Westbound To Arizona

The pondering and blogging will be light for a few days. I get the pleasure to compete with, in my opinion, some of the best athletes in the country.

When the IronMan Organization announced they were creating a race in Tempe, Arizona last year, I couldn’t wait to compete.

You’ll find me here .

The weather looks perfect for race day.

I’ll be with 2000 other demented people that I call friends without knowing them. We all know without discussing the number of hours we have put into this. The shift from competitor to compatriot occurs half way into the bike. We all are thinking the same thing, “the day is FAR from over and only gets harder from here”.

An IronMan is ,somebody that puts more miles on their bike annually than their car, has gone through more moisturizer to get rid of the dried out swimming pool skin, has eaten enough Accelerade Gels to feed a small country, have probably done more marketing for Apple and Ipod than any other group, buy BullFrog by the gallon, and probably keep these guys in business (don’t ask).

We are the people you see on our bikes in that goofy, hunched over position at 5:00 am and again that night at 6 p.m. “Don’t they ever stop?”

We are the ones that use “only “ and “75 miles” in the same sentence. We are the ones that buy running shoes by the half dozen.

For those that aren’t familiar with what a race entails. Like a scene from the movie Piranha, we all enter the water in a mass start on the beach for a 2.4 mile swim. Yes, the beginning is as scary, and it takes about an hour. Out of the water we hop on our bikes for a 112 mile ride. That takes between 5 to 6 ½ hours. Off the bike the fun begins. We finish with a full marathon, 26.2 miles.

Yes, all in one day, non-stop.

To train for this, you have to be slightly deranged and will become quite intimate with your “other “ wife. Mine, she’s a
Litespeed Saber . And yes, I put more miles on her than my car last yr.

I find it’s an endurance challenge for both the body and the mind. After 7 hours into the race, the body goes numb. The brain takes over. It’s the last 13 miles that shows who really has trained and who has the determination.

To follow me along the race, click HERE , my race number is 912.

Why do we do it?

Because it’s that last mile and the feeling you get when you cross that finish line.

Words don’t do it justice.