On August 17th, 2015, at 12:00pm, the online registration for the Mont Tremblant Ironman, scheduled to take place the following August, opened. On August 17th, 2015, at 12:01pm, I registered. Since that day my approach to triathlon training (and life in many ways) has completely changed.
An Ironman triathlon consists of a 2.4-mile swim, followed by a 112-mile bike ride, and finally a 26.2-mile run. I know, it seems a bit insane, but when you have been on a triathlon team for nearly four years, competing in shorter-distanced races and existing in a world in which it’s not uncommon for people to do this, in fact, it’s normal, it starts to seem more and more like a realistic challenge.
Over the past four years I have watched countless teammates spend countless hours training for Ironman races. I have traveled every summer for the past three summers to watch them as they accomplished this unimaginable athletic feat. I have been absolutely engulfed in a world of endurance sport, admiring from the sidelines, yearning to experience it for myself. And now that I will finally get the chance to, so many aspects of my day-to-day life and training mentality have and are continuing to change.
Prior to signing up for an Ironman, I felt motivated to train by my passion for the sport and my desire to PR (personal record) in every race I did. Now, with a 140.6-mile race looming over me, I’m driven by one single emotion that has never before played a role in my triathlon experience: fear. For the first time in my six years of training, every workout that I do is driven by fear—fear of the unknown, fear of pushing myself, physically and emotionally, in ways that I have never before. I don’t know what I will be capable of on August 21st, 2016. I don’t yet know my physical limits and I don’t yet know how I will react to the emotional roller coaster that this 12+-hour race will inevitably cause.
Each morning when my alarm goes off at 6:00am, just as my eyes begin to open, I momentarily forget that I signed up for an Ironman. In that moment, I want nothing more than to shut off my alarm and stay in bed forever. And then, seconds later, I remember that in less than 12 months I will be standing at the start line, looking out onto Lake Tremblant, questioning if I did all that I could to prepare myself. And just like that, my desire to stay in bed is silenced and that persistent feeling of fear overcomes me yet again.
It is this feeling that stops me from wearing heels when I go out at night with friends in fear of twisting an ankle. It stops me from wanting to snowboard with my family over Thanksgiving break in fear of breaking a wrist. It stops me from riding a mechanical bull when I’m celebrating my friends 22nd birthday at a country bar downtown. It forces me to schedule my life around my training schedule rather than my training schedule around my life. It is also this same sense of fear that keeps me moving forward when my heart is beating out of my chest, my legs are numb, and sweat is enveloping my body. Despite the fact that this fear often imposes on my life, it is also that which makes me happiest and keeps me working towards my ultimate goal.
Most people don’t understand why I’m doing this. They tell me I’m crazy, that I’ve lost my mind, even than I’m a masochist. But I simply don’t care. I can’t imagine existing any other way. I am driven in life by testing my limits and challenging my body to do things it never has before. Come August, I know I will be ready to complete this Ironman, and I am prepared to sacrifice all that I need to in order to get there.