Here we go!! I was planning on writing and posting an update to my blog six months ago about my race at Ironman Arizona, but it was nearly impossible to type at the time, and then time kept passing… Hours and days filled with physical pain, sadness, and a generous dash of depression that made writing of any sort a necessity, but not a possibility due to the ache from my injured shoulder coupled with my listless point of view made it hurt too much to articulate, let alone share.
However, I felt a shift in momentum about a month ago and started writing with the intention of it being a blog post, but then that took a swift turn down self-wallowing pissiness and finger-pointing, so I opted not to post that either, but kept writing anyway.
The upside with that stifled endeavor was that the physical pain and discomfort from my shoulder to type disappeared, I could tap out words like a machine, quicker and keener than ever before, but the content of my writing, even considering the context, was grim, i.e, not my usual upbeat flare, still I kept writing as a cathartic exercise, and as a result I feel lighter and cleaner than I have in months, like I finally scrubbed out a nagging stain on my favorite pair of jeans, true, it made an impression, but its darkness isn’t visible anymore.
Therefore, I am ready to tell the tale about my 21st attempt at the Ironman, aka, a 2.4 mile swim, and a two-mile bike ride in Tempe, Arizona.
Approximately mile 1.5 of the IMAZ bike course. PC: Hillary Biscay.
I skated through the first forty-four years of my life without breaking a bone, but that streak ended at about 8:16A on November, 19th, 2023 when I crashed my bike at 22MPH into a twenty-something man riding an electric razor scooter across an intersection just past mile two of the bike course on Rio Salido Highway during Ironman Arizona.
The moments surrounding the crash were surreal. There are a million different scenarios I have played out since the collision, I would have swerved, or braked in time to miss him, but the reason I didn’t was because it felt like an alternate dimension, What is this guy doing? We’re in the middle of a race? He’s gonna stop, of course he’s gonna stop?
He didn’t stop.
But he shouldn’t have started in the first place.
There were no police set up at the intersection to provide traffic control, (I have an eye witness to support this account) no signs set up to explain that a race was in progress, that he shouldn’t cross the street, because on *that* Sunday morning it was a race course, riders had the right-a-way, (a fact confirmed by the head referee, I was not at fault) but I assume he just thought there were barely any cars, why not cross an empty street? So, he did, but just before we collided, that split second I suddenly realized what was happening, that the nightmare was real, I screamed, “NOOOO!”
Upon impact (with the scooter rider and/or the pavement) I fractured the distal part of my right collar bone, snapped the fork on my new Trek Speed Concept SLR 7 in half, and smashed my right ear lobe in-between my helmet and head hitting the ground which caused scary, potential head trauma bleeding, but a subsequent CT scan confirmed it was a mere flesh wound.
There were many events that spiraled after that crash, amazing strangers, friends, and loved ones that stepped in to make sure I was cared for, but there are no number of clacks on keys that will rightly convey my gratitude for those amazing humans, so with an infinite amount of meaning behind these two quiet words, thank you.
My friend and absolute hero over IMAZ weekend, Heidi Videto, just before Marion and I drove home.
Crashes happen.
I survived.
The kid on the razor did, too.
Also, my bike was swiftly put back together better than ever by my wonder team at the local Trek shop at barely any cost to me, and my insurance (so far) has covered that very expensive morning at the hospital, and tenuous relationship with my Orthopedist, but it was the crushing guilt I felt in the days, weeks, and months afterward that have done the most damage.
For a while there I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel whole again.
But in a clever trick by nature, pain kept me present, and appreciative, of what I could do, which in turn kept me going.
So much strolling... #slinglife
And although I will never feel the same again, invincible, that I could and did build my body and health up enough, to be strong enough, to never break, and to always protect my inner joyful self who was along for the ride; she trusted me, but I hurt her, and grappling with how to forgive myself has been the greatest challenge of all.
Could I move beyond it? Risk another chance of hurting her by being selfish and pursuing what I want? Chasing an endurance experience that strains, but creates remarkable gains? What am I really after? Is it a race? Another Ironman? A specific time goal? Yes, no, all of it, none of it, combined, or simply, is it to keep doing what I love to feel alive?
I do care about performing well at races, results mean something to me, the costs are too high not to care, and I was in exceptional shape leading up to Ironman Arizona, I expected to perform well, and I went there to earn a slot to race at the World Championships in Nice, but I have never been satisfied after any triathlon, and carrying that weight of disappointment was crippling.
I needed a break, but I didn’t know I’d be forced to break myself to receive it.
I was tired of feeling like a failure of who I expected to become.
I am aware that seems indulgent, I felt sick because of it, trapped, like I could never accept who I was, am, until fate stepped in with tragic timing. If I swam ten seconds faster, no crash. If I spent ten extra seconds fiddling with my helmet in T1, no crash. Instead, cosmic timing provided plenty of (too much) time to sit with myself, be present with pain, discomfort, to think, withdraw, then confront and chisel my way toward acceptance, and forgiveness.
My memory is excruciatingly vivid. I won’t ever forget the mistakes I made that Sunday morning last November, or rather the coincidence of it all colliding at once, yet the piecing back together I’ve endured in the months since the crash has been worth every agonizing second. I’ve realized and accepted why I do push my limits physically, I do it because it’s hard inside and out, not to be better than anyone else, or to hit a goal I set, (in training or racing) but to become a better version of myself by figuring out a way through the tough moments, and to learn and grow from them regardless of the result, pain, exhaustion, or sadness they inflict; I do it to feel something, not to watch life go by, but to jump in and live it!
My first spin on Red Sonja after IMAZ, 5/15/2024.
What I’ve missed, and what I’ve realized I cherish most about being an endurance athlete is reliving the training and racing experiences for myself and sharing through writing. So, although this blog post was heavier than most, (kudos if you’ve made it this far), and yes, the past six months have not been my favorite, I am grateful for finding the words to carry me through, proud that I allowed the patience needed to heal, and relieved that I wasn’t too stubborn to listen to my gut when it whispered, “We’re ready.”
Next up for this excited, hopeful, yet slightly mangled redhead, a run, a spin, some swimming, lots of smiling, heaps of writing, soulful coaching, and passport required planning, training, and racing for the back half of 2024.
Let’s GO!
The video choice this week is a short film from Casey Neistat about his journey toward running a sub 3:00 hour marathon. It’s incredible.