The Life you Were Born to Live
Sunday, April 5, 2009 at 6:14pm
There are times in our lives where we question ourselves. Young or old, we ask: is this right? Is this who I am? Is this all that my life is or will ever be? The answer is simple. The answer is for you to decide. As always.
Your life will never change so long as you look at it in terms of routine and focus on the minutia. Western lifestyles have increasingly focused on material gain and appearances over the last few decades, and to what purpose?
In order to find meaning and purpose in what you do there has to be something that guides your actions and binds you to some greater goal. Whether it's raising a loving family or owning vacation homes in a dozen places, without the commitment and drive you will never reach your goals. Even if you do, without devoting yourself wholly to your beliefs and giving all of yourself to your endeavor you will never feel fulfilled in your purpose. No one can tell you what these things are. You have to find them for yourself. There are guides out there who can help set your feet on the Path, but it is for you alone to walk upon it.
So it's four in the morning on race day and I have been up for a little while now. I'm not nervous. I think the last time I felt nervous before a race was a few moments talking to a good friend of mine right before my first IronMan. I was in my wet suit and we were standing underneath the morning rain in the water of the lake we were to swim in.
This is it, I thought.
This is where it all begins.
Today, I am not nervous: I am excited. Expectant. These are the moments which help define my life. They answer all of the important questions in my life. "Who are you?" I am IronMan.What do I want? To experience life at the extremes so that I may taste of all it has to offer Why are you here?I am here to become something greater than I am.
These are the moments that define our lives.
I walk from my race hotel toward the swim start, my mind simultaneously blank of all thought while extraneous emotions flutter across the surface of my mind. The morning is overcast with the occasional warning of the day to come. When the time comes, I enter the water and immediately feel the cold soak through my wet suit. Much of what athletes do comes through routine and practice. It's one thing for me to run 100 miles in the heat of Summer. I live in Miami. Heat and humidity are my bread and butter. It is quite another for me to experience cold atop cold. The water was cold. Still, I felt good during the swim. Despite meandering sideways a few times along the first lap I managed to make it across in about 42 minutes. The second lap of the swim was much better as I learned my lesson and hugged the buoys. I had to deal with more traffic, but after being kicked a dozen times along the first lap I realized there would be no way for me to avoid other people in a mass start with 1,700 athletes in the water at the same time. My second lap elapsed in 34 minutes, a marked improvement for a swim time of 1:16.
As I exited the water I did not even notice the cool breeze beginning to pick up. I was too busy running through ankle-deep mud and trying to get into the transition tent. Once there I immediately dismissed all ideas of keeping my feet dry and clean. The entire changing area was a churned mass of mud. Soon enough I was on my bike and headed up the road and out of the city of Port Macquarie. The light drizzle that accompanied me wasn't so bad, but the stiff breeze coming from the coast chilled me to the bone. I made the first of three laps in good time, averaging 19 miles per hour despite one of the hilliest profiles IronMan has to offer. I knew I was in trouble though. Along the course there's a climb that rivals anything I have ever ridden previously. It held the largest number of spectators and was brutal on the legs. The first time I climbed the hill I felt my quads seize up in a pair of nasty cramps. My legs were frozen to the bone, and wet to boot. I turned the corner after the hill into a decline. After shifting to a heavier gear I immediately turned again into another uphill, and my shifter skipped two gears. Normally, all that means is you have to down-shift again and allow the chain to reconnect, but on a steep climb it means big trouble. Despite managing to get a foot on the ground the steep grade of the climb caused me to fall over. Now I was cold, wet, cramped and bleeding from several nice gashes on my legs. Still, I persevered, jogged up the hill and remounted.
The second lap was brutal. There's no other word for it. The rain and wind picked up, and at this point I began praying for sunlight. Just a little bit of warmth to take the chill off my bones. The days before the IronMan had been warm and sunny in comparison, and this sudden shift in weather pattern had caught me completely by surprise. I look back on it now and don't remember details. Simply long-stretches of pain and whimpering thoughts of the cold. My body was shutting down, and I had not even finished half of the bike leg. The course proved to be very harsh for a number of people as I saw no less than seven crashes and more than a dozen riders on the side of the road with flats. The conditions of the road were poor for over three-quarters of the course, and it made riding more difficult. Obviously, these conditions were shared by every rider, but that does not diminish the demands it placed on me as an individual.
There was one point in particular on my way out in the third and final lap of the leg course. I was literally counting out my revolutions as a means to distract myself from the cramping and the cold. I didn't even realize there was a pretty nasty bruise on my left leg at this point from the crash. I guess the cold was good for something. I was about 80 miles into the cycling when I suddenly heard a small pop and a sharp hissing sound. My breath froze in my throat. All I could think in my head was No. No. Please no. No, no, no! I listened sharply to determine which of my tires had popped when I suddenly realized it was coming from the rider I was passing. Mumbling a sympathy to him as I continued riding, I couldn't think for the sensation of relief washing over me. A flat tire at that point would have ruined me. My elation only lasted a few minutes before I continued my plodding into the wind.
I finally crossed the transition line at about 8:40, giving me a disgusting split on my bike of seven hours and twenty minutes. A full hour slower than my bike split in IronMan Kentucky. Still, aside from being partially frozen I was in no way tired. And I was going into my strongest leg: the run. After taking meticulous care of my feet in the transition area, I began the run with a cautious enthusiasm. I wanted to make sure that I gave my legs time to warm up before doing anything stupid. The first six miles of the run passed by in a blur, and I started to pick up my pace. The wind was still blowing, and it was hard for me to keep any body heat with my tri-suit still wet. I crossed the first lap in just over an hour and realized that I had a real chance to make up for my lost time. My legs were cramped, my body cold and a tingling sensation spread from my lips throughout my face and fingertips. I could feel my body beginning to go into shock and I had to take in salts badly. At one of the aid stations along the course they gave me some Vegemite. A disgusting pasty substance that Australians give to babies. Aside from having a bitter, salty taste, there's not much to say about it. It even looks disgusting. Still, it did the trick, and it helped me avoid the worst of the problems I could have faced.
Before I realized it I was making my way toward the finish line climbing up the last hill. And then my knee gave out. Simply collapsed from under me, and I fell to the ground. I could definitely feel that bruise now. A couple of the race volunteers came over to see if I was okay. I couldn't even stand. I could see the finish line from where I lay, and I couldn't get up. I told them how I was feeling and they helped me up. Limping on my good knee and supporting my weight on their shoulders, they took me to a chair on the side to see if I was okay. No more than a minute or two had passed, but I was so close I just wanted to finish. They told me they would help me down the chute, but I refused. I told them I couldn't hobble down across the line like that. They took me across the side of the lane and was going to walk me through the finish, but the gate was locked. Of course. So instead of walking all the way back to where I had been pulled to the side, they literally lifted me over the rail as I grit my teeth in agony. That was how I crossed the line finish line at IronMan Australia. With a grimace of pain, and under the help of a volunteer. My marathon time was 3:15. All the energy I had not been able to summon on the bike came out during the run. My final time for the IronMan was 11:58:59. A personal best, and an incredible race despite all of the problems that beleaguered me throughout the day.
Looking back on the day I realize what an amazing experience the race had been. I remember laughing when I woke up the morning after the race to a beautiful sunny day. The race had fallen on the one day of the week where the weather was horrendous. Not the day before. Not the day after. Everything happens for a reason. Sometimes the only thing we can do is laugh at what life gives us. So it was with this race.
I guess in many ways IronMan encompasses the struggles of my life. You can just stand there out in the middle of nowhere under the cold rain as the concept of time flashes before your eyes. Swimming and riding and running for hours on end you can just think as if for eternity. The effort in the race a manifestation of what I want to express as an individual. To have no fear. Never to fear what you may become. To depend on no one. To perform feats that free your soul as they enslave your body. A way for me to share my inspiration with the world.
I am IronMan. I want to experience life at the extremes. I will become something greater than I am.
There are times in our lives where we question ourselves. Young or old, we ask: is this right? Is this who I am? Is this all that my life is or will ever be? The answer is simple. The answer is for you to decide. As always.
Your life will never change so long as you look at it in terms of routine and focus on the minutia. Western lifestyles have increasingly focused on material gain and appearances over the last few decades, and to what purpose?
In order to find meaning and purpose in what you do there has to be something that guides your actions and binds you to some greater goal. Whether it's raising a loving family or owning vacation homes in a dozen places, without the commitment and drive you will never reach your goals. Even if you do, without devoting yourself wholly to your beliefs and giving all of yourself to your endeavor you will never feel fulfilled in your purpose. No one can tell you what these things are. You have to find them for yourself. There are guides out there who can help set your feet on the Path, but it is for you alone to walk upon it.
So it's four in the morning on race day and I have been up for a little while now. I'm not nervous. I think the last time I felt nervous before a race was a few moments talking to a good friend of mine right before my first IronMan. I was in my wet suit and we were standing underneath the morning rain in the water of the lake we were to swim in.
This is it, I thought.
This is where it all begins.
Today, I am not nervous: I am excited. Expectant. These are the moments which help define my life. They answer all of the important questions in my life. "Who are you?" I am IronMan.What do I want? To experience life at the extremes so that I may taste of all it has to offer Why are you here?I am here to become something greater than I am.
These are the moments that define our lives.
I walk from my race hotel toward the swim start, my mind simultaneously blank of all thought while extraneous emotions flutter across the surface of my mind. The morning is overcast with the occasional warning of the day to come. When the time comes, I enter the water and immediately feel the cold soak through my wet suit. Much of what athletes do comes through routine and practice. It's one thing for me to run 100 miles in the heat of Summer. I live in Miami. Heat and humidity are my bread and butter. It is quite another for me to experience cold atop cold. The water was cold. Still, I felt good during the swim. Despite meandering sideways a few times along the first lap I managed to make it across in about 42 minutes. The second lap of the swim was much better as I learned my lesson and hugged the buoys. I had to deal with more traffic, but after being kicked a dozen times along the first lap I realized there would be no way for me to avoid other people in a mass start with 1,700 athletes in the water at the same time. My second lap elapsed in 34 minutes, a marked improvement for a swim time of 1:16.
As I exited the water I did not even notice the cool breeze beginning to pick up. I was too busy running through ankle-deep mud and trying to get into the transition tent. Once there I immediately dismissed all ideas of keeping my feet dry and clean. The entire changing area was a churned mass of mud. Soon enough I was on my bike and headed up the road and out of the city of Port Macquarie. The light drizzle that accompanied me wasn't so bad, but the stiff breeze coming from the coast chilled me to the bone. I made the first of three laps in good time, averaging 19 miles per hour despite one of the hilliest profiles IronMan has to offer. I knew I was in trouble though. Along the course there's a climb that rivals anything I have ever ridden previously. It held the largest number of spectators and was brutal on the legs. The first time I climbed the hill I felt my quads seize up in a pair of nasty cramps. My legs were frozen to the bone, and wet to boot. I turned the corner after the hill into a decline. After shifting to a heavier gear I immediately turned again into another uphill, and my shifter skipped two gears. Normally, all that means is you have to down-shift again and allow the chain to reconnect, but on a steep climb it means big trouble. Despite managing to get a foot on the ground the steep grade of the climb caused me to fall over. Now I was cold, wet, cramped and bleeding from several nice gashes on my legs. Still, I persevered, jogged up the hill and remounted.
The second lap was brutal. There's no other word for it. The rain and wind picked up, and at this point I began praying for sunlight. Just a little bit of warmth to take the chill off my bones. The days before the IronMan had been warm and sunny in comparison, and this sudden shift in weather pattern had caught me completely by surprise. I look back on it now and don't remember details. Simply long-stretches of pain and whimpering thoughts of the cold. My body was shutting down, and I had not even finished half of the bike leg. The course proved to be very harsh for a number of people as I saw no less than seven crashes and more than a dozen riders on the side of the road with flats. The conditions of the road were poor for over three-quarters of the course, and it made riding more difficult. Obviously, these conditions were shared by every rider, but that does not diminish the demands it placed on me as an individual.
There was one point in particular on my way out in the third and final lap of the leg course. I was literally counting out my revolutions as a means to distract myself from the cramping and the cold. I didn't even realize there was a pretty nasty bruise on my left leg at this point from the crash. I guess the cold was good for something. I was about 80 miles into the cycling when I suddenly heard a small pop and a sharp hissing sound. My breath froze in my throat. All I could think in my head was No. No. Please no. No, no, no! I listened sharply to determine which of my tires had popped when I suddenly realized it was coming from the rider I was passing. Mumbling a sympathy to him as I continued riding, I couldn't think for the sensation of relief washing over me. A flat tire at that point would have ruined me. My elation only lasted a few minutes before I continued my plodding into the wind.
I finally crossed the transition line at about 8:40, giving me a disgusting split on my bike of seven hours and twenty minutes. A full hour slower than my bike split in IronMan Kentucky. Still, aside from being partially frozen I was in no way tired. And I was going into my strongest leg: the run. After taking meticulous care of my feet in the transition area, I began the run with a cautious enthusiasm. I wanted to make sure that I gave my legs time to warm up before doing anything stupid. The first six miles of the run passed by in a blur, and I started to pick up my pace. The wind was still blowing, and it was hard for me to keep any body heat with my tri-suit still wet. I crossed the first lap in just over an hour and realized that I had a real chance to make up for my lost time. My legs were cramped, my body cold and a tingling sensation spread from my lips throughout my face and fingertips. I could feel my body beginning to go into shock and I had to take in salts badly. At one of the aid stations along the course they gave me some Vegemite. A disgusting pasty substance that Australians give to babies. Aside from having a bitter, salty taste, there's not much to say about it. It even looks disgusting. Still, it did the trick, and it helped me avoid the worst of the problems I could have faced.
Before I realized it I was making my way toward the finish line climbing up the last hill. And then my knee gave out. Simply collapsed from under me, and I fell to the ground. I could definitely feel that bruise now. A couple of the race volunteers came over to see if I was okay. I couldn't even stand. I could see the finish line from where I lay, and I couldn't get up. I told them how I was feeling and they helped me up. Limping on my good knee and supporting my weight on their shoulders, they took me to a chair on the side to see if I was okay. No more than a minute or two had passed, but I was so close I just wanted to finish. They told me they would help me down the chute, but I refused. I told them I couldn't hobble down across the line like that. They took me across the side of the lane and was going to walk me through the finish, but the gate was locked. Of course. So instead of walking all the way back to where I had been pulled to the side, they literally lifted me over the rail as I grit my teeth in agony. That was how I crossed the line finish line at IronMan Australia. With a grimace of pain, and under the help of a volunteer. My marathon time was 3:15. All the energy I had not been able to summon on the bike came out during the run. My final time for the IronMan was 11:58:59. A personal best, and an incredible race despite all of the problems that beleaguered me throughout the day.
Looking back on the day I realize what an amazing experience the race had been. I remember laughing when I woke up the morning after the race to a beautiful sunny day. The race had fallen on the one day of the week where the weather was horrendous. Not the day before. Not the day after. Everything happens for a reason. Sometimes the only thing we can do is laugh at what life gives us. So it was with this race.
I guess in many ways IronMan encompasses the struggles of my life. You can just stand there out in the middle of nowhere under the cold rain as the concept of time flashes before your eyes. Swimming and riding and running for hours on end you can just think as if for eternity. The effort in the race a manifestation of what I want to express as an individual. To have no fear. Never to fear what you may become. To depend on no one. To perform feats that free your soul as they enslave your body. A way for me to share my inspiration with the world.
I am IronMan. I want to experience life at the extremes. I will become something greater than I am.
posted by Marcos Redondo - Running For Hope at
11:08 AM
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