all the while knowing I will.
Damn you, Ironman! I wish I could quit you.
We can't quit. However, next time, I vow to keep the voices quiet in my head. The one that yells, "Shut up! I already am!" when some nice spectator yells, "You can do it! You'll be an ironman!"
ReplyDeleteAnd I never forget the aid station volunteer who just let me stand by her and eat a cookie. I just needed a friend for a minute. She was the difference between sitting down and crying or getting to the finish.
I'm not sure why we do it. It doesn't make us heroes. It's completely internal. I do know this. I like to feel. Period. All of it. The good, the bad, the exhaustion with 8 weeks to go, and again at 8 miles to go. And the shower afterwards. Nothing feels like that.
I, for one, am glad you do it. For whatever reason.